The reputation of the American people as a nation of readers evokes
a pleasurable sensation of pride in the patriotic heart. But when we
pause to ask, "What do they read?" that pride is destined to fall.
Newspapers, periodicals, novels, the popular books of the hour--yes,
but how many of the books of all time? It may be doubted if the present
generation, with all its opportunities, reads as many of these as did
its fathers.
Two traits seem forcibly to impress the cultivated foreigner as
characteristic of our men and, to a lesser degree, of our women--a
hard materialism and a lack of interest in the finer things of life.
Is there any relation between this dearth of idealism and the reading
habits of the nation? Ideals are the greatest force in life, and
what a man's ideals are is largely determined by what he reads. The
power of great literature to awaken noble ambitions, to cultivate the
imagination, to impart the ability "to see life steadily and see it
whole" is undisputed. In face of all this, where does the library of
today stand?
It has been pointed out that the modern library movement is of recent
growth. We look with amazement at all that has been accomplished in
the last quarter-century. There seems little to connect the library of
the present with the library of the past. But one link remains--the
book. Sometimes it seems as if that was the one thing we were leaving
out of our thought--the book, not as a material object, paper,
printing, binding, to all of which we pay much attention, but the
book as literature. Is the library, too, becoming materialized? As
the authorized custodians of the wisdom of the past, we stand in an
important and dignified relation to the present. How can we share our
treasures with a public that too often fails to appreciate its need for
them?
First of all--above all mere schemes and devices however good--must
come a real love and enthusiasm for books, and a knowledge of them
among library workers. It is impossible to awaken an interest in other
people in a subject in which you are not interested yourself. There
has been more or less good-natured raillery among librarians over
that time-honored recommendation for one who wishes to enter library
work, that he is "fond of reading." In the long list of qualifications
which, we are told, the library assistant should possess--a list so
comprehensive that one is reminded of the old jest about expecting
all the virtues for four dollars a week--love of books seems to be
ranked very low. It may be questioned if this is not a mistaken policy.
After all, books are the basis of all library work and the attitude of
the workers toward the books, cannot be unimportant. One of the most
scathing indictments ever brought against library assistants was made
when Gerald Stanley Lee accused them of being "book chambermaids."
We like to judge our profession--if I may be allowed that disputed
term--by its leaders; but the public judges us by the people who answer
their questions in our delivery rooms and at our information desks and
in our reference departments. And it is no use trying to evade the
issue, as some libraries do, by requesting people not to ask questions
at the delivery desk. Two-thirds of our public never get any farther
and, even when referred to some other department, show an inexplicable
unwillingness to go there.
A few years ago the following communication appeared in a well-known
paper: "Will you kindly inform me through the columns of the Saturday
Review of Books where I can find the story of 'Gil Blas'? I inquired at
one of the public libraries and the attendant said she had never heard
of it." Incidents like this, and we must in all honesty admit that
they are liable to occur in any library, may be one reason for the too
prevalent impression that the library is merely a place where one can
get a new novel. If we wish to promote the reading of the best books
in our communities, we must have literary taste and a familiarity with
books in the members of our library staffs.
The power of the viva voce, personal opinion is apt to be
underestimated. "It's great," says the little cash-girl in the
department store, and her word settles the matter for the hesitating
purchaser. With the public at large, your recommendation of a book goes
farther than a learned review by a real authority. Here is where our
opportunity lies, not only inside the library, but outside. A librarian
who recently read "Eothen" and found it thoroughly delightful, casually
spoke of it among his friends and, as a result, knows of no less than
seventeen people who read the book and twelve who bought it. This
incident is typical. Why did you choose the last book you read? Even if
you are a librarian and in the habit of looking over endless numbers of
book reviews, it is more than likely it was because someone spoke of it
in a way to arouse your interest.
