WEBVTT 1 00:00:05.400 --> 00:00:08.199 I retired from the forty three bus line last November, 2 00:00:08.679 --> 00:00:11.960 forty two years of working city streets, looping the bayfront, 3 00:00:12.039 --> 00:00:15.359 and working terminals that still smelled faintly of diesel, And 4 00:00:15.519 --> 00:00:18.920 suddenly nobody needed me to keep to a timetable. No 5 00:00:19.000 --> 00:00:22.039 one expected a daily rhythm from me at all. My 6 00:00:22.120 --> 00:00:25.160 wife had passed on a decade before, my children were 7 00:00:25.160 --> 00:00:29.000 grown and scattered, successful in the ambiguous way kids are. Now. 8 00:00:29.600 --> 00:00:32.799 In retirement, I realized I missed schedules more than I 9 00:00:32.840 --> 00:00:36.920 missed the job. With day's loose as unspooled thread, I 10 00:00:37.000 --> 00:00:41.039 devised my own roots. Most afternoons found me meandering toward 11 00:00:41.119 --> 00:00:44.240 the old Harbour, down the graffited alleys and stone cut 12 00:00:44.359 --> 00:00:48.200 sidewalks of the fires Point District, slowly learning how sunlight 13 00:00:48.320 --> 00:00:51.719 hit each corner at different hours, how rain water traced 14 00:00:51.759 --> 00:00:55.079 new cracks in the pavement, how shops changed their window 15 00:00:55.159 --> 00:00:58.960 displays between pay days. On the edge of this circuit, 16 00:00:59.320 --> 00:01:01.840 a narrow e each Hawk Street, running parallel to the 17 00:01:01.840 --> 00:01:05.760 Fish Market, I found the building. Although building always seemed 18 00:01:05.799 --> 00:01:09.040 too grand, the ground floor was hunched under the wheezy 19 00:01:09.079 --> 00:01:13.120 weight of apartments above, bricks weathered and windows perpetually fogged. 20 00:01:13.680 --> 00:01:16.159 The battered green door of the library was little more 21 00:01:16.159 --> 00:01:19.719 than a service entrance, half hidden behind a crooked boxwood 22 00:01:19.799 --> 00:01:22.079 and the bikes of tenants who, by the look of 23 00:01:22.120 --> 00:01:26.120 the locks, didn't expect their property to stay put. There 24 00:01:26.159 --> 00:01:29.000 were two shallow steps, the top, one wearing through at 25 00:01:29.040 --> 00:01:32.079 the center, and a small bronze sign that simply read 26 00:01:32.480 --> 00:01:36.959 public Library, no hours, no logo, Nothing to distinguish it 27 00:01:37.000 --> 00:01:40.280 from a utility closet, except for once you noticed a 28 00:01:40.319 --> 00:01:43.560 single bookcase visible through the glass, the way you might 29 00:01:43.599 --> 00:01:46.319 spot a flash of color in a hedge and realize, 30 00:01:46.560 --> 00:01:51.400 impossibly it's an escapee parrot. I became a regular almost 31 00:01:51.439 --> 00:01:54.640 without noticing. Sometimes I told myself I go in for 32 00:01:54.680 --> 00:01:57.200 a few minutes to get out of the wind. Sometimes 33 00:01:57.200 --> 00:02:00.640 that I was only checking the day's headlines. Behind those 34 00:02:00.680 --> 00:02:04.840 two battered rooms, something coaxed me further. That Thursday I 35 00:02:04.879 --> 00:02:07.680 walked in after my customary loop. The sea had kicked 36 00:02:07.719 --> 00:02:11.280 up a little grit running the gulls inland, and there 37 00:02:11.400 --> 00:02:14.199 by the radiator, where an old heater burbled, was a 38 00:02:14.240 --> 00:02:18.719 shelf I had never seen before, not just new, unsettling 39 00:02:18.759 --> 00:02:22.120 in its density, thin as a breakfast tray built of 40 00:02:22.159 --> 00:02:24.879 birch that seemed paler and sharper than the library's other 41 00:02:24.960 --> 00:02:28.840 mismatched shelving wedged directly into the back corner, so the 42 00:02:28.879 --> 00:02:32.840 wall itself bent delicately to accommodate it. At first I 43 00:02:32.879 --> 00:02:37.159 assumed the librarian, Miss Haskell, had moved things around. But 44 00:02:37.240 --> 00:02:40.039 this shelf extended the room as if it had always 45 00:02:40.039 --> 00:02:43.680 belonged to a space I hadn't noticed. A cluster of 46 00:02:43.680 --> 00:02:47.400 book ends kept the contents upright, though some slouched as 47 00:02:47.400 --> 00:02:51.599 if tired from waiting. The real puzzle was the books themselves. 48 00:02:52.039 --> 00:02:55.080 None of the usual best sellers, no doggyard classics, no 49 00:02:55.199 --> 00:02:58.599 cook books or glossy volumes about whales or regional history. 50 00:02:59.120 --> 00:03:02.479 The titles, in fine embossed print were nothing I recognized. 