WEBVTT

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<v Speaker 1>Most Saturday mornings are for sleeping in, But I woke early,

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<v Speaker 1>drawn not by habit or obligation, but by an invitation

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<v Speaker 1>that felt ceremonial. Would I come in to help with

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<v Speaker 1>the annual reference reorganization. The library's sheet metal roof rattled

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<v Speaker 1>with a shifting breeze. When I unlocked the staff door

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<v Speaker 1>at eight, clouds pressed low against the windows. The air

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<v Speaker 1>had a sharp peppery note of autumn. I've been retired

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<v Speaker 1>two years now, and volunteering, especially in the hush before

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<v Speaker 1>opening hour, has become a kind of anchor, a way

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<v Speaker 1>to remain necessary to the pulse and ordering of this

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<v Speaker 1>peculiar civic heart. We started with oversized volumes, fat sandborn

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<v Speaker 1>fire atlases, crumbling city directories, the sort of books you

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<v Speaker 1>move only with both hands. The project was simple, shift

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<v Speaker 1>the ten lowest shelves to give the newer census records

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<v Speaker 1>are home. The young volunteers, half awake and mostly performing

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<v Speaker 1>the labor in exchange for college credit, left me to

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<v Speaker 1>fuss with the genuinely unwieldy cases, battered World War I encyclopedias,

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<v Speaker 1>agricultural census digests, multi volume gazetteers too heavy for a

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<v Speaker 1>single trip. I set to work a lining spines, enjoying

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<v Speaker 1>the precise percussive slide of thick cardboard covers over oak.

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<v Speaker 1>On the bottom row, tucked sideways beside a forgotten water

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<v Speaker 1>cooler was a wedge of books I hadn't touched in years,

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<v Speaker 1>leather tooled with faded golden filigree, deep greens and reds,

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<v Speaker 1>a few with cloth so battered their corners had gone

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<v Speaker 1>silk smooth, old favorites. But as I stacked them, something

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<v Speaker 1>jangled in my sense of order. Where were the dewy

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<v Speaker 1>decimal stickers. I thumbed the spines again, blank everyone, No numbers,

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<v Speaker 1>no white adhesive rectangles, not even faded residue. The library's crest,

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<v Speaker 1>A pair of open hands was stamped on each, but

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<v Speaker 1>otherwise only decorative scrolls. I set them puzzled on to

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<v Speaker 1>the cart and checked the title pages. Still nothing smudged.

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<v Speaker 1>Ownership stamps told a different story property of the Municipal

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<v Speaker 1>Free Library, founded eighteen eighty six, but the only other

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<v Speaker 1>markings were date due slips from before barcoding, their rows

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<v Speaker 1>of digits unevenly punched by rubber stamps decades ago. It's

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<v Speaker 1>not unusual when rechelving to encounter a book missing A label.

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<v Speaker 1>May be it's peeled off or the glue has failed,

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<v Speaker 1>but not the whole cluster. I counted eight, then eleven.

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<v Speaker 1>I flipped to the inside front covers. Some bore penciled notes, dates,

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<v Speaker 1>names barely legible, Yet none had the skeleton key of

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<v Speaker 1>the library's internal world, the call number. By long habit,

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<v Speaker 1>I turned to the public computer terminal and typed in

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<v Speaker 1>a few titles. The Municipal Records, Encyclopedia, the Pictorial Natural History,

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<v Speaker 1>the Great Almanac of the Plains nineteen o three edition.

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<v Speaker 1>All appeared in the online catalog, but beneath call number

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<v Speaker 1>there was nothing. For two. A looping chain of tiny

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<v Speaker 1>non Latin marks appeared instead, three small circles, a triangle,

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<v Speaker 1>a symbol that reminded me of an ampersand stretched through

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<v Speaker 1>a fun house mirror. I checked more titles, got more blanks,

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<v Speaker 1>more oddities. Not a single standard Dewy decimal, nor even

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<v Speaker 1>a shelf location. The books were somewhere, obviously, I had

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<v Speaker 1>them in my hands. They were listed, sighted, even borrowed

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<v Speaker 1>per the record, but fundamentally unanchored, floating outside the grid

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<v Speaker 1>of the library's own logic. Hey you need that cart

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<v Speaker 1>called Desmond, a wiry high school senior, juggling a flyaway

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<v Speaker 1>stack of music catalogs. His face glowed with the distraction

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<v Speaker 1>of headphones under a knit cap. I must have been

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<v Speaker 1>staring a little too long, DEAs when you shelved these,

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<v Speaker 1>did you ever notice nothing weird? I held up a

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<v Speaker 1>brown and green volume. He shrugged, not pausing his playlist.

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<v Speaker 1>We just put em where miss Patel wants. You. Overthink it,

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<v Speaker 1>mister Sorenson, It's just books. He grinned, then hurried away

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<v Speaker 1>with his arms full, thumping the door to the annex

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<v Speaker 1>with his foot. Maybe he was right, Maybe I was

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<v Speaker 1>overthinking it. But as someone who used to take pride

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<v Speaker 1>in inventory audits, I felt a distant irritation, a professional itch,

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<v Speaker 1>the way a wrong note lingers in memory. Long after

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<v Speaker 1>the music stops, I spent another half hour poking through

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<v Speaker 1>the catalog software at the main desk. That they were again,

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<v Speaker 1>the same titles, the same gaps, some filed under their

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<v Speaker 1>actual names, some flagged as special reference, but all unmistakably unnumbered.

