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Grunenwald - Reading behind bars: a memoir of literature, law, and life as a prison librarian

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Grunenwald Reading behind bars: a memoir of literature, law, and life as a prison librarian
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Reading behind bars: a memoir of literature, law, and life as a prison librarian: summary, description and annotation

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In December 2008, twentysomething Jill Grunenwald graduated with her masters degree in library science, ready to start living her dream of becoming a librarian. But the economy had a different idea. As the Great Recession reared its ugly head, jobs were scarce. After some searching, however, Jill was lucky enough to snag one of the few librarian gigs left in her home state of Ohio. The catch? The job was behind bars as the prison librarian at a mens minimum-security prison. Talk about baptism by fire. As an untested twentysomething woman, to say that the job was out of Jills comfort zone was an understatement. She was forced to adapt on the spot, speedily learning to take the metal detectors, hulking security guards, and colorful inmates in stride. Over the course of a little less than two years, Jill came to see past the bleak surroundings and the orange jumpsuits and recognize the humanity of the men stuck behind bars. They were just like every other library patron--persons who simply wanted to read, to be educated and entertained through the written word. By helping these inmates, Jill simultaneously began to recognize the humanity in everyone and to discover inner strength that she never knew she had. At turns poignant and hilarious, Reading behind Bars is a perfect read for fans of Orange is the New Black and Shakespeare Saved My Life--;Front Cover; Half-Title Page; Title Page; Copyright Page; Contents; Introduction; Part I: The Voice of the Door-keeper; Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan; Chapter 2: And into the Fire; Chapter 3: In the Doghouse; Chapter 4: The Hole; Chapter 5: Weekend Reading; Chapter 6: Pomp and Circumstance; Chapter 7: Three Strikes, Youre Out; Part II: Were All Mad Here; Chapter 8: New Sheriff in Town; Chapter 9: Finders Keepers; Chapter 10: Bat out of Hell; Chapter 11: Heartbreaker; Chapter 12: Because I Could Not Stop for Death; Chapter 13: Something Wicked This Way Comes

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Copyright 2019 by Jill Grunenwald All rights reserved No part of this book may - photo 1

Copyright 2019 by Jill Grunenwald All rights reserved No part of this book may - photo 2

Copyright 2019 by Jill Grunenwald All rights reserved No part of this book may - photo 3

Copyright 2019 by Jill Grunenwald

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

Skyhorse Publishing books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or .

Skyhorse and Skyhorse Publishing are registered trademarks of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc., a Delaware corporation.

Visit our website at www.skyhorsepublishing.com.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Tom Lau

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-3706-8

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-3708-2

Printed in the United States of America.

Contents

To Mom

This book is memoir. It reflects the authors present recollections of experiences over time. Some names and characteristics have been changed, some events have been compressed, and some dialogue has been recreated.

Introduction

A man dressed completely in black snapped the steel bracelets around my wrists. Dont worry, he said, taking a step back. The key to my freedom shone brightly in his oversized hand. Its just for a minute.

Then he winked, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

What had I gotten myself into?

Prison. Thats what I had gotten myself into. Not jail. Not a detention center, or a holding cell, or even the drunk tank. Prison.

The Clink. The Slammer. The Big House. The Pen. Lock up. Statesville. Sent up the river.

Not only had I landed myself behind bars, Id volunteered for it. Well, volunteered might not be the best term. I was an employee of the prison, so I was at least being paid to be there; but still. Very few people make the conscious decision to enter a correctional institution of their own free will.

Against the backdrop of the cold, sterile warehouse, the man in black cut an imposing figure: that intimidating combination of advantageous genes that gave him both height and width. Not in the soft doughy kind of way, but in the I could crush your head between my two bare hands without breaking a sweat kind of way. With two very large bear pawsized hands. His broad shoulders indicated that he had probably played football in high school. He might even have been one of those burly men who entertained thoughts of playing college ball until an injury sidelined him and cut his dreams short. In one fell swoop, he may have been forced to trade a lifetime of slinging footballs for a lifetime of slinging handcuffs.