51 00:03:02.800 --> 00:03:07.719 Mirrored Gardens of Nowhere, theoretical cartography of impossible cities, Reminiscences 52 00:03:07.759 --> 00:03:11.840 of a Living clockmaker. I was certain, absolutely timetables in 53 00:03:11.840 --> 00:03:14.680 my blood, certain that these books hadn't existed here a 54 00:03:14.719 --> 00:03:18.240 week ago. The spine of each was tagged discreetly with 55 00:03:18.319 --> 00:03:22.759 a faded label. Unread. His Haskill was behind her desk, 56 00:03:23.080 --> 00:03:26.599 her hair lately more silver than white. Reading glasses perched 57 00:03:26.599 --> 00:03:29.560 half way down her nose. She entered returns in a ledger. 58 00:03:30.080 --> 00:03:33.840 She hummed something almost jazzy, fingers brushing delicately over the 59 00:03:33.840 --> 00:03:37.080 pages on her desk, and a pot of violets sat 60 00:03:37.120 --> 00:03:40.080 a neat, little pile of new arrivals, each one bearing 61 00:03:40.120 --> 00:03:42.960 the same unread tag. I never saw her with a 62 00:03:43.000 --> 00:03:46.120 cardboard box or a delivery slip. The books just seemed 63 00:03:46.120 --> 00:03:48.719 to appear by her side, like they had grown from 64 00:03:48.719 --> 00:03:52.479 the library itself. I scanned for a title that called 65 00:03:52.520 --> 00:03:57.400 out theoretical cartography of Impossible Cities. Especially felt like the 66 00:03:57.439 --> 00:03:59.919 sort of thing that would have amused my old friend Eli, 67 00:04:00.639 --> 00:04:04.120 a geographer in her working days. Its cover showed a 68 00:04:04.159 --> 00:04:08.080 city mapped in looping, mobious bands, the district swirling in 69 00:04:08.199 --> 00:04:10.879 ways that made my eyes ache and my sense of 70 00:04:10.960 --> 00:04:14.400 direction bristle. I tried to pull it off the shelf, 71 00:04:14.879 --> 00:04:18.000 odd the closer my hand got, the narrower that section 72 00:04:18.079 --> 00:04:20.519 seemed to become. What had looked slim enough for a 73 00:04:20.519 --> 00:04:24.439 paperback became as I leaned in inexplicably tight, a gap 74 00:04:24.480 --> 00:04:27.279 only a child's hand could squeeze into. And even then 75 00:04:27.319 --> 00:04:30.319 the rose receded into shadow. When I tried to grip 76 00:04:30.360 --> 00:04:33.120 the spine. The book itself seemed to lose substance, so 77 00:04:33.199 --> 00:04:36.560 that my finger tips brushed only empty air. It was gone, 78 00:04:36.879 --> 00:04:39.360 and the shelf, thin as ever, was fixed tight to 79 00:04:39.399 --> 00:04:44.439 the wall. I straightened, glanced around, feeling both faintly foolish 80 00:04:44.480 --> 00:04:48.959 and oddly invigorated. Miss Haskell merely looked up, polite and brisk, 81 00:04:49.240 --> 00:04:52.600 as if nothing strange had happened. I adjusted my cap 82 00:04:52.639 --> 00:04:55.839 and wandered outside, the sense of something having shifted in 83 00:04:55.920 --> 00:04:59.800 my afternoon, refusing to settle on my walk home, I 84 00:04:59.839 --> 00:05:02.879 made a mental note next time i'd return to that 85 00:05:03.040 --> 00:05:05.720 new shelf and see if my memory was as faulty 86 00:05:05.759 --> 00:05:09.879 as it seemed. The city in retirement feels both bigger 87 00:05:09.920 --> 00:05:13.279 and smaller. I've lived here for almost fifty years and 88 00:05:13.360 --> 00:05:17.240 thought I knew every short cut, every post war alley. Now, 89 00:05:17.319 --> 00:05:19.959 walking without hurry, I'm aware of how much I missed. 90 00:05:20.360 --> 00:05:24.199 Cracked paving stones worn by generations of feet, the pungent 91 00:05:24.279 --> 00:05:27.519 back draft from Paulo's Market in the late afternoon, the 92 00:05:27.560 --> 00:05:31.000 subtle change in air when sea fog invades after dark. 93 00:05:32.120 --> 00:05:34.560 Most mornings start with coffee and a crossword at the 94 00:05:34.560 --> 00:05:38.680 same little cafe overlooking the wharf. Elina, my closest friend, 95 00:05:38.759 --> 00:05:41.800 now thin as driftwood, as delighted by puzzles as she 96 00:05:41.839 --> 00:05:45.240 ever was by maps, often waves me over. Her own 97 00:05:45.279 --> 00:05:48.600 retirement routine has become as strict as ever. She times 98 00:05:48.600 --> 00:05:51.480 her walks by the rising and falling tide. But if 99 00:05:51.519 --> 00:05:54.319 I catch her in a talkative mood, we reminisce about 100 00:05:54.360 --> 00:05:58.000 bust deetours, city zoning, absurdities, and books we meant to 101 00:05:58.040 --> 00:06:01.720 read but never did. She laughs when I admit that 102 00:06:01.759 --> 00:06:05.399 I am obsessed with useless schedules, still waking up at 103 00:06:05.399 --> 00:06:09.959 the exact minute my old morning shift began. My apartment 104 00:06:10.040 --> 00:06:12.959 is a two room space with a view of the harbor, filled, 105 00:06:13.279 --> 00:06:17.800 perhaps overfilled, with things collected over the years, shelves of 106 00:06:17.839 --> 00:06:20.959 tattered transit maps, a framed black and white of my 107 00:06:21.040 --> 00:06:25.399 first bus on opening day, paperbacks stacked wherever a surface allows. 