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<v Speaker 1>Even the physical card catalog draws the old oak ones

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<v Speaker 1>we preserved for nostalgia. When crosschecked revealed faded index cards,

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<v Speaker 1>filled in with a pale pencil, signed with a series

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<v Speaker 1>of curling initials, or again those same symbols, asked Eliza,

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<v Speaker 1>a college sophomore who was restacking pamphlet boxes. I must

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<v Speaker 1>have looked more irked than I realized. No, well, maybe

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<v Speaker 1>do you know why some books don't have dewy numbers?

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<v Speaker 1>She rolled her eyes, a reflex I'd come to recognize

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<v Speaker 1>as a shield against grown up worries. Miss Patel says,

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<v Speaker 1>their oddities tradition want me to get her? No, not yet,

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<v Speaker 1>I could imagine the smile that would follow, the slightly patronizing,

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<v Speaker 1>slightly fond amusement reserved for volunteers who still cared what

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<v Speaker 1>order the World's Library ought to take. They were humoring me.

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<v Speaker 1>Maybe the whole staff had adapted to a gap I'd

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<v Speaker 1>never noticed in all my years of ordered shelving, But

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<v Speaker 1>my mind, much as I tried, refused to let it go.

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<v Speaker 1>Before opening time, I ducked into the staff room, intent

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<v Speaker 1>on double checking the system from the inside. While the

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<v Speaker 1>others brewed coffee. I stared again at the catalog's green's

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<v Speaker 1>unyielding blanks. For all the meticulously cataloged material in the

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<v Speaker 1>reference hall. Here was a thumprint of something that resisted sorting,

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<v Speaker 1>something I couldn't quite name, but that by the plain

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<v Speaker 1>evidence of its survival, did not care to explain itself.

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<v Speaker 1>The building's hum and chatter began to rise as opening

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<v Speaker 1>hour approached. The volunteers drifted off to unlock the public

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<v Speaker 1>restrooms and ready the circulation desk. I lingered behind. For

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<v Speaker 1>the first time since retirement, I felt not just comfortable,

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<v Speaker 1>but challenged, unsettled, as if the very ground upon which

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<v Speaker 1>the profession of librarianship was built had developed a hairline

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<v Speaker 1>crack running quietly through the library, invisible except to those

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<v Speaker 1>who overthink such things. The files of public catalog cards,

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<v Speaker 1>the great parade of digital fields and codes, the barcodes

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<v Speaker 1>and magnetic strips. These were supposed to be absolute, and

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<v Speaker 1>yet here was a parallel order, enshrined in some invisible compact,

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<v Speaker 1>walking beside us every day, and until now untroubled by

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<v Speaker 1>my curiosity, I stepped out into the main stack room

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<v Speaker 1>and watched as the first patrons entered. I knew in

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<v Speaker 1>that moment how I would be spending my coming days,

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<v Speaker 1>combing every system, testing every assumption, determined to discover why

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<v Speaker 1>this library, proud as it was, of its traditions and order,

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<v Speaker 1>harbored books that had managed to remain against all reason,

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<v Speaker 1>truly and persistently numberless. Miss Patell likes to say the

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<v Speaker 1>library is an ecosystem, a patchwork of the grand and

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<v Speaker 1>the barely functioning, the stately and the improvisational. She's a slight,

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<v Speaker 1>energetic woman, always in motion, always smiling at the oddity

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<v Speaker 1>of any given day. Her desk sits in the sunniest

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<v Speaker 1>corner of the main hall, surrounded by plants that seemed

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<v Speaker 1>to thrive on neglect. I've known her since she was

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<v Speaker 1>an intern. She took over as head librarian the year

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<v Speaker 1>I retired, an arrangement we both found agreeable, though she

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<v Speaker 1>likes to tease me about my shelf based world view.

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<v Speaker 1>People think of this place as a dusty relic, she

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<v Speaker 1>often says, But every square foot is being argued over

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<v Speaker 1>in some one's mind. Did you see the emil from

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<v Speaker 1>city planning? They're asking for more city directories Again. On

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<v Speaker 1>my best days, I believe her, the library is alive

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<v Speaker 1>with quiet argument, a steady stream of small recognitions. There

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<v Speaker 1>are the regulars Immelde Tran, the local historian with an

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<v Speaker 1>enviable recall for family genealogy, who arrives at ten on

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<v Speaker 1>the Dot each Tuesday for her personal research hour. Kurt,

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<v Speaker 1>our technical services lead, who treats the servers with both

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<v Speaker 1>reverence and surrender. Desmond and Eliza, the student volunteers, equal

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<v Speaker 1>parts energy and rolling eyes and endless children under foot,

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<v Speaker 1>swept in by school buses and distracted grandparents. Since retiring,

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<v Speaker 1>I've come to appreciate the rituals that make the place run.

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<v Speaker 1>On Mondays, the book group commandeers the community room to

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<v Speaker 1>debate forgotten Canadian poets. Wednesday afternoons, the Robotics Club floods

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<v Speaker 1>the nineteen seventies annex with humming, blinking machines, and loud celebrations.

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<v Speaker 1>Every Friday, the genealogy group commandeers the microfiche readers, determined

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<v Speaker 1>to untangle ancient marriage licenses. There's a certain pride in

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<v Speaker 1>the maintenance of order. Miss Patel's favorite saying, the library

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<v Speaker 1>records the city's mind and someone must keep track of

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<v Speaker 1>its dreams is more than a motto. It's a guiding rule.

