During my second semester of library school, a professor of mine made an interesting little speech about librarians. She said that you don't have to work in a library or have an MLS to be a librarian. We have our own subculture: our own inside jokes, references, jargon, and code of conduct. We value freedom of information and encourage questions. There is so much more to librarianship than a few extra letters after your name on your business card and a place of employment. So although I do not yet have my MLS and although I have spent the last twelve months working menial jobs including secretary and daycare worker, I have long considered myself a librarian. But now it's for realsies.

I officially started work at a public library on Monday as a children's programming assistant and, whoa, did I fit right in. There's an unwritten code among readers and librarians that can't even be put into words, which is a strange thing given that words are our raison d'etre. Being around a group of librarians--and children's librarians at that--was a gratifying and refreshing experience.

I make stupid jokes and awkward gestures. There is a certain gangly-limbed swinging-armed pirate jig that I fear will forever be associated with my name and face. I am often at a complete loss as to what I should say or how I should act, especially around new people. But an hour into my very first day at the library, I felt vaguely comfortable. Part of this, I am entirely aware, is due to the fact that library school has been incredibly good for my self-esteem. As an awkward teenager, I was never destined to be prom queen. But amongst my comic-book-reading, Tolkein-quoting, Doctor-Who-obsessed and sometimes-unshampooed contemporaries, I am not only accepted, I'm kind of cool. How in the halibut did that happen? (Another detriment to my coolness-factor: I've never been able to shake the faux-profanity habit I picked up during my years as a nanny.)

But I think a large part of why I was so comfortable on my first day behind a reference desk is that I felt, for the first time in years, that I was in exactly the right place. I was even able to help a few people. Okay, so the questions were just about the time of this program, where that book can be found, and whether this other series is in the collection. None of the questions I answered were exactly life-altering. But still, I helped someone in a small but definite way. And it felt awesome. The service-oriented aspect of the profession has always been what attracted me to the library, which is strange since I'm so awkward around my fellow human beings. I worried, though, that I would be no good at it. Maybe I'd be unapproachable or cold, as I can sometimes seem when I'm uncomfortable (a dear friend in college told me I had a perpetual F-off stamped across my forehead).

And here's the thing: the questions I answered may seem basic and uncomplicated to me but the fact of the matter is, those patrons didn't have access to the information I gave them. If they did, they wouldn't have had to ask me for it. The boy who wanted to read the first two books in the Gun Lake series didn't know where to find them or how to use a computer catalog or what the JFic section of the library actually is. I forget that sometimes given the fact that I spent a large portion of my childhood among the universally dusty stacks. So no, the questions I answered weren't complicated but they were, nonetheles, important.

(My library. Isn't it gorgeous? Pics of the children's department--which is even more gorgeous--still to come.)

Words of Wisdom

Ah, the hectic life of the graduate student. No time for my typical overly-verbose posting. But lest it seem I have neglected the blog (for shame!), I'm going to share some wonderful quotes about libraries.

The inscription over the door of the library at Thebes:

"Libraries: The medicine chest of the soul."

Why it rules: We help people heal themselves. All reading fills a need, whether it's a need for knowledge, entertainment, adventure, or distraction.

"The best of my education has come from the public library... my tuition fee is a bus fare and once in a while, five cents a day for an overdue book. You don't need to know very much to start with, if you know the way to the public library." -Lesley Conger

Why it rules: Me too! I skipped at least one class a week when I was in high school but I wasn't up to any shenanigans, I was at the public library hiding in the back of the reading room. And I learned more as a precocious, curious teenager reading books too old for me than I possibly could have dodging spitballs and ignoring PDA at my high school.

"A truly great library contains something in it to offend everyone." -Jo Godwin

Why it rules: Something to offend everyone means a very well-rounded collection. And offending people forces them to consider what they believe and, more importantly, why they believe it.

For more awesome quotes, check out this post on the blog, "The Centered Librarian." Enjoy!