108 00:06:25.920 --> 00:06:29.000 The only quiet in my daily life now is voluntary, 109 00:06:30.000 --> 00:06:32.839 so the little library became my anchor. Something not so 110 00:06:32.959 --> 00:06:36.319 much discovered as revealed once the daily fog of routine 111 00:06:36.399 --> 00:06:39.519 lifted from the street. It's barely the width of two 112 00:06:39.639 --> 00:06:43.800 parking spots, yet step inside and the space folds oddly 113 00:06:43.839 --> 00:06:47.600 into itself. The front area fits a battered circulation desk 114 00:06:47.839 --> 00:06:51.240 and two low reading tables, but behind a hinged partition 115 00:06:51.519 --> 00:06:55.480 and a short flight of three misaligned steps, the room elongates. 116 00:06:56.439 --> 00:06:59.879 The ceiling, dips in places, rises in others, like an 117 00:06:59.879 --> 00:07:03.959 old mattress bearing the tension of unseen weights. It would 118 00:07:04.000 --> 00:07:07.319 be impossible for the exterior to contain it all unless 119 00:07:07.360 --> 00:07:12.560 the building had a Tardis like talent for elastic geometry. Inside, 120 00:07:12.680 --> 00:07:17.000 the temperature was always agreeable, never stuffy, never drafty. It 121 00:07:17.079 --> 00:07:19.800 smelled of paper, a trace of brine from the sea, 122 00:07:20.120 --> 00:07:22.879 and some elusive note of cardaman or clove that made 123 00:07:22.879 --> 00:07:26.240 me think of lost childhood kitchens. Sunlight found its way 124 00:07:26.240 --> 00:07:30.319 in obliquely, splintered by frosted panes and dust moats. Now 125 00:07:30.360 --> 00:07:34.959 and then echoes rose from upstairs, muffled like distant radiostatic 126 00:07:35.279 --> 00:07:38.879 tenants going about their day. But the library itself always 127 00:07:38.879 --> 00:07:43.160 felt set apart, quiet without ever being somber. It was 128 00:07:43.160 --> 00:07:47.279 Miss Haskell's domain. She had a manner both gentle and firm, 129 00:07:47.480 --> 00:07:51.519 always greeting visitors with the same courteous nod. Her clothes 130 00:07:51.560 --> 00:07:57.079 were neat cardigan sleeves, rolled sturdy skirts, sensible shoes. She 131 00:07:57.199 --> 00:08:00.279 moved between desk and stacks with the exact precise of 132 00:08:00.319 --> 00:08:03.480 someone who has surrendered entirely to the order of her work. 133 00:08:04.519 --> 00:08:07.959 Any attempt at conversation about the collection, where the books 134 00:08:08.000 --> 00:08:11.839 came from, who donated them, whether old favourites could be requested, 135 00:08:12.319 --> 00:08:15.920 was quickly deflected, though never in a way that seemed rude. 136 00:08:16.480 --> 00:08:19.040 The collection is what it is, she once said to 137 00:08:19.079 --> 00:08:22.199 a regular who pressed too hard, and it's always growing 138 00:08:22.360 --> 00:08:26.000 in its own way. Other patrons drifted in and out 139 00:08:26.040 --> 00:08:29.399 through the week. There was mister Borg, a retired priest 140 00:08:29.600 --> 00:08:32.679 who always paused at the biography section but rarely checked 141 00:08:32.679 --> 00:08:35.720 out a book. A college student I thought of as Meyer, 142 00:08:35.840 --> 00:08:39.960 black curls and oversized headphones sat in a corner most evenings, 143 00:08:40.159 --> 00:08:43.559 buried in sketch bads. Missus Obarsi from the Arts Supply 144 00:08:43.720 --> 00:08:47.720 store leafed through visual anthologies as though seeking permission to paint. 145 00:08:48.320 --> 00:08:51.799 Conversation when it happened at all, was low and fleeting. 146 00:08:52.840 --> 00:08:55.840 It was as if we all felt a mutual, unspoken 147 00:08:55.919 --> 00:08:59.320 agreement the library existed not to be used so much 148 00:08:59.360 --> 00:09:03.960 as witness every other branch in the city sprawled with activity, 149 00:09:04.399 --> 00:09:09.120 beeping scanners, children, story times, echoing laughter among the stacks. 