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<v Speaker 1>For Kurt, who triple checks updates to the circulation system,

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<v Speaker 1>and for me, a rita returned supplemental organizer who still

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<v Speaker 1>believes that the precisely catalogued and the properly shelved are

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<v Speaker 1>quietly heroic. The building itself is a contradiction. Great marble

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<v Speaker 1>arches draped in fluorescent lighting, clawfoot study carols in the

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<v Speaker 1>shadow of battered plastic chairs. The old reading room, thirty

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<v Speaker 1>feet tall and plastered with the name of donors from

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<v Speaker 1>a century ago, opens onto the low ceilinged linoleum floored

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<v Speaker 1>annex built for city modernization in the seventies. The computer

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<v Speaker 1>lab glows at all hours. The archives live mostly in basements,

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<v Speaker 1>smelling of aged paper and chilled brick, and the Reference

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<v Speaker 1>Hall remains its own, hushed world. Among the staff. The

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<v Speaker 1>Reference Collection is not just a resource, but a symbol

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<v Speaker 1>of continuity. For many, it is sacred ground. More than

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<v Speaker 1>once I've seen adult patrons, contractors, educators, city council members

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<v Speaker 1>remove their hats when consulting the City Deed's book, as

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<v Speaker 1>if visiting a crypt. The shelves, lined with directories and

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<v Speaker 1>ephemera are the steady march of systems made visible. And yet,

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<v Speaker 1>as miss Patel likes to remind us, every system collects

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<v Speaker 1>a few oddities. She says, it the way some people

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<v Speaker 1>talk about family law, half disbelief, half pride. She'll reference

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<v Speaker 1>the Book of Mysteries or mention the list of Unexplainables

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<v Speaker 1>with a wink. It's both a private joke and a

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<v Speaker 1>signal that within this world of rules, there remains a

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<v Speaker 1>pocket reserved for things that don't fit. I've always been

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<v Speaker 1>a person who loves both tradition and rational order, never

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<v Speaker 1>seeing contradiction between the two. I trust routines, but keep

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<v Speaker 1>an eye for anomaly. What is the point of a tradition,

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<v Speaker 1>after all, if not to provide confidence in systems that

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<v Speaker 1>work and a willingness to adjust when they do. Until now,

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<v Speaker 1>every quirk I've encountered, a misprinted stamp, a half finished barcode,

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<v Speaker 1>a book misshelved by a distracted intern, has always given

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<v Speaker 1>way to an explanation. Even the largest errors became, with

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<v Speaker 1>time and persistence solvable. But the numberless books are a

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<v Speaker 1>different breed. I think I would have remained content to

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<v Speaker 1>accept Miss Petell's narrative of affectionate mystery, but for the

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<v Speaker 1>steady pull of pattern. These books weren't one offs, nor

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<v Speaker 1>were they neglected. They were repeatedly read, referenced, prized, by

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<v Speaker 1>patrons who, judging by the check out slips and worn covers,

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<v Speaker 1>were among our most active users. Every surface detail suggested

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<v Speaker 1>the collection valued order habit ritual. Each day, staff filled

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<v Speaker 1>out request slips for archives, cracked open storage cases for

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<v Speaker 1>rare city minutes, and fielded questions about the provenance of

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<v Speaker 1>objects dating back before the state was founded. The reference

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<v Speaker 1>shelves had survived fire, flood, renovation, and decades of migrating

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<v Speaker 1>shelving codes. Yet here in the heart of this carefully

191
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<v Speaker 1>cultivated order, there hovered a cluster of volumes, invisible to

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<v Speaker 1>the catalog and apparently to the concern of almost every

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<v Speaker 1>one but me. I felt the urge to test the limits,

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<v Speaker 1>to see how far the collective tolerance for exception truly stretched.

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<v Speaker 1>After lunch, when the library quieted for its brief Saturday

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<v Speaker 1>lull I pulled Miss Patel aside, do you know we

197
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<v Speaker 1>have a whole run of reference books that don't have

198
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<v Speaker 1>dewy numbers, not even old ones, just blank. It's not

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<v Speaker 1>just that the labels fell off, there's nothing in the

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<v Speaker 1>database either. She looked up from sorting event fliers, her

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<v Speaker 1>curiosity genuine, which ones I led her to the cart

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<v Speaker 1>laying out the most striking of the volumes, a nineteen

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<v Speaker 1>o three almanac, a pictorial history, two hand compiled encyclopedias,

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<v Speaker 1>and are treaties on the city's canals. She lifted the almanac,

205
00:13:31.840 --> 00:13:35.679
<v Speaker 1>thumbed gently through the brittle corners. These have always been

206
00:13:35.759 --> 00:13:39.919
<v Speaker 1>the exceptions, she said, as if explaining an inherited arrangement.

207
00:13:40.480 --> 00:13:42.679
<v Speaker 1>It's just the way it works. If you try to

208
00:13:42.720 --> 00:13:46.279
<v Speaker 1>assign them a number, it never takes. Even before my time,

209
00:13:46.639 --> 00:13:49.919
<v Speaker 1>old head librarian mister Beard would say, some books don't

210
00:13:50.039 --> 00:13:53.360
<v Speaker 1>like being boxed in. How can a book not like

211
00:13:53.440 --> 00:13:56.720
<v Speaker 1>a number, I said, my frustration masked with a laugh.

212
00:13:56.759 --> 00:14:02.320
<v Speaker 1>I didn't feel. It's not psychological. It's a database, she smiled,

213
00:14:02.480 --> 00:14:06.159
<v Speaker 1>but with the faintest suggestion of caution. That's the universe

214
00:14:06.200 --> 00:14:09.399
<v Speaker 1>for you. Some things simply don't stick. As long as

215
00:14:09.399 --> 00:14:13.200
<v Speaker 1>they're always here when needed. What's the harm. She pressed

216
00:14:13.200 --> 00:14:16.360
<v Speaker 1>a hand to the book's cover, smiled again, and excused

217
00:14:16.360 --> 00:14:19.080
<v Speaker 1>herself to greet a patron at the new fiction display.

