Libraries are much more than books - Abi Burlingham

There’s a lot of strong feeling regarding our libraries and obvious disappointment, and anger, at the closures of some. Much has been said on this already, so I’m not going to repeat it here. But I would like to tell you a story, a story that spans five libraries and three generations.

There was… my first library. I guess I’d have been four or five. It was known as The Pork Pie library and stood on an island – was it actually on a roundabout? In my head it was, though hard to believe now. It was made up of two layers and was very round – hence its nick-name by the locals. My mum would take me and my brother every week. This library, its unusual curviness and its position in the middle of the road, made a lasting impression on me, so much so that it now features in Buttercup Magic: A Mystery for Megan (due out this April) as ‘The Victoria Sponge’. I remember sitting inside and finding my first ever Miffy book. I remember the blue cover and turning the pages. I don’t even have to close my eyes to visualise where I sat to read the book, and the excitement I felt when I saw those wonderful pictures.

Then… my second library. I was in my teens by now and would visit the library in the local town. It was about twenty minutes walk from my house and was a big, modern, part grey part glass building. Sometimes my mum would come too, or I’d go with a friend, but mostly I’d go alone… there’s something special about being alone, and yet not alone, in a library. It was vast compared to The Pork Pie library, but I loved the space and the silence. There was a record shop five minutes from it too, so I would combine a library trip, for peace and solitude, with a trip to buy some music – even then, my life seemed to be comprised of contrasts - moments of solitude and moments bursting with activity and sound.

My third library. As an adult, living closer to the city, I began to visit the main library. It was a wonderful, huge Victorian building with massive, heavy wooden doors. This was where my reading really began to take off. I would become so lost in the huge bookcases bursting with books, the wrapped up sounds, and people-watching – I used to do a lot of that. I’d often sit with a book and never get past the first page, just sit and watch the people around me, completely swept away to some other world. One of my discoveries, in this library, was a wonderful book called ‘The Winter Tree’, by Georgina Lewis – a very magical and atmospheric book. It is still one of my favourites.

Then… there was library number four. When I began working in a University, I’d visit the library there. This was a much more vibrant place, full of students from all over the world, stifled, and not so stifled, laughter, students - heads down, studying… what are they studying? I’d wonder, listening out for bits of conversation, peering at the cover of a book in someone else’s hand. But despite the more bustly nature of this library, I still always found myself taken over by some other-worldly presence, transported to the place of ‘Library’.

And… library number five. As a mum now, and living in quite a small village without its own library, we have a mobile library that visits every Wednesday and parks itself outside the local Co-op. When the children were toddling, and for a few years after, I’d take them every week, and they’d sit on the brightly coloured poufs at the end while I tried not to feel sick at the rocking lorry motion. They know me there now – not just as a mum but as an author. They have one of my books… how crazy is that? All the years I visited libraries and found other people’s books, fell in love with them, and now mine are in libraries for other people’s pleasure. I still have to pinch myself.

You see, libraries aren’t just about reading are they? They’re about being transported to another world, they’re about contemplation and memories. No amount of money can buy those.