150 00:09:09.799 --> 00:09:13.399 A library, by contrast, seemed both open to the public 151 00:09:13.559 --> 00:09:16.799 and delicately walled off from the outside world, as if 152 00:09:16.799 --> 00:09:19.679 it occupied not just a different street, but a side 153 00:09:19.759 --> 00:09:23.519 channel of reality. When I returned two days after my 154 00:09:23.600 --> 00:09:27.159 last visit, determined to satisfy myself about the new shelf 155 00:09:27.159 --> 00:09:30.000 in the back, I paused outside to measure the length 156 00:09:30.039 --> 00:09:34.679 of the building. Three windows, one faulty security light, the 157 00:09:34.720 --> 00:09:38.480 same perimeter. I remembered my own steps had mapped these 158 00:09:38.519 --> 00:09:41.559 walls a hundred times when the forty three ran this 159 00:09:41.639 --> 00:09:46.240 street daily. Inside, though something had shifted. The shelf in 160 00:09:46.279 --> 00:09:48.759 the rear corner now had a second row, stacked at 161 00:09:48.799 --> 00:09:51.919 a slight diagonal. The wall behind cantid, so it formed 162 00:09:51.919 --> 00:09:55.039 a subtle parallelogram with the floor. How could it fit 163 00:09:55.480 --> 00:09:59.039 It shouldn't unless the masonry itself had flexed. I ran 164 00:09:59.120 --> 00:10:03.120 my eyes along, no trace of new joinery, no mark 165 00:10:03.200 --> 00:10:05.679 to suggest a wall had been pried open or dry 166 00:10:05.720 --> 00:10:08.840 walled at night. Yet here it was a corner that 167 00:10:08.919 --> 00:10:13.320 simply hadn't existed last week. Miss Haskell was adjusting a 168 00:10:13.360 --> 00:10:17.080 stack of returns, her reading glasses flashing briefly in a 169 00:10:17.120 --> 00:10:21.320 sunbeam I cleared my throat, hoping to mask my embarrassment 170 00:10:21.360 --> 00:10:24.919 at sounding silly getting a lot of new books in lately. 171 00:10:25.960 --> 00:10:30.039 She glanced up, unhurried, as if she'd been expecting the question. No, 172 00:10:30.360 --> 00:10:34.279 nothing new since I arrived some decades ago. Now. Her 173 00:10:34.320 --> 00:10:38.080 smile revealed no extra information, but her tone was patient, 174 00:10:38.440 --> 00:10:41.639 a teacher fielding a question she'd answered a thousand times. 175 00:10:42.159 --> 00:10:47.200 Sometimes books appear unfamiliar until we're ready for them, I frowned, 176 00:10:47.240 --> 00:10:50.360 glancing down at the shelf. Every book, new and old 177 00:10:50.360 --> 00:10:54.039 alike wore the same tiny, unread mark at the spine. 178 00:10:54.080 --> 00:10:58.399 These weren't battered donations nor treasures from estate sales. Some 179 00:10:58.480 --> 00:11:02.080 were immaculate, as though just printed. Others had foxed pages 180 00:11:02.080 --> 00:11:05.320 and edges, dull with age, but no dust, no sign 181 00:11:05.440 --> 00:11:08.639 they'd been handled. Do you happen to have anything on 182 00:11:08.679 --> 00:11:12.720 the city's old transit systems, I asked, trying a different tack, 183 00:11:13.399 --> 00:11:17.080 a safe topic. I'd shelved every book the library carried 184 00:11:17.120 --> 00:11:20.159 on local history, and I'd certainly never seen a section 185 00:11:20.279 --> 00:11:25.360 on transportation before. To my surprise, Miss Haskell gestured toward 186 00:11:25.399 --> 00:11:27.480 what looked like a new alcove half way down the 187 00:11:27.480 --> 00:11:30.720 far wall. The space seemed to have grown, stretching the 188 00:11:30.799 --> 00:11:33.600 room so that a previously blank expanse now bristled with 189 00:11:33.679 --> 00:11:38.480 unfamiliar spines. The books here were an eccentric mishmash, unlined 190 00:11:38.559 --> 00:11:42.480 maps for night drivers, a gazetteer of stations that never existed, 191 00:11:42.759 --> 00:11:46.360 the hidden itineraries of dreamers. I blinked, sure I was 192 00:11:46.399 --> 00:11:49.720 misremembering the layout. Certain I'd never passed through a door 193 00:11:49.799 --> 00:11:54.080 or archway into this section before. Before I could delve further, 194 00:11:54.440 --> 00:11:57.080 I ran into a leaner at the corner. She was 195 00:11:57.120 --> 00:12:00.279 returning from the bakery, a crusty loaf poking out of 196 00:12:00.279 --> 00:12:05.120 her bag, Cheeks ruddy and smile immediate. Elina, do you 197 00:12:05.159 --> 00:12:08.559 remember the layout of that little library, I asked, as 198 00:12:08.559 --> 00:12:12.240 we crossed the street toward the headland. Feels different every time, 199 00:12:12.360 --> 00:12:16.919 doesn't it. She scrunched her lips, considering it's always been 200 00:12:16.960 --> 00:12:19.879 that weird space that never looks quite the same. Twice 201 00:12:20.360 --> 00:12:22.559 I could swear I was there for story hour with 202 00:12:22.639 --> 00:12:25.960 my daughter. Must be thirty years ago, and I remember 203 00:12:26.000 --> 00:12:29.200 a whole room with a skylight, but last time, not 204 00:12:29.279 --> 00:12:32.480 a hint of it. Maybe they shrink and expand depending 205 00:12:32.519 --> 00:12:36.480 on whose inside. Ah we laughed, but I couldn't shake 206 00:12:36.559 --> 00:12:40.559 the feeling of a contradiction. Spaces that shouldn't fit, books 207 00:12:40.559 --> 00:12:44.200 that couldn't be shelved, a record of the unread proliferating 208 00:12:44.399 --> 00:12:48.679 just out of reach. I found myself increasingly obsessed, not 209 00:12:48.799 --> 00:12:51.559 quite worried, but unable to let go of the puzzle. 