218
00:14:19.799 --> 00:14:24.080
<v Speaker 1>The conversation closed, but the irritation, my own, not hers,

219
00:14:24.279 --> 00:14:28.399
<v Speaker 1>did not. That was my first real contradiction in the

220
00:14:28.399 --> 00:14:32.559
<v Speaker 1>staff culture, a place built on rule following and obsessive documentation.

221
00:14:33.000 --> 00:14:37.279
<v Speaker 1>These gaps were tolerated with almost ceremonial indifference. No one

222
00:14:37.279 --> 00:14:40.759
<v Speaker 1>wanted to explain how basic order had failed. No one

223
00:14:40.799 --> 00:14:45.279
<v Speaker 1>seemed concerned. It wasn't an oversight, but a tolerated blind spot,

224
00:14:45.559 --> 00:14:49.960
<v Speaker 1>a nod to tradition that, when interrogated, rolled into silence.

225
00:14:51.000 --> 00:14:54.639
<v Speaker 1>I know myself well enough. Agitation is just curiosity at

226
00:14:54.720 --> 00:14:57.519
<v Speaker 1>higher volume. I had never been good at letting such

227
00:14:57.600 --> 00:15:01.279
<v Speaker 1>things lie. When rules break and no one rushes to

228
00:15:01.320 --> 00:15:05.200
<v Speaker 1>fix them, something more than chance is at work. The

229
00:15:05.240 --> 00:15:08.639
<v Speaker 1>next week day I arrived before the library opened, determined

230
00:15:08.679 --> 00:15:12.440
<v Speaker 1>to set things right. I gathered the unnumbered books, arranged

231
00:15:12.440 --> 00:15:15.159
<v Speaker 1>them alphabetically on a work table, and fired up the

232
00:15:15.200 --> 00:15:18.600
<v Speaker 1>catalog computer. It was the same system we'd used for

233
00:15:18.639 --> 00:15:23.399
<v Speaker 1>a decade, reliable, occasionally cranky, but always tractable in my hands.

234
00:15:23.879 --> 00:15:27.559
<v Speaker 1>I navigated to the technical services screen, located a listing

235
00:15:27.600 --> 00:15:30.600
<v Speaker 1>for the Great Almanac of the Planes nineteen o three,

236
00:15:31.080 --> 00:15:34.440
<v Speaker 1>and clicked into the call number field. I typed three

237
00:15:34.519 --> 00:15:38.639
<v Speaker 1>hundred seventeen point three, its proper Dewy designation. The moment

238
00:15:38.679 --> 00:15:42.039
<v Speaker 1>I pressed enter, the cursor blinked, then stopped. The whole

239
00:15:42.080 --> 00:15:45.240
<v Speaker 1>record froze then bounced back to blank. I checked to

240
00:15:45.240 --> 00:15:48.559
<v Speaker 1>see if changes had taken nothing. I tried a slightly

241
00:15:48.559 --> 00:15:52.440
<v Speaker 1>different system ref. Three hundred seventeen point three p l A.

242
00:15:53.039 --> 00:15:57.559
<v Speaker 1>The field remained empty. I tried again, copying and pasting

243
00:15:57.559 --> 00:16:01.080
<v Speaker 1>the correct sequence. This time, instead of AK, the field

244
00:16:01.159 --> 00:16:04.240
<v Speaker 1>filled with a string of symbols, those same circles and

245
00:16:04.279 --> 00:16:08.200
<v Speaker 1>triangles from the old catalog cards. I deleted, retyped, and

246
00:16:08.240 --> 00:16:12.559
<v Speaker 1>the program crashed. Confounded, I reopened the database. The other

247
00:16:12.639 --> 00:16:16.519
<v Speaker 1>titles responded the same way. Numbers wouldn't hold. The entries

248
00:16:16.559 --> 00:16:19.879
<v Speaker 1>either retracted, glitched, or vanished. It was as though the

249
00:16:19.919 --> 00:16:24.720
<v Speaker 1>system had decided politely but firmly to reject my corrections.

250
00:16:25.080 --> 00:16:29.519
<v Speaker 1>By mid morning, my exasperation had grown. Kurt, the technical

251
00:16:29.559 --> 00:16:34.480
<v Speaker 1>services lead, wandered in to check network traffic. Kurt, would

252
00:16:34.480 --> 00:16:37.639
<v Speaker 1>you mind taking a look? I explained what had happened,

253
00:16:37.879 --> 00:16:42.159
<v Speaker 1>trying to sound more bemused than embarrassed. He sat down,

254
00:16:42.399 --> 00:16:46.080
<v Speaker 1>peered at the screen and tried a few entries himself. Odd,

255
00:16:46.360 --> 00:16:48.639
<v Speaker 1>he said, in the flat tone of someone who's seen

256
00:16:48.720 --> 00:16:52.320
<v Speaker 1>it all. Never had that happen on anything else but these.

257
00:16:52.759 --> 00:16:55.559
<v Speaker 1>It's been like this since before my time. We just

258
00:16:55.639 --> 00:17:01.440
<v Speaker 1>work around it. But it's so basic, I protested, He shrugged,

259
00:17:01.840 --> 00:17:04.440
<v Speaker 1>that's why we keep them on that shelf. Right, if

260
00:17:04.440 --> 00:17:08.160
<v Speaker 1>it's not broke, don't fix it. I suppose this was

261
00:17:08.200 --> 00:17:11.599
<v Speaker 1>the logic of the satisfied. The books were where they belonged,

262
00:17:11.880 --> 00:17:14.799
<v Speaker 1>the patrons who needed them found them, and the system's

263
00:17:14.799 --> 00:17:19.920
<v Speaker 1>failures by habit became invisible. Still, my natural sense of

264
00:17:20.000 --> 00:17:23.319
<v Speaker 1>order sulked at such easy dismissal. I needed to know

