This is a story of books and how someone tried to kill that story, literary, by burning them. But before the story burned, it had revealed how writers and their work are secured and protected inside a building by a group of dedicated people committed to stories themselves. A writer and its work should feel safe because only a story lover would have the heart and devotion to pour effort into this kind of job. Perhaps, these are the people who wouldn’t write their story, but they are the ones willing to protect our stories.
It opens a reader’s eyes how a free society in a free civilization makes a library operating system available to everybody: young, old, all gender, students, non-students, different skills/intellectual levels, etc. The library is a place where we all feel we could belong, when it is open. Where we could rely to get the best, latest, of many information we need.
The book itself, attempted to deal with the life of its suspected arsonist. It presented that person’s story, which gave the second story to this book. It is an investigation and revelation of someone’s, in fact, it is everybody’s story, as well. A family with and their children, each with their own typical/standard tale, each persons rise and fall,
I think whats nice once they open their doors. One could go in at any door, the whole place is open for all. And they have chairs and tables where everybody can sit. And where everybody can talk, low, though not like in a marketplace.
What’s best is libraries are free. A place where knowledge will always be free. The same things one gets from school are the same things that are in libraries.
Coming from a developing country, I once felt awed with libraries. Books were kept in huge, glass cased cabinets, that meant off limits instead of being readily available to users. They were located in places away from people and communities. They were treated more as relics to be admired and looked at, but never to be touched.
I am glad I am in this place where libraries are here to stay.