210 00:12:52.159 --> 00:12:55.000 The following week, I left my apartment with a tape 211 00:12:55.000 --> 00:12:57.840 measure note book and a battered copy of the city's 212 00:12:57.919 --> 00:13:02.440 nineteen seventy eight planning map tucked under my arm. Outside, 213 00:13:02.639 --> 00:13:06.080 I walked the library's perimeter, marking paces from the curb 214 00:13:06.200 --> 00:13:10.240 and counting windows on paper. The structure should allow for 215 00:13:10.320 --> 00:13:13.919 one rectangle, squeezed tight between lobby and mail room, with 216 00:13:14.039 --> 00:13:17.440 no room none at all for the odd ball corners 217 00:13:17.480 --> 00:13:21.960 and gentle bowing I'd seen inside. Inside, I mapped what 218 00:13:22.000 --> 00:13:25.639 I could every visit, the interior dimensions shifted by a 219 00:13:25.639 --> 00:13:29.039 few inches, an extra half step here, a shelf leaning 220 00:13:29.080 --> 00:13:32.519 at a new angle there, Books migrated or multiplied when 221 00:13:32.519 --> 00:13:35.399 I looked away. I sketched a crude floor plan with 222 00:13:35.440 --> 00:13:38.440 each visit, and compared them in the evenings, seeing now 223 00:13:38.480 --> 00:13:41.399 that the lines never quite matched. When I presented my 224 00:13:41.519 --> 00:13:44.600 pile of wobbly diagrams to Miss Haskell one morning. She 225 00:13:44.720 --> 00:13:48.279 merely laughed. A sound light and dry as old paper. 226 00:13:49.320 --> 00:13:53.080 Every mind makes a different library, she said, cheerfully, taking 227 00:13:53.120 --> 00:13:57.120 my latest sketch and tucking it into her drawer. Don't fret. 228 00:13:57.519 --> 00:14:01.480 Most places change more than we realize. This time I 229 00:14:01.519 --> 00:14:04.279 tried something new. Instead of asking for the books I 230 00:14:04.279 --> 00:14:07.240 thought the library might house, I asked about ones I'd 231 00:14:07.279 --> 00:14:10.759 almost read, novels I'd nearly checked out in high school, 232 00:14:11.039 --> 00:14:14.279 a biography I remembered seeing on my father's bedside table, 233 00:14:14.759 --> 00:14:18.360 a science fiction story my friend was always recommending, but 234 00:14:18.399 --> 00:14:22.480 that I'd never quite started. Each time, the shelves seemed 235 00:14:22.480 --> 00:14:25.399 to part, and the book would sit waiting, its cover 236 00:14:25.480 --> 00:14:29.279 as familiar as the memory of its absence. But none 237 00:14:29.279 --> 00:14:32.240 looked brand new, and none were authored by any one 238 00:14:32.279 --> 00:14:35.720 whose name matched any living writer in the city or beyond. 239 00:14:36.840 --> 00:14:39.519 Near the poetry section, I spotted mister Borg for the 240 00:14:39.559 --> 00:14:42.759 first time in ages. His brow was furrowed in familiar 241 00:14:42.759 --> 00:14:46.000 concentration as he hovered over three hand bound books, the 242 00:14:46.080 --> 00:14:50.120 titles superimposed in gold leaf prayer in the afterbus psalms 243 00:14:50.120 --> 00:14:53.240 for departures and stone doorways. He picked up the last 244 00:14:53.240 --> 00:14:56.480 and turned it over, muttering, that's odd. I never published these, 245 00:14:56.559 --> 00:14:59.879 did I. When I asked gently if he recalled writing them, 246 00:15:00.039 --> 00:15:03.360 he looked up, startled. I don't remember these at all. 247 00:15:03.720 --> 00:15:08.679 Maybe something dreamed odd though I don't remember coming over here. 248 00:15:09.639 --> 00:15:12.720 I nodded to let the moment pass, but something inside 249 00:15:12.759 --> 00:15:17.159 me clicked. Curiosity mounting, I drifted toward the index at 250 00:15:17.159 --> 00:15:20.480 the main desk, one of those old fashioned card catalogs, 251 00:15:20.519 --> 00:15:23.879 housed in honey colored wood. I slid open a drawer 252 00:15:24.120 --> 00:15:27.440 and found hundreds of cards, each neatly typed and stamped 253 00:15:27.480 --> 00:15:31.879 unread in one