265
00:17:23.400 --> 00:17:27.519
<v Speaker 1>what we were tolerating. The wires beneath the city uninspected

266
00:17:27.559 --> 00:17:30.960
<v Speaker 1>too long are the ones most prone to sparking. I

267
00:17:31.039 --> 00:17:35.119
<v Speaker 1>resolved quietly to keep probing. On my way out, I

268
00:17:35.160 --> 00:17:39.599
<v Speaker 1>stopped by the old card catalog draws, dust, yellowing index cards,

269
00:17:39.680 --> 00:17:42.799
<v Speaker 1>a faint smell of floor polish, and time. I searched

270
00:17:42.839 --> 00:17:45.720
<v Speaker 1>for the entries, half expecting to see my own handwriting

271
00:17:45.759 --> 00:17:49.359
<v Speaker 1>from long ago. Instead, each card for the exceptions was

272
00:17:49.400 --> 00:17:52.319
<v Speaker 1>filled in, not with numbers, but with cryptic marks, a

273
00:17:52.400 --> 00:17:56.039
<v Speaker 1>single spiral, a line of looping script, a triangle that

274
00:17:56.119 --> 00:17:59.799
<v Speaker 1>reminded me oddly of a child's drawing. Some were initialed,

275
00:18:00.839 --> 00:18:05.079
<v Speaker 1>none followed any system I recognized. I thumbed through other

276
00:18:05.160 --> 00:18:08.880
<v Speaker 1>cards by the same supposed authors, but they too ran

277
00:18:08.960 --> 00:18:11.799
<v Speaker 1>blank when I tried to cross reference with dewy numbers.

278
00:18:12.279 --> 00:18:14.599
<v Speaker 1>If you only looked at the catalog, you'd think the

279
00:18:14.680 --> 00:18:19.000
<v Speaker 1>records had been corrupted, maybe erased in a migration. But

280
00:18:19.160 --> 00:18:22.000
<v Speaker 1>each was complete in its own way, and the system

281
00:18:22.079 --> 00:18:26.720
<v Speaker 1>allowed them to exist undisturbed. Later, as I shared my

282
00:18:26.880 --> 00:18:30.960
<v Speaker 1>findings with the volunteers over lunch, Desmond rolled his eyes. Again.

283
00:18:31.599 --> 00:18:35.680
<v Speaker 1>They're just weird reference books. Honestly, no one cares about

284
00:18:35.720 --> 00:18:39.200
<v Speaker 1>call numbers, but old librarians. If you need one, you

285
00:18:39.279 --> 00:18:41.839
<v Speaker 1>look on the shelf. It's not like they go missing.

286
00:18:43.000 --> 00:18:46.640
<v Speaker 1>Eliza chimed in. People use M for research all the time,

287
00:18:47.039 --> 00:18:51.880
<v Speaker 1>science fair projects, town history stuff. They work fine, She shrugged,

288
00:18:51.920 --> 00:18:55.519
<v Speaker 1>made a wry face. Probably some old librarians code. We

289
00:18:55.680 --> 00:19:00.000
<v Speaker 1>just never updated. I wanted to argue, wanted to insist

290
00:19:00.119 --> 00:19:05.039
<v Speaker 1>that every system must have rules, every exception a reason. Instead,

291
00:19:05.279 --> 00:19:08.759
<v Speaker 1>I said nothing, letting the thread drop. Unwilling to annoy

292
00:19:08.880 --> 00:19:13.400
<v Speaker 1>my only allies. Still, the contradiction gnawed at me. If

293
00:19:13.440 --> 00:19:17.039
<v Speaker 1>the exception was so invisible, so embedded in the culture

294
00:19:17.079 --> 00:19:20.240
<v Speaker 1>of the library, why did I still feel sure it mattered?

295
00:19:20.799 --> 00:19:25.119
<v Speaker 1>What exactly was every one quietly letting slide pass their attention.

296
00:19:26.240 --> 00:19:28.240
<v Speaker 1>I spent the next week tracking the use of these

297
00:19:28.319 --> 00:19:31.480
<v Speaker 1>unnumbered volumes. If the system refused to treat them like

298
00:19:31.599 --> 00:19:35.119
<v Speaker 1>ordinary books, I would observe how in practice they circulated.

299
00:19:35.640 --> 00:19:39.599
<v Speaker 1>Most reference books, especially the oldest, move little over the

300
00:19:39.640 --> 00:19:42.359
<v Speaker 1>course of a year, their primary existence a matter of

301
00:19:42.400 --> 00:19:46.920
<v Speaker 1>principle more than utility. These, however, appeared constantly in the

302
00:19:46.920 --> 00:19:50.519
<v Speaker 1>reading room, open on the city architect's desk, propped near

303
00:19:50.559 --> 00:19:54.160
<v Speaker 1>the microfilm machine, criss crossed with bookmarks and sticky notes.

304
00:19:55.119 --> 00:19:58.720
<v Speaker 1>I wondered, did anyone else notice their unusual status. I

305
00:19:58.759 --> 00:20:02.440
<v Speaker 1>started casually asking patrons if they had trouble finding these books.

