There was nothing like the smell of old books. Musty, like something aged and left under a protective sheet for years, with a bit of manured earth and a touch of human sweat. Elaine reveled in it.
That combination could only be found in a library. There wasn't the old smell there as most bookstores featured newly printed materials that were on some bestselling lists curated by people who only cared about what was popular at the moment. Those people didn't take into account what had been popular a hundred years ago. Or what had stayed the test of time.
Elaine clicked on the lights of the library. The stacks illuminated one by one. Dust mites swirled as she turned on the air conditioner. She sneezed into her hand at the gathering dander and smiled.
No, there were no new books in this section. These weren't the books that were pristine and purchased by one person to covet. Every volume had been through the trenches. Shared, paged through, returned, only to be picked up by someone new to experience what was between the pages.
Well, some of the books had taken that journey. Many of the cards at the backs of the books of the classics had only a handful of checkouts. Or none.
But they would always have a home in the library. That's what libraries were for. Homes for books, where people showed up to take them out and were fined if they forgot to bring them back. If only it were that way during her parents’ divorce. Then their remarriage. And then their second divorce.
Elaine walked to the front door of the town library and flicked open the lock. There was no line waiting outside to come in and snatch up a book. It was nine in the morning.
At noon, she was still the only person in the library. The shelves had been dusted. Book jackets stood straight with no slouching at the ends. Reading list books stood faced out waiting to be picked up. But no readers had arrived yet. Elaine sat behind the circulation desk, arranging and rearranging pens. She tugged at her cardigan, smoothing the warm fabric around her shoulders to find warmth in the chilly atmosphere.
"I have great news."
Elaine nearly fell out of her chair at the voice that came from behind her. Mary was the head librarian here. She'd gotten the job right out of college. Mainly because the last head librarian had been her aunt. Nepotism ran rampant in this small town.
"I just got a call from Pastor Patel,” Mary continued, not noticing Elaine’s heart attack. “He said Walker Skye is in town, and he's open to coming and doing a reading here."
"Walker Skye?"
The name did not ring a bell.
"You know who he is. He writes military science fiction. He hit the bestseller’s list earlier this year.”
Elaine still didn't know who this person was, but she knew of that genre. She wasn’t a total literary snob. She enjoyed speculative fiction. But space wars? Really? What kind of value did that add to literature? None.
“I don’t think he’s ever done a reading or a signing,” said Mary. “This is going to be so popular with the younger group. For the last year, we can't keep his books on the shelf."
Mary walked over to the bestselling books section, a section Elaine always neglected. She could see one of the offending books from here. Very few of those books had been turned faced out this morning. Mary frowned, turning one particular cover outward-facing.
A big old space ship was on the front cover. Vibrant colors splashed the jacket. The bold colors hurt Elaine's eyes.
“Looks like someone neglected her shelving duties this morning,” said Mary.
Someone hadn’t. Someone had spent time on the books that mattered, the books that shaped human thought, the books that changed lives. Though most people in this town preferred things the way they always were.
Elaine pinched her lips. "If we don't showcase the classics like we do the bestsellers, how can we expect people to pick them up?"
"Elaine, honey, you have to remember; the classics make kids think of school and homework. The bestsellers like Walker Skye make them think of downtime, relaxation, and entertainment. Which would you grab for after a long day of work?"
Elaine opened her mouth, but Mary stopped her.
"Don't tell me. I already know what you're going to say. Something by Hardy or Eliot or Austen.”
Contrary to popular convention, Elaine was not an Austen fan. Sure, Pride and Prejudice and Emma were classics. But the stories were wholly unrealistic. The one where the wealthy guy fell for the plain, poor girl. Or the other one where the wealthy guy falls for the penniless girl. Like any of them would stay together. But Elaine held that unpopular opinion to herself.
“Not everyone is like you, Elaine. Not everyone finds joy in five hundred page literary tomes that aren’t Harry Potter.”
Elaine rolled her eyes again. She never got the Harry Potter draw. It was just The Lord of the Rings. But written for children.
They were walking by the romance section. Mary’s favorite section. Elaine avoided this section like the plague. The short books were even more unrealistic than Austen or Rowling. Love that happened in just a couple hundred pages was doomed to fail after the last page. A book could end with a happily ever after. But no books ever showed what happened after the happily ever after began. After the last page was where the hard work started, and that’s where the fairytale fell apart.
“Look, I know I’m not going to convince you of this,” said Mary. “But we need this kind of attention. Attendance is down here. If we can’t increase circulation, then the county will target staff for upcoming budget cuts.”
Elaine still had objections. But she couldn’t argue that one. Either get the Star Wars author in here or risk losing her job. She would simply have to practice holding her tongue while the old guy espoused the virtues of space warfare.
“Why don’t you take your lunch break,” said Mary. “It’s taco Tuesday, your favorite.”
Elaine was nothing if she wasn’t a creature of habit. She liked her routines, just like she liked knowing the end of the stories she was reading.
“No, it’s your favorite,” Elaine countered.
“That’s right.” Mary grinned, reaching in her pure for cash. “Could you bring me back a chicken taco with extra guac?”
“Sure, Mary.”