The pair he slung now slid into place around my wrists with an admittedly satisfying click, but even with their cool curves, the metal felt sharp against my skin. The cuffs dug into my wrists like knife blades. Even knowing it was futile, I still pulled my closed fists in opposite directions until the chain connecting them tightened.

Surrounding me was a sea of unfamiliar faces. There were roughly a dozen of them, mostly men, dressed in ratty sweats and torn t-shirts. A mixed bag of races and ages, their eyes studied me. Suddenly my black yoga pants felt too tight, the neckline of my t-shirt too exposed. As I took stock of the group, a blush crept up my neck and a sense of unease washed over me. Of everyone in that room why was I the one who was singled out? All I had done was show up at a warehouse on the appointed day at the appointed time, and look at what had happened. He might as well have sewn a scarlet A on my t-shirt and called it a day.

My eyes traveled over the group of strangers clustered around a long table in the corner and at that moment, I questioned every single life decision I had made in the past decade, all the way back to July 1999, the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, when I got an after-school job at the library in my hometown of Hudson, Ohio.

It had been the perfect job for me. I am, and have always been, a bookworm. Books are in my blood, the written word etched upon my bones. (Although, surprisingly, despite my love of books and knowledge and learning, I am not a Ravenclaw but, instead, proudly wear the green and silver of Slytherin.)

In elementary school, I spent recess holed up in the library, tucked into one of the window seats, devouring books that were way above both my reading and maturity levels. What I couldnt find on the shelves of McDowell Elementary School could usually be sourced from the stacks of the local public library (just as long as I tucked them between more age-appropriate reading material so my mom didnt see). Soon enough I started writing my own stories, scribbling away pages of high fantasy or historical fiction that were, once again, far above my maturity level; but that, of course, was part of the fun. At ten years old, my knowledge about the Vietnam War was gleaned almost entirely from a few paragraphs found in my elementary schools copy of World Book, but that didnt stop me from using it as the setting for my first novel.

So at seventeen years old, needing a job, the one thing I did not want to do was work another summer at the hamburger station of my local McDonalds. Because of my love of reading, I was eager to apply and get a job at the library. After all, what reader wouldnt want to hang around books all day?

So I was surprised when a few years ago, my mother told a group of people that the only reason I started working in the library was because of her. Say what now? According to my mother, I was lazy and unmotivated and needed to be dragged and nagged to apply.

One of us is clearly lying. Or, perhaps more accurately, one of us has a faulty memory. I dont want to make any bold declarations I may come to regret, but only one of us is writing a book and has the opportunity to set the record straight per our own memories. (Ah, see, theres that Slytherin pride: refusing to admit that perhaps I am indeed wrong.)

After getting hired, I spent the next seven years working at the Hudson Library & Historical Society. From the summer before my senior year of high school through every winter and summer break during college, I shelved books and checked out books and came to know every inch of that library like the dog-eared pages of a beloved, well-read novel. When I wasnt home on breaks, I was in school, getting my BFA in creative writing, with a minor in English literature. I practically lived and breathed books, so upon graduation I returned to my parents house in Hudson and continued to work at the library while I decided what I really wanted to do with my life. As much as I wanted to spend the rest of my life writing books, that almost never pays the bills; I needed a Plan B.

Admittedly, it took me far longer than one would presume to realize that what I wanted to do and what I should do was become a librarian. For a year or two, I hovered on the periphery of adulthood, working jobs here and there, never finding that elusive career. It was only in my mid-twenties that I reached a point where I wanted something with more of a stable trajectory andlight bulb momentdecided to go to graduate school to become a librarian. After graduating from the University of Kentucky with my masters in library and information science in December 2008, I once again migrated back to Northeast Ohio. Unfortunately, the economy had taken a huge downturn and jobs were scarce. Librariesincluding Hudsonswere hemorrhaging money, reducing both hours and staff just to keep the lights on and the books available.

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