Graphic Novel Review: Page by Paige

As you may or may not recall, I've been on a bit of a graphic novel kick lately. I've read one a day for about the past week or two and after a while they start to run together a bit. All those bright colors and KAPOW's. One of the reasons that graphic novels are great is that they engage young readers who are used to the constant visual stimulation of the internet and television. As someone who grew up in a slightly slower time (okay, the 90's), I'm still a fan of the traditional black and white page. I sometimes find the "graphic" part of the "graphic novel" a bit distracting. So I found Page by Paige by Laura Lee Gulledge a refreshing change of pace.

Paige Turner's parents are writers and they have uprooted her from her life in Charlottesville, VA and moved to Brooklyn. Forced to start over with new people in a new city, Paige feels isolated and afraid. So she does what any quiet red-headed girl would do: she buys a sketchbook. She has no real experience so the only thing she has to go off are her grandmother's "rules" for art, which include "No more excuses!" and "Figure out what scare you... and do it!"

She draws everything in her new city and everything she feels as she explores it. Sketching keeps her from feeling alone as she can't open up to her mother, who she feels always wears a "happy mask," and she can't open up to her new friends for fear of burdening them with her problems. But she follows her grandmother's advice and does what scares her most: she lets her new friends see her sketchbook and, by extension, see her true self.

Paige slowly progresses from shy, secretive, and angsty to brave, funny, and creative as she challenges herself to do the things that scare her the most and learns to trust both herself and the people around her.

The premise isn't entirely original and the protagonista comes to her revelation a little easily but it all makes for a very realistic journey--which is probably because the artist (both author and illustrator) based the story on her own real-life experience. The true draw of Paige, though, is the artwork. It's a little more free-flowing as there are many pages without panels. The author does a brilliant job of combining the artwork with the main character's emotions as the main character, Paige, is an artist and the graphic novel reads like a combination of her diary and sketchbook. Given that the main character is a girl and the focus of the book is her emotional journey, this would also be a great introductory graphic novel for girls, who are sometimes more resistant to the format.

(Photo courtesy of Abrams Books)

I loved loved loved Page by Paige. When I tweeted about it, I used exclamation points. Two of them. And that from a girl who very rarely emotes. This is a book that I needed when I was a teen. It's just too bad no one wrote it until this year.

Grade: A-

Review Time: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

I heard an awful lot about Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs even before it was published. All the librarians were buzzing about it, all my friends (who, okay, are librarians) added it to their "To-Read" lists. And I let the excitement get the better of me. I bought it. In hard cover. Given my lack of storage space (see previous post), this is a fairly major commitment. And yet I found myself strangely... underwhelmed.

As a kid, Jacob loved his grandfather's fantastical and somewhat terrifying stories, made all the more believable by the strange photographs that accompanied them. There's the boy who can make bees fly out of his mouth and the girl whose mouth is on the back of her head under her golden curls. But as he grows up, he stops believing the stories and stops listening to them. Then something terrible happens to his grandfather and Jacob is left trying to puzzle together just who this wonderful, secretive man really was.

To figure it out, Jacob travels with his father to the isolated island where Jacob's grandfather grew up in search of the children's home where he supposedly spent his youth. (The expense is no problem because their family is independently wealthy. Of course they are.) There Jacob discovers an entryway into a time loop. The children who were his grandfather's companions are still there on the island and have been reliving the same day for seventy years. There Jacob meets all manner of strange people, the same kids he saw in his grandpa's photographs, and one of them is a beautiful girl named Emma who Jacob finds himself increasingly drawn to.

But a dark presence is drawing ever closer to the loop, threatening the home and the very lives of the peculiar children inside of it.

So there's the basic story line. There are loads of delightfully bizarre photographs that the author and nine other collectors found at yard sales, estate sales, flea markets, and antique malls to add depth to the characters. However, it must be said that this reads more like an exercise from a college creative writing class: "Connect these ten unrelated illustrations in a coherent story." The text is very obviously meant to augment the photographs and not the other way around. Okay, I know that's exactly what this book is but it must be said that the story is what should drive a book and this one simply... doesn't.