In our professional capacity we all expect to be called upon for advice
in selecting books, but even outside the library we are probably
alike in finding that people assume we can help them to discover the
"something interesting" for which they are looking. Accordingly, the
advantage of a broad range of literary likings is obvious. The world
of literature is wide and there is something in it for every taste. If
your personal preference happens to be for the moderns, if you enjoy
Ibsen and Shaw and Maeterlinck--don't look askance on that other type
of mind that finds happiness in Scott and Browning and Tennyson. The
mental breadth that can sympathize with a point of view that it does
not share, is nowhere more desirable than in library work.
Much effort is being expended by libraries at the present time in
promoting the reading of their books. It is being more and more
recognized that a smaller number of books more widely read fulfills
the real purpose for which the library exists better than a larger
number standing on the shelves. This is now so much of a commonplace
that we are liable to forget how new the idea is. It was not so long
ago that the annual report pointed with pride to the large proportion
of income spent on books and the small amount on administration. The
whole movement expressed by the term, "publicity," is the growth of a
few years. So far most of our work along this line has been devoted
to promoting the reading of new books and technical works. Gratifying
success has crowned our various schemes. But every library worker
knows that the easiest class of books for which to find readers is new
books. The reasons for this are so apparent that we need not dwell
upon them. To circulate the great books, the classics, the books which
constitute literature in the restricted sense is another and a far more
difficult undertaking, and on this we have hardly made a beginning.
Yet if the library is to stand--and we all believe it should--for the
highest, for true culture and refinement, if it is to be a source of
ideals, as well as ideas, here is a side of our work which must not be
neglected.
We may be inclined at times to underrate the library's ability to
secure the reading of specific books. An experiment tried some years
ago may serve as an object lesson. Van Vorst's "The woman who toils"
and "The souls of black folk," by Du Bois, were selected for this
experiment. Under ordinary conditions the first of these books would
have enjoyed a fair degree of popularity, while the second would
have had a rather small circulation. The library bought a number of
copies of each, sent notices to all the papers, had book-notes in its
bulletin, put up publishers' advertisements on its bulletin-boards,
and (note this last) discussed the books in staff-meeting so that
every assistant was able to talk about them intelligently. The results
surpassed expectations. For months it was impossible to meet the calls
for them, and reserves came in steadily; most remarkable of all, after
eight years the circulation of one is eight and the other three times
above the average. So much for what a library can do in determining
what its constituency shall read.
One reason why the best books are not read is that many people do not
know how readable they are. In the vocabulary of the great public
the word classic is synonymous with dry. It frightens people. How
much the schools are responsible for this through their use of great
literary masterpieces as text-books is a disputed question. If we can
only succeed in making people understand that the reason these works
are classics is because their inherent interest is so great that it
has kept them living and vital through the years that have brought
oblivion to hordes of weaker writings, we shall have accomplished
something truly worth while. But if to many of our patrons the classic
is something to be feared and avoided, there are others who really wish
the best, but either do not know it or are so busy that they neglect
it, taking the book that comes first to hand. Like those daughters of
time--the hypocritic days, books too bring diadems and fagots.
"To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars and sky that holds them all."
How often have we, wearied and hurried, hastily taken a few herbs and
apples, only to feel later the solemn scorn of a wasted opportunity.
There are probably few libraries today, outside the very small ones,
that do not employ book lists, more or less elaborate in form, to call
attention to their resources. These can be used to good advantage to
recommend the purely literary attractions of the library's collection.
But there are book lists and book lists. To some librarians a book list
is a list of books, and nothing more. The newest member of the staff
can take his subject, a pencil and a pad, and look in the card catalog
under the proper heading, and lo! the list is made! And it is worth
just about the amount of work put into it. A successful list requires
far more than this. The books must be carefully selected by some one
who knows them. If there are annotations, they must really annotate.
