Annie Spence - Dear Fahrenheit 451: Love and Heartbreak in the Stacks: A Librarians Love Letters and Breakup Notes to the Books in Her Life

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This book is dedicated to the other six Authiers from the double-wide that was always taking in more people and animals than there was space for, who raised me and had such white-hot pride for me I rarely suffered the cold of my own doubt.

I absolutely demand of you and everyone I know that they be widely read in every damn field there is; in every religion and every art form and dont tell me you havent got time! Theres plenty of time. You need all of these cross-references. You never know when your head is going to use this fuel, this food for its purposes.

Ray Bradbury

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Dear Fahrenheit 451 . Shall we begwait, I know you guys! Do you remember me? Im your public librarian! I walked you over to the Murakami that time. I helped you get the DVD about exploring New Zealand and you came back and told me about how wonderful your trip was and we both got tears in our eyes. Remember when you said you paid my salary and mumbled bitch under your breath when I wouldnt do your kids research paper for them? Im that bitch!

I know all of youbecause librarians love getting to know their communities: from Junie B. Jones Kid to Conspiracy Theory Andy! If I hold up my magic mirror, Romper Room style, I can see each and every one of you reading this right now! I see Geoff, who always says hes picking up his Regency romances for his sister (no judgment, Geoff!), and I see Donna, who reads philosophical horror novels as fast as I can supply them. I see Carol, whose grandson bought her a tablet and then apparently went into the witness protection program before he could help her figure out how to use it. (In fact, I see all the doting millennials who pat themselves on the back for giving expensive devices to their elderly relatives and then go back to college without explaining how to download an e-book.)

But as close as my connection is to all of you, your literary preferences and Internet habits, there is a population I know even more intimately: the stacks. Librarians arent just reading while were sitting at the reference desk. We curate the collection by providing a fine balance of items patrons need to be well-rounded (poetry, Consumer Reports ) and items they request that we buy (more seniors yoga on VHS). We also decide when a book is no longer needed and has to be released (two points if you got that The Giver reference). Professionally, we call this process weeding the collection. Personally, I call it book breakups.

I know books on a deep level. So deep that, over the years, Ive found myself talking to the books. Only in my head, because Im not crazy; but, inside my head, I talk to them in letter form, because books are fancy and need to be formally addressed. It used to be just at the library, while I was weeding or when I would come across an old friendI mean, book. But now I seem to do it every time I look at a bookshelf: at my moms, at a dinner party, at the bar or on date night. Basically, if youve spoken to me in the presence of a bookshelf in the past decade, I wasnt paying attention.

And why shouldnt I talk to books? Ive got a lot to say to them.

Reading has shaped me, guided me, reflected me, and helped me understand and connect with, and this is not hyperbole, HUMANITY. If you picked up this book, its because, somewhere in the past (and more in the future, if I have anything to do with it) a book has changed your life. Well, mine too, dear reader, mine too. I grew up in a small rural Michigan town. I was the youngest of a big family, living in a tiny house that was overflowing with people, stray dogs, love, and saltine crackers. We didnt have a lot back then, but we did have the library, and its books showed me a bigger world. I know that sounds confusing, because youre, like, wait, bigger world? Arent you just still hanging out at the library? Did you ever even leave? I only mean that books have shown me some amazing things. Theyve thrilled me and soothed me. Theyve told me when it was time to give up on them. Theyve helped me not give up on myself. Reader, for all of the silliness and good goddamn fun involved in writing a book that talks to books, I know youll believe me when I say that these books have talked right back to me.

And if this book youre holding could talk? It would say that it wants you to connect to it, to laugh with it, and to walk away with a whole new list of other books that you cant wait to get involved with. Happy reading.

Your Ever Lovin Librarian,

Dear Librarians,

Please dont weed me.

Love,

Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.

Mark Twain

Rule number one: Dont fuck with librarians.

Neil Gaiman, Gaimans online Journal , 2004

Growing Apart

Dear The Goldfinch,

Weve grown apart. Or, I guess, youve grown apart. Like, physically. Your spine is torn to crap. The hardest part about this? Im the one who did it to you. I love you so much, Goldfinch . Your language, your emotion, your suspense. Needless to say, the author picture on your back cover is the main reason I started parting my hair down the middle.

So I recommended you to everyone. I broke the Librarians Readers Advisory Code, which is to base your reading suggestions for a patron on their previous preferences, not my own. I broke it for you, Finchy. I recommended you to folks checking out Sylvia Browne dead-people-talking books and patrons asking where the Amish fiction was shelved and people who told me the last book they enjoyed was Hatchet by Gary Paulsen, which is, sadly, every third adult male who comes into the library. Im not saying you won the Pulitzer because of me, but you may want to think about adding one more name in the acknowledgments when the next edition comes out. You feel me?

Unfortunately, your hard exterior couldnt protect you from the reality of the world outside these shelves. It was bound to happen. Youre nearly eight hundred pages. And about a gazillion people cracked you open. Eventually, you cracked too. Its my fault. I shouldnt have sent you home with people who are used to reading mass-market paperbacks. Thats something I have to live with.

I know you are a book that only feels fulfilled when being read and admired. Youd be too ashamed to sit next to your other copies as busted up as you are, and theres nothing book glue can do for you now. You dont smell or anything, if thats a consolation. Im taking you home with me. Youll sit right next to your old pal The Little Friend, on a browser-friendly shelf above the record player where my friends will look at you with great reverence before declining to borrow you because they are too busy to read (I know, theyre fools). Im the only one who truly knows you well enough to notice how fragile you are on the inside. No one but you and I will ever see the duct tape holding you together or the DISCARD stamp on your title page. I promise you that.