(Image from Amazon.com)

The story line should be suspenseful and creepy and heart-pounding but it falls a little flat. It started out fast but the book did the same thing I do when I go for a jog--quickly lose steam. The danger isn't real enough and the things that are meant to be mysterious (like the identity of the villain) were a little obvious to the observant reader. I didn't even realize that it was meant to be a surprise that Jacob has special powers like the kids in the loop. Well, duh. Finally, the book ended on what was obviously meant to be a cliff hanger but I probably won't read the second one when--if?--it gets published. I certainly won't buy it.

Lastly, time for a spoiler:

Emma is Jacob's grandfather's childhood sweetheart. I don't care if she hasn't aged in seventy years, kissing someone who might quite literally have been your grandmother is just kind of squicky.

Grade: C+

(Note: I had a very hard time giving any book less than a B. C's are bad, C's mean asking the teacher to re-do, C's are average. As a chronic over-achiever, I have only ever gotten one C in my life so it seemed very harsh but I stand by my rating. The story actually slightly below average but the originality of incorporating creepy photographs into the story saves it and makes the overall experience slightly above average. Slightly.)

Librarian/Hoarder

I’m a pack rat and proud of that fact. I keep the wrappers from Dove chocolates, the corks from bottle of wine I’ve enjoyed, clothes that don’t fit, and shoes with holes in the toe—just in case, I think. In case of what? I really need to start throwing things away. I mean, do I need the packaging for the alarm clock I bought last year? I can’t find the warranty and I’m pretty sure it would be expired anyway. Besides which, the dang thing works fine. But no matter how bad I am at getting rid of normal clutter in my life, I am ten times worse when it comes to books. It’s actually gotten a little ridiculous.

I’ve already filled both of the full-sized book shelves in my tiny little apartment and am now out of space. They’re stacked up on my windowsills and tucked away under my couch. I’ve got an entire box of them in my closet and a few ferreted away in the drawers of my desk and in random purses (which I also don’t use). It’s gotten slightly embarrassing, actually. And, of course, it’s very inconvenient when you move from place to place as often as I do. ("Can't you get rid of some these?" my mother asked during my most recent move. "But they're books," I replied.) I'm coming up on another one of those moves in a few weeks and I'm afraid the time has come. I must weed my collection.

I don't honestly know how I acquired so many books. Many of them I have bought, sure. Some of them are stolen from high school English classes and my mother's bookshelf. A good majority of them were gifts. People are forever giving me books and I never complain. I have an old volume of Russian poetry that I don't remember adding to the collection. It seems to have appeared with the book of Thoreau-esque essays about nature and a peeling copy of Pride and Prejudice. Still others I've inherited from family. They end up in my backpack on weekends I visit my parents. It should be mentioned that I also worked briefly at a publishing house and I attended this year's ALA conference so many of the books are ARCs that were literally shoved into my hands. They just seem to find me, the books, migrating into my apartment like ducks to water.

I would guess that I’ve read a little over two thirds of the books in my personal library and yet I keep bringing in more, much faster than I can actually read them and far more than I have space for.

It's time. I need an intervention.

So get rid of some of them, you say. Fill a duffel with them and drop them off at a used book store. Make them someone else's problem. If I only loved a book for the sake of it's story, I would be with you but here's the thing: I love books for their own sake. I love the smell of them and they way they feel in your hand and the cracking of the glue in the spine and the dry, rough edges of the pages. I love their weight and heft and form, not just the words.

I look at a book and I think, "What if this is the last copy there ever is? What if my mass market paperback copy of Catch-22 is the last one that ever exists, the only one to survive some horrible accident. Yossarian could be lost if I don't take care. Someday in a hundred or a thousand years there will only be this one copy so I have to save it. What if I give this copy away and someone dog ears the pages or--shudder of horror--leaves it laying open face down? I must save the books! All of the books!

