For the love of a good book

This article was first published in the Spring-Summer edition of Fórsa magazine (Issue no.6), which is now circulating in workplaces and which you can download HERE.

Aingeala Flannery

AINGEALA FLANNERY loves books and has a lifelong love for the library service since the mobile library first rolled into the housing estate that was her childhood home. Despite a few years of estrangement, the love affair continues. 

I MET my first boyfriend at the public library in Clondalkin. He wrote a note in red Biro on a scrap of copybook, threw it over the Reference shelf, and I caught it. We went out for about a fortnight. I was twelve; he was twelve and a half; nearly thirteen.

The previous year, we’d moved to Dublin from a tiny village in south Kilkenny that had two pubs, a national school, and a shop that sold everything and nothing simultaneously–but it had no library. The estate we lived in seemed to have been dropped, by accident rather than by design, onto the rural landscape, and because there were no other houses around, it was called simply ‘The Estate’. There wasn’t much to do in The Estate, so when the mobile library rolled in every few weeks, we bolted outside and lined up along the roadside, the way children in cities do for ice-cream vans.

I gobbled up every Malory Towers and  St Clare’s book I could get my hands on. If the neighbours got there first, I’d have to settle for a dog-eared Nancy Drew Mystery Story; The Clue of the Velvet Mask and The Ringmaster’s Secret among the most memorable of an instantly forgettable lot.

Dozens of library loans later, when we upped sticks for what my parents called ‘The Big Smoke’, my agricultural bearing and accent went unheeded. I had social currency among my townie classmates; I’d outgrown Enid Blyton, and was first to introduce them to the more risqué works of Judy Blume.

Books for all
For my entire life I assumed that mobile libraries, like tractors and toppers, exist only outside Dublin–until I spotted one parked outside Sundrive Park in Drimnagh. It’s either lost, or broken down, I thought. But no, Dublin City Libraries provide a mobile library service to housing estates across Dublin, from Bluebell to Donnycarney and beyond. I would feel ashamed of my ignorance if I wasn’t so relieved to live in a country that still attaches value to such things; to reading and to books–not only for those who can access and afford them– but for all.

There are, I’ve since discovered, thirty-one mobile libraries in Ireland. And no less than 330 library branches. I’ve always had more of a head for stories than for figures, but here’s a thought: there are 12 million books in the online library catalogue; you can reserve whatever book you want and pick it up at your local branch.

Irish libraries are the first in the world to offer this service–essentially it’s like the biggest bookshop on the planet, but everything in it is free. I feel rich when I go to the library, and this is because it’s the only time I can have whatever I want. Greedily, I’ll grab a couple more books that I probably won’t read, but I’ll take them anyway, because I can. Better still, I ask for things they don’t have in the local bookshops. This week a librarian in Fermoy dispatched a collection of Lucia Berlin stories to Rathmines library for me, I collected it along with a DVD of The Sound of Music, which is not on Netflix. Thank you Cavan Libraries, my son needs it to rehearse for his school play.

Cold War
Full disclosure: my dealings with librarians have sometimes been less than genial. There was the small matter of the novel I left behind on holidays, and the huge fine that resulted when I ignored the overdue notices, and put off informing Dublin City Libraries that Colum McCann was now being enjoyed by a different international reader every week at a pensão on the Algarve. I eventually confessed, and tried to cut a deal. No clemency was shown. I got slapped with a hefty penalty, plus a restock charge–and I fell out of love with the library.

We were estranged for years. And believe me, they were long, lean years, the country was in recession and every cent of disposable income I had was spent on pre-school picture books at Dubray. But these were just a gateway to the more addictive Diary of A Wimpy Kid, not to mention the allure of blockbusters like Mr Stink and Gangsta Granny. I remember seeing David Walliams on the telly, and thinking ‘I paid for that suit, but you’re wearing it, while I sit here eating frozen pizza, with two-and-half briquettes on the fire.’ The next day I started afresh with the library, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

There are some spectacular libraries in Ireland, including Lexicon in Dun Laoighre with its floor to ceiling glass and uninterrupted sea views, and the very smart and modern Tullamore Central Library. But I have a soft spot for the original Carnegie Trust libraries, among them the 1910 Clondalkin Village library, and my rather grand local branch in Rathmines. In the winter months people go there for warmth and for the newspapers, in July and August it’s filled with small children wrestling enormous books onto the loans desk, asking if they’ve enough stamps on their reading card yet for a Summer Stars pencil and ruler. My branch, like many others, offers IT training, study spaces, public internet access, a film club, a reading group, lectures, writing workshops, and most importantly–evidence of taxpayers’ money well spent.

Money well spent
I bristle when I hear begrudgery about the level of funding given to libraries by local authorities and the Exchequer. It always comes from people who’ve never set foot in a library, which is their choice, but nor can they tell you how much library services cost. For the record, between 1998 and 2012, a total of 131 million Euro was invested by the Exchequer in library buildings; this was co-funded by local authorities and 95 new libraries were opened. The money was spent on books, on developing online access, and on digitising local history content. People have responded by using libraries more, particularly during the recession when the number of books on shelves went up by 55 per cent and the number of library visits rose by 15 per cent.

Earlier this year there was much ado about the headline grabbing decision to get rid of local authority library fines, even for historic offenders. It followed on from a pilot scheme in Sydney, Australia, where fines were abolished and thousands of long-term overdue items were returned, it became clear that people don’t bring back late returns because they ignore the reminders and then feel embarrassed that they’ve let it go on for so long.

The decision by Libraries Ireland to follow the Australian’s lead was controversial. Truth be told, local authority libraries have been phasing out fines for some time, including an amnesty in 2018 for a gentleman who returned to Thurles library, 53 years overdue, a biography of the temperance reformer Fr Theobald Mathew. In more punitive times, he would have been hit with a bill of almost a thousand Euro.

Under this new, more merciful approach, those who don’t return long overdue library books will have their membership suspended, but will not be fined. It’s hoped this will encourage people to use the library more often. There are close to 800,000 registered members in Ireland, but only 16 per cent of the population actively use the library service. The intention is to get that up to 30 per cent. Take it as an invitation to return that early edition McGahern, before it turns to dust. In the library at least, your sins have been forgiven.

Aingeala Flannery is a writer. Follow Aingeala on Twitter: @missflannery

This article was first published in the Spring-Summer edition of Fórsa magazine (Issue no.6), which is now circulating in workplaces and which you can download HERE.