The heroic vanguard of the culture wars massed in Philadelphia last weekend: about 25,000 librarians.
I spent last Friday on the periphery of the American Library Association’s annual conference. I was there for a one-day Library Insights Summit to learn how my indie novel can find its way into libraries. The summit, co-hosted by the Independent Book Publishers Association and Foreword Reviews, was fantastic. But I immediately regretted not attending the full ALA conference, and I want to be with them in Chicago next year.
Forget all the cliched stereotypes about librarians. These are principled believers that the truth shall make you free. They love books, of course. They are on the cutting edge of community technology. They engage in some of the funniest and wittiest social media on Instagram. And the overwhelming majority of them are girded for battle against book banning and other forms of censorship.
I am fortunate to live in Delaware, an extremely blue and progressive state that just passed House Bill 119, the bipartisan Delaware Freedom to Read Act. Its synopsis states, in part:
This Act establishes the following principles in regards to public library material: (1) Library material is provided for the interest, information, and enlightenment of all persons the library serves; (2) Library material should not be excluded, removed, or prohibited from a catalogue because of the origin, background, or views of a persons who created the material; (3) Material should not be excluded, removed, or prohibited from a library because of partisan, ideological, or religious disapproval.
Ironically, the states that most desperately need legislation such as this probably can’t muster enough support to get a bill passed.
Latina librarian a hero in my novel
A Latina library director is a main character and hero in my novel, The Salt and Light Express, which will be published in October. She becomes embroiled in a brouhaha over the Alamo and Texas history—which is unfortunately a real controversy in Texas. As someone who had to take mandatory Texas History in seventh grade, I know the Alamo is sacred lore and Santa Ana the most evil of villains. That’s about all I remember from 1969.
The novel’s climax takes place on the small-town library’s plaza. That small-town library is modeled after the Butt-Holdsworth Memorial Library in Kerrville, Texas, where I was issued my first library card. We would visit my grandparents every few years and spent the summer of 1968 there. The beautiful round library, all windows and limestone overlooking the Guadalupe River, had just opened. I kept the paper library card for decades.
As we watch universities, networks, politicians, and law firms cave to an authoritarian regime, I can only pray that librarians hold the line. They gave a raucous standing ovation to Dr. Carla Hayden, the fired director of the Library of Congress, and they welcomed Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer and George Takei.
They seemed unabashedly and unapologetically liberal, as a whole, and why wouldn’t they be? They love to read and learn and share that love with communities large and small across the country. I don’t throw the word “hero” around, but they are quietly providing a safe haven for so many who have questions and crave access to a larger, diverse world.
Well, not so quietly any more. The days of librarians “shushing” you are pretty much over, at least at the libraries I patronize. That’s probably a good thing—for librarians to make some noise.