Something like that. What I would like to focus on for this post, though, (and probably for the next few library design posts) are libraries of one person. This post will talk about the private library of the author Alberto Manguel. As a matter of fact, Manguel's book, The Library at Night, one of the books that has been formative to me as a librarian and a bibliophile. In this book, he uses the construction and organization of his own library (of over 30,000 books) as a catalyst to look at libraries in the past, as well as from a more philosophical perspective.
To me, private libraries are fascinating for many reasons. Of course, on the most fundamental level, the choice of books for one's personal library is revelatory about the individual who chose the books for their collection. So then, what is (and is not) there is very much a reflection about what they deem important - or as is so often the case, what they want to seem to be to people that examine the titles in their library. To me, though, much more revelatory is the method by which people choose to classify (or, organize) the items in their library. This is something I have been giving a great deal of thought recently - Denis Diderot had one which is very interesting to me, which you will read about at a later date here on The Dean Files (and, as a matter of fact, Manguel discusses it in his book). From a design perspective, private libraries are fascinating, as they are designed to serve the specific needs of one person (or, perhaps a family). Therefore, its design can be very specifically tailored.
The design and organization of Manguel's library is, as one would suspect, very reflective of his own history and needs as a reader, as well as his own views of the outside world. I think his choice of building - a 15th century barn - to house his library very nicely demonstrates how he sees the books he owns. The items in his collection are the cultural heritage of the past, as well as of the present, and the age of his library building is very much a nod to that cultural heritage. I remember reading that his library does not have a major light source - other than the standard windows. For artificial lighting, he prefers lamps that create "pools of light" rather than a large overhead light source. Of course, this is of less importance to users - after all, he is practically the only patron of his library, so the lighting can be whatever he deems as "best." His collection is actually an amalgamation of many libraries from his past, in many different locations. I love that his collection is the physical embodiment of the many phases and periods in his life. I think any well-tended library is reflective of those who tend it - be it a public, circulating library or not. Sam Duncan, the library director at the Carter actually wrote some about this in this post. As Manguel himself states,
The present one is a sort of multilayered autobiography, each book holding the moment in which I opened it for the first time. The scribbles on the margins, the occasional date on the flyleaf, the faded bus ticket marking a page for a reason today mysterious, all try to remind me of who I was then. For the most part, they fail. My memory is less interested in me than in my books, and I find it easier to remember the story read once than the young man who then read it.
Another area of interest in Manguel's library is his classification scheme. Frankly, a library of 30,000 volumes simply can't exist without some method of classification, so that one can find what one is looking for. His, I think, is particularly reflective of someone who has done a great deal of thinking about his library, as he demonstrates in this quote:
Since my library, unlike a public one, requires no common codes that other readers must understand and share, I’ve organized it simply according to my own requirements and prejudices. A certain zany logic governs its geography. Its major divisions are determined by the language in which the books are written: without distinction of genre, all books written originally in Spanish or French, English or Arabic, come together on the same shelves. (I allow myself, however, many exceptions: Certain subjects — books on the history of the book, biblical studies, versions of the legend of Faust, Renaissance literature and philosophy, gay studies, medieval bestiaries — have separate sections.)
I think I will conclude with another quote and a video of Manguel, one that Jen and I find really interesting, and a policy I think we might institute on our own library. This is, I think, indicative of how much Manguel's books and memory are intertwined, both the stories and the objects, as so many good personal libraries are:
I didn’t give it [a book] to anyone because I wouldn’t give away a book I wasn’t fond of. Nor do I lend books. If I want someone to read a book, I’ll buy a copy and offer it as a gift. I believe that to lend a book is an incitement to theft.
Note: The source for the material in this post is from Alberto Manguel's "The Library at Night," as well as Manguel's article in the New York Times, titled "A 30,000-Volume Window on the World."
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