306
00:20:02.960 --> 00:20:06.160
<v Speaker 1>No one mentioned the lack of numbers, city planning staff,

307
00:20:06.359 --> 00:20:10.119
<v Speaker 1>a few students even misses tranned the historian. Everyone simply

308
00:20:10.200 --> 00:20:12.480
<v Speaker 1>knew where to look for the canal treaties or the

309
00:20:12.519 --> 00:20:16.880
<v Speaker 1>pictorial history. More than once people described the books locations

310
00:20:16.920 --> 00:20:19.799
<v Speaker 1>not by number, but by the green one by the window,

311
00:20:20.319 --> 00:20:24.240
<v Speaker 1>or the thick brown encyclopedia on the bottom left. The

312
00:20:24.319 --> 00:20:28.200
<v Speaker 1>circulation logs were equally strange. Every book in our collection

313
00:20:28.279 --> 00:20:32.920
<v Speaker 1>has a digital history, a barcode, patron id dates borrowed

314
00:20:32.960 --> 00:20:36.720
<v Speaker 1>and returned. The unnumbered books, however, were there in the log,

315
00:20:37.119 --> 00:20:40.440
<v Speaker 1>but their fields for call number, barcode, or even due

316
00:20:40.519 --> 00:20:43.599
<v Speaker 1>date were blank, filled instead with a dash or an

317
00:20:43.599 --> 00:20:48.640
<v Speaker 1>odd character inter library loan normally a bureaucrat's paradise of

318
00:20:48.680 --> 00:20:52.880
<v Speaker 1>paperwork was weirder still, requests appeared as item X or

319
00:20:53.000 --> 00:20:56.880
<v Speaker 1>reference unknown, with either blank code fields or a cluster

320
00:20:56.960 --> 00:21:00.839
<v Speaker 1>of nonsensical characters. Staff notes on the inn alone's slips

321
00:21:00.839 --> 00:21:04.839
<v Speaker 1>were vague, please pull from the undividable shelf, or simply

322
00:21:05.119 --> 00:21:09.599
<v Speaker 1>special collection no code. On a hunch, I trawled through

323
00:21:09.680 --> 00:21:13.559
<v Speaker 1>old staff meeting minutes. Any time someone tried to standardize

324
00:21:13.599 --> 00:21:17.240
<v Speaker 1>the record, stretching back decades, there was a moment of confusion,

325
00:21:17.559 --> 00:21:22.240
<v Speaker 1>a flurry of contradictory ideas, then a retreat. Let's revisit

326
00:21:22.279 --> 00:21:25.799
<v Speaker 1>this at another time. The minutes read like a series

327
00:21:25.880 --> 00:21:30.440
<v Speaker 1>of gentle evasions. Turning to the digital catalog's audit log,

328
00:21:30.799 --> 00:21:33.799
<v Speaker 1>I saw that error messages for these titles didn't match

329
00:21:33.839 --> 00:21:38.720
<v Speaker 1>any other category in the system. Unexpected object, exception field,

330
00:21:38.759 --> 00:21:43.119
<v Speaker 1>not writable entry lost at save. Next, I scoured the

331
00:21:43.119 --> 00:21:46.880
<v Speaker 1>acquisition files. For each book acquired in living memory. There

332
00:21:46.920 --> 00:21:50.720
<v Speaker 1>was a paper trail, invice, accession log, donor letter for

333
00:21:50.839 --> 00:21:55.039
<v Speaker 1>these nothing no publisher receipt, no accession date, nothing but

334
00:21:55.119 --> 00:21:57.839
<v Speaker 1>their presence on the shelf, as if they'd always been there.

335
00:21:58.319 --> 00:22:01.559
<v Speaker 1>When I finally tracked down the early logbook, its pages

336
00:22:01.640 --> 00:22:04.839
<v Speaker 1>brittle and water stained from a basement flood twenty years back,

337
00:22:05.119 --> 00:22:09.079
<v Speaker 1>I found an unhelpful entry received as part of undividable

338
00:22:09.119 --> 00:22:14.759
<v Speaker 1>collection see also previous. I flipped backward. The same comment appeared,

339
00:22:15.079 --> 00:22:19.759
<v Speaker 1>each pointing to the entry before. Nothing definitive, just a

340
00:22:19.880 --> 00:22:24.559
<v Speaker 1>chain of circular references spiraling backward through the years. At

341
00:22:24.559 --> 00:22:28.119
<v Speaker 1>the very bottom of the dark green Encyclopedia so called

342
00:22:28.119 --> 00:22:30.839
<v Speaker 1>by every one, although the cover was mostly brown with

343
00:22:30.920 --> 00:22:34.599
<v Speaker 1>green inlays, I found an ancient checkout slip, the old

344
00:22:34.640 --> 00:22:38.839
<v Speaker 1>hand stamped kind under Borrower. Instead of a surname, there

345
00:22:38.920 --> 00:22:41.440
<v Speaker 1>was a sign, not quite a letter, but a looping

346
00:22:41.519 --> 00:22:45.039
<v Speaker 1>triple circle, more art than writing, not a code I

347
00:22:45.119 --> 00:22:48.480
<v Speaker 1>recognized from staff initials, certainly not on the chart of

348
00:22:48.599 --> 00:22:53.400
<v Speaker 1>authorized uses. Some slips had only a dash, others just

349
00:22:53.440 --> 00:22:56.039
<v Speaker 1>the date, or a curly flourish that could have been

350
00:22:56.039 --> 00:23:01.279
<v Speaker 1>a symbol or someone's playful penmanship. This wasn't how reference worked,

351
00:23:01.759 --> 00:23:06.880
<v Speaker 1>call numbers, identifiers, consistency. Even the smallest town library insists

352
00:23:06.920 --> 00:23:10.880
<v Speaker 1>on these Here the old habits had been quietly set aside,

353
00:23:11.160 --> 00:23:14.200
<v Speaker 1>and no one living new or cared to know why.