It shouldn't be difficult to sort fifty or so of them out and get rid of them. I haven't cracked some of them in years and I own a few that I count as least favorite books. But each of these books represents a chapter of my life--if you'll pardon the analogy. I may have hated The Mill on the Floss but I hated it for reasons and I will never crack that copy without thinking of the English Lit class I took my senior year of college. (I'll never crack that copy again ever actually but that's entirely beside the point.) But beyond my abstract need to save the last of all of the books for posterity, I've developed a deep sentimental attachment to my collection. They've seen me through some tough spots, these old books. The Gone with the Wind with the spine cracking along all the good parts, the Mere Christianity that has seen me through an existential quarter-life crisis, the Alice in Wonderland with the gold lined pages and the one I actually read with the "Walrus and the Carpenter" pages marked. These have followed me through half a dozen moves and God-knows-how-many breakdowns, break-ups, and break throughs.

When I’m surrounded by my books, I feel like I’ve got all of my old friends with me. Chalk it up to an awkward childhood followed by an awkward adolescence, but I feel more comfortable with books than people. (Dr. Phil would have a field day with me.) I just can’t get rid of them. I mean, sure, I’ve never finished The Essential Dorothy Parker, but I might someday. And how would I like it if I looked and poor Dot wasn’t in the collection anymore? I’d have to go out to the nearest bookshop and purchase her replacement, along with half a dozen friends.

What I've Been Reading: Graphic Novel Edition

I am a huge supporter of graphic novels. Used appropriately, they can increase reading comprehension and motivation among struggling and reluctant readers. This post, however, isn't meant as a rant on the virtues of graphic novels. The thing is, my experience of graphic novels is mostly abstract. Unlike my fellow geeks, I wasn't raised on comic books. I never even read one until earlier this year when I began to look at research about them for a class. But I am now hooked. Here's a list of my recent favorites--which are technically my all-time favorites since I've only been doing this for a few months...

Anya's Ghost by Vera Brosgol

Anya is a delightfully cynical teenaged girl with an embarrassing family, a non-existent social life, and... a ghost? When she falls down an abandoned well, Anya meets the ghost of Emily, who has been dead since 1918. When she is rescued, she takes Emily with her. At first, having a ghost for a friend is great. Emily can get her test answers and details to exclusive parties. But Anya's relationship with Emily turns sinister when Anya finds out a little too much about Emily's former life. But the author takes the story beyond ghosties and ghouls and teaches readers about family loyalty, self-confidence, and spending so much time focusing on other people's lives that you forget to live your own.

The Amulet series by Kazu Kibuishi

An absolute delightful cheese-fest. Emily is a stonekeeper. This means that she has inherited an ancient magical power and with it an ancient responsibility. Sound familiar? It is. Kibuishi has adapted a whole truckload of popular stories into this bestselling series. Emily is the one and only human who can use the power of the stone--a Jedi master of sorts. The stone itself is reminiscent of the One Ring from LOTR. And reading it, I couldn't help making comparisons to the that paragon of 80's culture, "Labyrinth," featuring a spandex and wig-wearing David Bowie. But references to other tropes doesn't undermine Amulet. It's still a compulsively readable, campy, and hilarious romp through fantasy land.

Rapunzel's Revenge by Shannon and Dean Hale

What happens when Rapunzel learns to use her braids as lassos and sets off in the Old West accompanied by Jack (of Beanstalk fame)? A rollicking good read, that's what. Rapunzel and the rascal Jack set off to get back at Mother Gothel, who kept Rapunzel trapped in a tower for years and separated her from her true mother. The two solve the problems of all the citizens they encounter along the way. For example, they kill the giant sea serpent that has been troubling the dwarves who fish with pick-axes (after they have been forced out of their mines by the greedy Gothel).

Up next:

Calamity Jack by Shannon and Deal Hale: the sequel to Rapunzel's Revenge.

Unwritten series by Mike Carey: "What if your father wrote a best-selling fantasy series named after you… and all of it was true?" Chills.

Return to the Labyrinth by Jake T. Forbes: A graphic novel spin-off of my all-time favorite movie? Yes please!