If your brief note adds nothing that the public wishes to know, it
is wasted. The number of entries, the title, the arrangement, the
paper, and the print, all are important in deciding the popularity of
a list. A distinction needs to be drawn between the list for students
and the list for popular reading. The former may be very full, but
experience tends to show that the latter should be brief--twenty-five
entries at the longest; and many times, ten would be better. Ten
great autobiographies, ten world-famous dramas, ten literary
masterpieces--the very titles hint at that multum in parvo which gives
popularity to collections like Dr. Eliot's five-foot library. To read
five feet of books and find oneself simply but sufficiently armed and
equipped to hold one's own with any university giant, how enticing it
sounds! and how simple. The public dearly loves superlatives--"the
best," "the most famous," "the greatest." If any librarian doubts
the drawing power of these phrases, let him make a trial of them. A
knowledge of psychology may be a great aid in library work.
To be successful, the compiler of a book list should thoughtfully
consider whom he hopes to reach by it and then take measures to see
that it reaches them. Advertise your list, and do not for a moment
think that great literature, because it is great, needs no advertising.
If your local paper will say that the library is distributing a
fine list on the immortal Greek tragedies, far more people will be
interested in that list than if you merely hand it out at your delivery
desk.
The most encouraging thought in regard to the promoting of the reading
of the best books by means of lists is the broad field from which the
books can be selected. The true book-lover in library work often feels
like Tantalus--seeing all the time so much he would like to read and
cannot. And so he turns with avidity to preparing for more fortunate
mortals lists, not only of the things he has read and loved, but of
the things he would love to read. Poetry, drama, essays, biography,
letters, travel--here is a world from which to choose.
Supplementing the lists and adding to their attractiveness are
collections of the books themselves. In large libraries most people
are more or less at sea. Who has not seen them wandering aimless and
bewildered from shelf to shelf, and who has not noted the relief
with which they turn to almost any small selection of books. Many
libraries have kept statistics showing the circulation of books placed
on special shelves, and it is invariably found that it is much higher
than that of the books kept in their regular places. This has passed
the experimental stage. Today we know that we can in this way increase
the use of any books we select. There are just as good books in the
stack, but they will not be read to anything like the same extent. A
library has in its delivery room certain shelves on which appear all
the new books that are bought, regardless of class. The circulation
from these shelves is notably large. After a varying length of time
these books are sent to the regular shelves. Immediately the use of
them decreases. Books that were read almost continuously while they
were on the special shelves only go out occasionally. But take them
back to one of the small miscellaneous collections in the delivery
room and they immediately begin to circulate again. The merchants
learned long ago that people buy what they see, and so in all the
stores a large amount of stock is on the counters for inspection.
Librarians have learned that people also read what they see. In both
cases, however, the methods adopted to secure patrons are influenced by
the natural limitation as to the amount that can profitably be seen.
The experienced clerk does not show the prospective buyer too many
different kinds of cloth, lest he should become confused, be unable
to decide, and refrain from buying. So with the reader. He can select
something satisfactory from a single case of books, when row after row
of them gives him mental vertigo. So do not say to him, "Here is all
Greek literature--choose." But bring together on a table or a shelf a
few books and say, "Here are a dozen of the greatest tragedies in the
Greek language. All of them are worth reading. Take one."
But when you have brought together this little collection and called
attention to it, never think your work is done. After a little while
change it for something else. The wonted soon becomes out-worn.
When the collection is new, it is regarded with interest. Leave it
too long, and people cease to see it. They walk past the shelf with
a subconscious feeling that they know what is there. The thing to
cultivate in them is a delightful uncertainty as to what they will
find, coupled with the expectation that it will be something different
from what they saw last time. Change we must have. Here again we may
take a lesson from the merchant. Time, thought, and money are spent
on preparing a beautiful window display. Does the proprietor settle
back and say, "This is the high-water mark. We cannot arrange a better
window than this; therefore we will make it permanent." Not at all. He
realizes that while at first it will draw crowds, after a bit it will
become an old story. He must offer something fresh. So get together a
collection of the best books; call attention to them; get your public
in the habit of looking for them; but change them frequently. The
infinite variety of literature is such that its presentation need never
become stale.