354
00:23:15.319 --> 00:23:18.119
<v Speaker 1>It was around then that I thought to ask Missus Tran,

355
00:23:18.559 --> 00:23:22.359
<v Speaker 1>whose decades of research and social archiving had made her

356
00:23:22.440 --> 00:23:26.920
<v Speaker 1>the accepted authority on all things historical. She came in

357
00:23:26.960 --> 00:23:30.599
<v Speaker 1>on a blustery Thursday, hat perched at a precarious angle,

358
00:23:30.920 --> 00:23:34.079
<v Speaker 1>sharp as always. I met her between the city map

359
00:23:34.160 --> 00:23:38.759
<v Speaker 1>files and the typed minutes from the nineteen thirties. Missus Tran,

360
00:23:39.079 --> 00:23:41.720
<v Speaker 1>were you ever told why we have books without numbers?

361
00:23:42.160 --> 00:23:45.440
<v Speaker 1>You must have used them for years? She was quiet

362
00:23:45.480 --> 00:23:48.079
<v Speaker 1>a moment, as if searching her memory, not for fact,

363
00:23:48.160 --> 00:23:51.200
<v Speaker 1>but for its shape. They've always been there, now, the

364
00:23:51.279 --> 00:23:54.400
<v Speaker 1>lucky books. Every library's got a few, but hours more

365
00:23:54.440 --> 00:23:57.119
<v Speaker 1>than most. Back in the seventies we called the maur

366
00:23:57.279 --> 00:24:00.480
<v Speaker 1>Serendipity's shelf. I got out of a decade it's long

367
00:24:00.519 --> 00:24:04.319
<v Speaker 1>family riddle with one of those once or her eyes twinkled.

368
00:24:04.640 --> 00:24:08.279
<v Speaker 1>Maybe it was just luck. She went on. A math

369
00:24:08.359 --> 00:24:10.960
<v Speaker 1>teacher told me she found her curriculum breakthrough in the

370
00:24:11.000 --> 00:24:14.359
<v Speaker 1>old Almanac. An artist I know now showing at the

371
00:24:14.359 --> 00:24:18.119
<v Speaker 1>State Museum swears by the green book with gold lines.

372
00:24:18.880 --> 00:24:22.279
<v Speaker 1>Funny thing, though every time someone describes it it's a

373
00:24:22.279 --> 00:24:25.680
<v Speaker 1>different shade of green, or the lines are brass or copper.

374
00:24:26.279 --> 00:24:30.039
<v Speaker 1>Maybe the mind chooses what it wishes to recall. I

375
00:24:30.079 --> 00:24:34.160
<v Speaker 1>was both intrigued and unsettled. These weren't urban legends. They

376
00:24:34.160 --> 00:24:37.920
<v Speaker 1>were footnotes to actual achievement, concrete effects streaming from the

377
00:24:38.000 --> 00:24:42.119
<v Speaker 1>unnumbered shelf. Every account highlighted a solution, a tear in

378
00:24:42.160 --> 00:24:45.200
<v Speaker 1>the ordinary fabric of confusion, sewn up by the same

379
00:24:45.279 --> 00:24:49.279
<v Speaker 1>small cluster of volumes. And yet ask anyone to specify

380
00:24:49.319 --> 00:24:52.640
<v Speaker 1>the shelf, the number, even a consistent title, and you

381
00:24:52.720 --> 00:24:57.759
<v Speaker 1>get confusion, contradiction, and a kind of bemused resignation. The

382
00:24:57.839 --> 00:25:01.079
<v Speaker 1>more I scanned, the more the library's seemed to turn

383
00:25:01.079 --> 00:25:04.680
<v Speaker 1>in on themselves. References in old city newsletters to the

384
00:25:04.680 --> 00:25:08.200
<v Speaker 1>book you can only find once, mentions in local history

385
00:25:08.240 --> 00:25:13.640
<v Speaker 1>pamphlets see also undividable Shelf. On two occasions I found

386
00:25:13.680 --> 00:25:17.279
<v Speaker 1>citations in scholarly works attributed to nothing but a string

387
00:25:17.319 --> 00:25:21.799
<v Speaker 1>of symbols or an indecipherable mark. All the evidence led

388
00:25:21.799 --> 00:25:25.279
<v Speaker 1>to the same contradiction. The books were central to research,

389
00:25:25.640 --> 00:25:29.799
<v Speaker 1>civic memory, and stories of unexpected insight, Yet not a

390
00:25:29.880 --> 00:25:33.839
<v Speaker 1>single element of their identity could be fixed. No barcode,

391
00:25:33.960 --> 00:25:38.440
<v Speaker 1>no number, not even a chain of verifiable provenance. In

392
00:25:38.480 --> 00:25:41.440
<v Speaker 1>a small, chilly archive office at the back of the library,

393
00:25:41.759 --> 00:25:45.559
<v Speaker 1>I sat late one afternoon, combing through dusty staff newsletters

394
00:25:45.759 --> 00:25:49.400
<v Speaker 1>and faded photo boards. The more I looked, the less

395
00:25:49.440 --> 00:25:53.279
<v Speaker 1>sense it made. Every piece of evidence confirmed the importance

396
00:25:53.319 --> 00:25:57.160
<v Speaker 1>of these books, yet every system designed to acknowledge importance

397
00:25:57.240 --> 00:26:01.480
<v Speaker 1>either could not or would not record their place. It

398
00:26:01.559 --> 00:26:04.200
<v Speaker 1>was almost as if the reference shelf was built around

399
00:26:04.240 --> 00:26:08.519
<v Speaker 1>a deliberate gap, a persistent blind spot, not of negligence

400
00:26:08.759 --> 00:26:12.240
<v Speaker 1>but of intention. The longer I traced their trail through

401
00:26:12.279 --> 00:26:15.680
<v Speaker 1>the record, the less I believed in any simple error.