corner. Glancing through, I noticed several listed 254 00:15:31.919 --> 00:15:36.039 works whose publication dates seemed off the future or suspiciously 255 00:15:36.080 --> 00:15:39.200 close to now, or credited to authors whose names brought 256 00:15:39.279 --> 00:15:43.600 up no search results on my phone. Many described genres 257 00:15:43.639 --> 00:15:49.600 in odd hybrids, memoir correspondents, unknown, address y anthology, fragments 258 00:15:49.639 --> 00:15:53.679 from interrupted projects. On a private dare, I tried to 259 00:15:53.759 --> 00:15:56.600 check out two of the more interesting books, one a 260 00:15:56.639 --> 00:15:59.879 slim volume titled The Undefeated Map, and another called The 261 00:15:59.879 --> 00:16:04.159 Practice of Gentle Regret. The checkout process unfolded as always, 262 00:16:04.440 --> 00:16:08.279 Miss Haskell, rubber stamping my card, smiling the same cryptic smile, 263 00:16:08.440 --> 00:16:11.240 slipping the books into my canvas bag. It was only 264 00:16:11.240 --> 00:16:14.200 when I arrived home, eager to thumb through my fines, 265 00:16:14.399 --> 00:16:18.159 that I discovered the bag was empty, light as sea breeze, 266 00:16:18.200 --> 00:16:21.480 no receipt, no books, no trace they'd existed at all. 267 00:16:22.519 --> 00:16:25.799 Next visit, the unread shelf in the back corner was 268 00:16:26.039 --> 00:16:29.879 entirely different. Where there had been impossible city maps, now 269 00:16:29.879 --> 00:16:32.080 there was a clutch of chap books and a jumble 270 00:16:32.120 --> 00:16:35.799 of musical scores. Julie, the teen who worked at the 271 00:16:35.840 --> 00:16:39.399 nearby ice cream stand, browsed the shelves with the taut 272 00:16:39.480 --> 00:16:43.759 focus of someone keeping a secret. Every time I inquired 273 00:16:43.799 --> 00:16:48.080 about my chosen titles, they were missing, replaced by entirely 274 00:16:48.120 --> 00:16:51.600 different books, none of which matched any catalog in the city, 275 00:16:51.960 --> 00:16:55.360 nor any list I could piece together from visiting patrons. 276 00:16:56.039 --> 00:17:00.000 I depended on Elena and Meyer, quietly compiling our experiences 277 00:17:00.480 --> 00:17:04.559 over lunchtime coffees. We compared notes. Elena said she'd never 278 00:17:04.599 --> 00:17:07.079 spotted any one walking out with a book, though she 279 00:17:07.160 --> 00:17:10.240 sat by the exit for an hour last Sunday pretending 280 00:17:10.279 --> 00:17:14.319 to read the paper. Maya confessed that despite many afternoons 281 00:17:14.359 --> 00:17:17.000 at the back table, she'd never once seen a patron 282 00:17:17.079 --> 00:17:20.160 finish reading a book in those rooms, nor ever mentioned 283 00:17:20.240 --> 00:17:23.599 what she'd read in detail. Maybe there's some rule we 284 00:17:23.640 --> 00:17:27.480 don't know about. My amused like a non circulation policy, 285 00:17:27.680 --> 00:17:32.480 only subtler psychological. Elena half joked that the place was 286 00:17:32.559 --> 00:17:35.960 like a nest for unread intentions. I started to wonder 287 00:17:35.960 --> 00:17:39.519 if the libraries insides adapted to whoever walked in a 288 00:17:39.519 --> 00:17:42.960 different shelf or book or hidden alcove for every patron, 289 00:17:43.319 --> 00:17:47.440 each one reflecting something quietly unwritten in their lives. While 290 00:17:47.480 --> 00:17:51.720 the books weren't exactly illusions, they hovered between possibility and fact, 291 00:17:52.079 --> 00:17:57.119 at once present but untouchable. Still, every person who emerged 292 00:17:57.160 --> 00:17:59.599 into the side street came away with a look of 293 00:17:59.640 --> 00:18:03.559 private its satisfaction, as if they'd glimpsed something precious but 294 00:18:03.640 --> 00:18:08.799 couldn't or wouldn't say what. One afternoon, with the overcast 295 00:18:08.880 --> 00:18:12.240 sky silvering the world, I resolved to break this pattern. 296 00:18:12.920 --> 00:18:15.400 I set aside the compulsion to find or check out 297 00:18:15.400 --> 00:18:18.640 a book and instead determined to read one all the 298 00:18:18.680 --> 00:18:22.759 way through right there. If the library's peculiarities lay in 299 00:18:22.799 --> 00:18:26.279 the act of asterisk borrowing, perhaps simply finishing a book 300 00:18:26.279 --> 00:18:30.240 would shift the equation. I returned to the slender shelf 301 00:18:30.440 --> 00:18:33.119 and selected a novel titled The Last Bus of Morning. 