One method of introducing people to the best literature seems
comparatively little used in this country, though common in England,
and that is the lecture course. It is generally affirmed that the
American people no longer care for lectures. Forms of popular
entertainment wax and wane. The New Englander of the middle nineteenth
century was an enthusiastic attendant of lectures and there can be no
doubt that he owed much in an intellectual way to the habit. Almost all
of the best-known literary and public men of that period either went on
lecturing tours or gave readings from their works. Their influence was
thus greatly extended and an interest awakened in things worth while
to an extent otherwise impossible. The old-fashioned lecture certainly
compares favorably in its results with many methods of entertainment in
vogue today. It is to be feared that the latter, far from stimulating
mental life, are conducive to inertia of thought. It would be an
interesting experiment for the libraries to attempt a series of
lectures on literary lines and see if their old popularity could be
revived.
* * * * *
Another way of calling attention to the best in literature seems wholly
neglected by libraries; and, surprising as it seems, this is through
their bulletins. Nearly all large, and many small, libraries publish a
bulletin, but little has been done to develop this important library
agency. Here is a field that may well be cultivated. Most publications
have to put much money and work into the task of securing readers.
Our clientele is already provided by the patrons of our institutions.
Because the bulletin gives a list of new books, and because many of the
reading public are interested in new books, they read our bulletins.
Why do we not give them something more than a bare list of accessions?
If we wish to make our influence felt in the character of the reading
in our communities, this is our opportunity. The work may be difficult,
but it is certainly worth attempting.
All librarians have viewed with mingled feelings of wonder and
amusement those ingenious literary ladders, by which the unsuspecting
reader is triumphantly led from Mary J. Holmes to Thackeray. During
the library experience extending over a number of years, the present
writer has hopefully watched for an instance of some individual reader
climbing this amazing structure, but she has watched in vain. It is
not my aim to show how the reader of Ella Wheeler Wilcox's poems may
be induced to change to Milton; or how a devoted lover of Gaboriau
may follow a blazed trail that shall lead via Münsterburg's study
of criminal psychology to William James; or by what methods Jack
London's "Call of the wild" might eventually end in Darwin's "Origin of
species." This puzzling task must be left to some more ambitious soul.
But in every community there is a class of people, be it smaller or
larger, to whom an attractive presentation of the stimulating qualities
of real literature would appeal; and if such a presentation was rightly
made, they would respond. Will not some library make trial of this
method? Let it publish in its bulletin a series of brief articles
about the great books, telling what they have meant in the past,
what they mean today; showing them as sources of inspiration and of
consolation; making it clear that any one who has made himself master
of their treasures can never be mentally poor. Then let that library
report the outcome and tell us whether, in its opinion, it paid. The
trouble with too many library experiments is that the experimenters
never seem to follow them up and tabulate their results. The schemes
sound fine, but as to their actual working there is much haziness.
Librarians are notably ready and anxious to learn from one another, and
a plan reported as being tried in one place is likely to be immediately
started in many others. If libraries would carefully investigate the
actual results achieved by their various devices, and report their
failures as well as their successes, much wasted effort might be
avoided.
Another untried scheme that might be suggested is a series of readings.
The wealth of English poetry commends that form of literature as
well suited to this purpose, though of course there is no dearth of
material along many lines from which to choose. The theory of this
method is the same as that of the story-hour for children, and the same
question would present itself--whether the auditor would merely enjoy
the entertainment or whether sufficient interest would be awakened to
induce him to pursue the subject farther. Most libraries have small
lecture rooms, and this plan has the recommendation that it can be
tried at slight expense.
But after everything possible has been said for schemes of one kind and
another, we shall come back in the end to the supreme importance of
personality. No amount of advertising, no number of lists and special
collections can ever take the place of the cultivated and enthusiastic
book-lover in promoting the reading of the best books.
The PRESIDENT: It all pretty nearly amounts to saying that our public
are our friends, our books are our friends, and we wish to help the
friends of the first part to the pleasure of knowing the friends of the
second part.
The next order of business is the report of the Executive board and the
report of the Council, which the secretary will read.
The SECRETARY: There have been two meetings of the Executive board, and
two meetings of the Council, during this conference.