302 00:18:33.680 --> 00:18:37.079 The title tugged at me, promising a story lodged somewhere 303 00:18:37.079 --> 00:18:41.599 between nostalgia and recognition. Its cover, a stylized image of 304 00:18:41.640 --> 00:18:45.519 a city bus silhouetted against dawn, prickled something in my memory. 305 00:18:46.039 --> 00:18:49.559 Gray streets just before shift change, when even the pigeons 306 00:18:49.559 --> 00:18:53.279 seemed sleepy. I chose a table near the heating pipe, 307 00:18:53.559 --> 00:18:56.880 angled the book just so, and began. The prose. At 308 00:18:56.880 --> 00:19:00.400 first felt ordinary, but quickly bled into the skewed contour 309 00:19:00.440 --> 00:19:03.119 of my last work day, the strange silence of the 310 00:19:03.160 --> 00:19:06.960 bus before passengers board, the quick exchange with my supervisor, 311 00:19:07.279 --> 00:19:09.759 even the way sunlight knife through the windshield on my 312 00:19:09.799 --> 00:19:13.480 final run. Details arose in the narrative that no one, 313 00:19:13.839 --> 00:19:19.000 not even Elena, knew, private thoughts and unfinished feelings. There 314 00:19:19.039 --> 00:19:22.119 was the odd sense that the book's words reconfigured as 315 00:19:22.119 --> 00:19:26.359 I read, rewriting sentences just before my eyes, as if 316 00:19:26.400 --> 00:19:29.680 responding to my reactions, never quite letting me reach the 317 00:19:29.839 --> 00:19:32.920 end of a chapter. Even when my eyes returned to 318 00:19:32.960 --> 00:19:37.960 a paragraph, the phrasing felt different each time, determined I 319 00:19:38.039 --> 00:19:41.079 pulled out my note book and began to jot down lines, 320 00:19:41.559 --> 00:19:45.839 memorable phrases, plot twists, quotations I thought would anchor the 321 00:19:45.880 --> 00:19:48.680 story after I left. But as soon as I stepped 322 00:19:48.720 --> 00:19:52.279 outside into the bright, humid light, my notes faded into 323 00:19:52.279 --> 00:19:55.359 the blankness of the page. The ink not erased so 324 00:19:55.480 --> 00:19:59.960 much as evaporated. I returned inside to ask miss Haskell, 325 00:20:00.400 --> 00:20:03.599 quietly desperate, if she had ever succeeded in reading a 326 00:20:03.640 --> 00:20:06.319 book from her own shelves, or if she knew any 327 00:20:06.319 --> 00:20:09.759 one who had managed to recount its story outside the building, 328 00:20:10.759 --> 00:20:13.880 She watched me with an expression of indulgent sympathy, as 329 00:20:13.880 --> 00:20:17.400 one might anew reat hery struggling to adjust to interrupted time. 330 00:20:18.039 --> 00:20:20.920 Perhaps there are books that exist only while they are unread, 331 00:20:21.319 --> 00:20:25.240 or stories that vanish when fully understood, she said, her voice, 332 00:20:25.319 --> 00:20:28.799 equal parts kindness and mischief. The act of reading is 333 00:20:28.839 --> 00:20:32.640 a kind of promise, isn't it language wandering between one 334 00:20:32.680 --> 00:20:37.759 possibility and the next. I stared at her, not frustrated exactly, 335 00:20:38.119 --> 00:20:41.680 but held in a state of perpetual anticipation. Was it 336 00:20:41.720 --> 00:20:45.640 the content that mattered or the looming potential behind it? 337 00:20:45.720 --> 00:20:48.720 Was the library nothing but a monument to the unfulfilled 338 00:20:48.759 --> 00:20:52.799 act of reading, the vital, endless invitation of a book 339 00:20:52.880 --> 00:20:56.759 still waiting to be opened. I raised the question aloud, 340 00:20:57.160 --> 00:21:00.400 asking if perhaps each regular found their own never quite 341 00:21:00.440 --> 00:21:05.319 read collection, unique to their hopes or regrets. Miss Haskell 342 00:21:05.480 --> 00:21:09.519 just smiled, her attention already drifting back to the returns ledger. 343 00:21:10.480 --> 00:21:14.599 It soon became clear that observation alone was insufficient. I 344 00:21:14.680 --> 00:21:19.079 wanted proof, not just quiet speculation. If every reader wandered 345 00:21:19.119 --> 00:21:22.599 their own constellation of unread, maybe a group effort would 346 00:21:22.640 --> 00:21:25.799 test the boundaries of the place. On my next walk, 347 00:21:26.079 --> 00:21:28.519 I invited Elina and Meyer to meet me at the 348 00:21:28.559 --> 00:21:33.799 library at exactly two o'clock. We arrived together, exchanging grins 349 00:21:33.839 --> 00:21:36.759 at the absurdity of our experiment, But almost as soon 350 00:21:36.759 --> 00:21:39.640 as we stepped inside, the three of us drifted apart, 351 00:21:40.039 --> 00:21:42.359 as if the air itself nudged each of us toward 352 00:21:42.400 --> 00:21:46.000 a different shelf or a private orbit. I lost sight 353 00:21:46.039 --> 00:21:48.799 of the others among the carved arches and makeshift nooks, 354 00:21:49.119 --> 00:21:52.480 despite the library being nearly empty save for Miss Haskell 355 00:21:52.799 --> 00:21:57.039 and a solitary pensioner dozing near the window. Half an 356 00:21:57.039 --> 00:22:00.240 hour later, we reunited at the cafe across the Street. 357 00:22:00.000 --> 00:22:04.079 Elena over Tea told us that she'd spent what felt 358 00:22:04.119 --> 00:22:07.319 like hours among memoirs and travelogs from her old country. 359 00:22:07.720 --> 00:22:11.240 Some she remembered searching for years ago, others that alluded 360 00:22:11.240 --> 00:22:14.640 to people she knew only distantly, but written as if 361 00:22:14.680 --> 00:22:18.279 the histories were her own. Meyer described a set of 362 00:22:18.319 --> 00:22:22.720 design books and urban art anthologies whose authors sounded eerily 363 00:22:22.839 --> 00:22:25.880 like the list of monikers. She considered publishing her work, 364 00:22:26.000 --> 00:22:30.920 under blending both unknown and familiar forms, and even referencing 365 00:22:30.960 --> 00:22:35.319 imagined murals that she'd never painted, but once dreamed of creating. 366 00:22:36.400 --> 00:22:38.920 I told them about my visit to the bus alcove, 367 00:22:39.519 --> 00:22:43.440 how the stories there oscillated between fact and phantasy, present 368 00:22:43.519 --> 00:22:47.200 and future, and always ended just before I thought they would. 369 00:22:48.279 --> 00:22:50.640 When I pressed Elena on what the library's shape was 370 00:22:50.680 --> 00:22:55.119 that day, she shrugged, certainty, gone, four rooms, no stairwell, 371 00:22:55.359 --> 00:22:59.000 a stained glass window over the reference desk. Meyer shook 372 00:22:59.000 --> 00:23:01.880 her head. She swa, there was an upstairs loft, a 373 00:23:01.960 --> 00:23:05.519 spiral stair twisting behind the magazine rack, yet neither I 374 00:23:05.599 --> 00:23:09.000 nor a Lena had seen it. Even the windows, we realized, 375 00:23:09.160 --> 00:23:12.799 seemed to relocate according to the visitor. The more we 376 00:23:12.920 --> 00:23:17.519 compared the more our experiences diverged. No two people described 377 00:23:17.559 --> 00:23:21.640 the same collection, or even the same physical arrangement. Our 378 00:23:21.720 --> 00:23:25.759 phones used to jot down notes returned only partial lists. 379 00:23:26.079 --> 00:23:30.240 Some entries appeared as strings of gibberish. Others erased themselves 380 00:23:30.279 --> 00:23:34.839 Overnight that evening, I dared to voice my hunch. Maybe 381 00:23:34.839 --> 00:23:37.640 the library wasn't physically mutable in the way a building is, 382 00:23:38.000 --> 00:23:42.599 but instead was constructed or revealed through each person's unread memory. 383 00:23:43.079 --> 00:23:46.599 Perhaps every book we almost read, every story passed over, 384 00:23:47.000 --> 00:23:49.960 every project unfinished, left a kind of imprint, and the 385 00:23:50.000 --> 00:23:55.599 library organized itself from these latent reservoirs, a communal, inexhaustible collection, 386 00:23:56.039 --> 00:24:01.160 invisible until approached through the prism of personal absence. They nodded, 387 00:24:01.279 --> 00:24:04.839 not dismissively, but with the alert stillness of co conspirators. 388 00:24:05.400 --> 00:24:08.640 Meyer confessed to dreaming of books the night before, one 389 00:24:08.680 --> 00:24:11.279 she wanted to read but had never even seen in 390 00:24:11.359 --> 00:24:15.480 real life. Elina mused that she saw herself young again, 391 00:24:15.880 --> 00:24:18.960 wandering a shelf where half the books had blank spines, 392 00:24:19.279 --> 00:24:24.079 whispering with possibility. We resolved then to test whether any 393 00:24:24.079 --> 00:24:27.079 of the titles we had found match known catalogs. We 394 00:24:27.119 --> 00:24:32.200 scoured city databases online libraries, even the National Archive's digital 395 00:24:32.279 --> 00:24:37.200 card Index. Most hits, especially the ones most personally resonant, 396 00:24:37.640 --> 00:24:42.039 returned nothing, no record, no trace. Some books manifested only 397 00:24:42.079 --> 00:24:46.440 in recollection. Others blended fragments of memory with outright invention. 398 00:24:47.559 --> 00:24:50.000 By the time the sun dipped behind the fish market 399 00:24:50.279 --> 00:24:52.759 and I walked home under the sodium vapor street lights, 400 00:24:53.079 --> 00:24:55.720 I was certain of only one thing. The collection was 401 00:24:55.799 --> 00:24:59.839