402
00:26:16.720 --> 00:26:20.680
<v Speaker 1>One evening I confronted Kurt in the maintenance office, hoping

403
00:26:20.759 --> 00:26:24.759
<v Speaker 1>for a more technical perspective. It's just a software bug,

404
00:26:25.039 --> 00:26:29.920
<v Speaker 1>he insisted, Pragmatism warring with curiosity, or maybe old back

405
00:26:29.920 --> 00:26:33.599
<v Speaker 1>and corruption. You know how many times they migrated catalogs

406
00:26:33.599 --> 00:26:36.400
<v Speaker 1>before I took over. This system came with at least

407
00:26:36.400 --> 00:26:41.759
<v Speaker 1>three botched conversions. Sometimes legacy code just won't update. But

408
00:26:41.839 --> 00:26:45.759
<v Speaker 1>the physical catalog cards are marked with odd symbols by hand,

409
00:26:46.160 --> 00:26:51.160
<v Speaker 1>going back sixty years, the correspondence is consistent. If inconsistent,

410
00:26:51.599 --> 00:26:53.799
<v Speaker 1>don't you think someone would have fixed this by now?

411
00:26:54.880 --> 00:26:57.519
<v Speaker 1>He shrugged, but his eyes lingered on the problem a

412
00:26:57.519 --> 00:27:00.920
<v Speaker 1>little longer. People like stories, They like a bit of

413
00:27:00.960 --> 00:27:04.240
<v Speaker 1>the odd. As long as it isn't dangerous, These books work,

414
00:27:04.480 --> 00:27:07.680
<v Speaker 1>People use them, No one complains. If it's a tradition,

415
00:27:08.000 --> 00:27:11.200
<v Speaker 1>or an accident, or even a harmless ghost in the machine,

416
00:27:11.559 --> 00:27:15.440
<v Speaker 1>it's still serving a social function. He offered a one

417
00:27:15.519 --> 00:27:18.559
<v Speaker 1>half smile, as if the question itself matted more than

418
00:27:18.559 --> 00:27:22.759
<v Speaker 1>the answer. For Kurt, perhaps contentment with partial order was

419
00:27:22.799 --> 00:27:26.920
<v Speaker 1>a philosophy, not a failing. But for me, the sense

420
00:27:26.960 --> 00:27:29.920
<v Speaker 1>of order had become a question rather than a comfort.

421
00:27:30.559 --> 00:27:33.839
<v Speaker 1>My old certainty that every exception could be dissolved by

422
00:27:33.880 --> 00:27:38.640
<v Speaker 1>sustained attention was beginning to fray, with the doggedness of

423
00:27:38.680 --> 00:27:42.000
<v Speaker 1>a man unwilling to admit defeat to a riddle. I

424
00:27:42.079 --> 00:27:47.240
<v Speaker 1>continued my investigation as a test. I collected usage patterns

425
00:27:47.240 --> 00:27:49.960
<v Speaker 1>for the books and searched the city wide and national

426
00:27:50.079 --> 00:27:54.319
<v Speaker 1>databases for equivalents. If the Corpus was as idiosyncratic as

427
00:27:54.359 --> 00:27:58.279
<v Speaker 1>the evidence suggested, then surely other libraries would have encountered

428
00:27:58.319 --> 00:28:01.839
<v Speaker 1>similar issues. But aside from faint echoes in a few

429
00:28:01.880 --> 00:28:06.960
<v Speaker 1>adjacent cities, odd shelf reference, no code. I found nothing.

430
00:28:07.960 --> 00:28:11.920
<v Speaker 1>The citations in our own archives, when pressed for further information,

431
00:28:12.359 --> 00:28:15.680
<v Speaker 1>led only to more cryptic marks, or, in one case,

432
00:28:15.960 --> 00:28:18.400
<v Speaker 1>to an out of print article in a journal that

433
00:28:18.480 --> 00:28:23.039
<v Speaker 1>had ceased publication before I was born. The deeper contradiction.

434
00:28:23.599 --> 00:28:26.119
<v Speaker 1>The books were at the heart of both function, the

435
00:28:26.160 --> 00:28:30.079
<v Speaker 1>circulation of knowledge, and myth, the aura of good fortune,

436
00:28:30.519 --> 00:28:34.039
<v Speaker 1>yet entirely invisible to the systems built to record meaning.

437
00:28:35.119 --> 00:28:37.160
<v Speaker 1>I honed in on the check out slips stamped in

438
00:28:37.160 --> 00:28:40.160
<v Speaker 1>the backs of certain volumes, hoping for a thread to pull.

439
00:28:40.759 --> 00:28:44.240
<v Speaker 1>Some bore only slashes or spirals. Others were signed with

440
00:28:44.319 --> 00:28:47.720
<v Speaker 1>initials I didn't recognize. On one slip, a set of

441
00:28:47.759 --> 00:28:51.039
<v Speaker 1>four initials matched neither any staff member nor city resident

442
00:28:51.119 --> 00:28:55.480
<v Speaker 1>in the records. Another slip, half peeled by time, revealed

443
00:28:55.519 --> 00:28:59.279
<v Speaker 1>only a swirl and the single word recorded in faded

444
00:28:59.319 --> 00:29:03.519
<v Speaker 1>red ink. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the trail lead back to the

445
00:29:03.559 --> 00:29:08.400
<v Speaker 1>staff record room. The old lockable filing cabinets, now half empty,

446
00:29:08.680 --> 00:29:12.519
<v Speaker 1>their drawers walked by humidity, still house decades of acquisition,

447
00:29:12.599 --> 00:29:17.279
<v Speaker 1>ledgers and transfers. Slips from other libraries. On inspection every

448
00:29:17.319 --> 00:29:20.160
<v Speaker 1>time I tried to trace a title from the undividable shelf,

449
00:29:20.519 --> 00:29:24.440
<v Speaker 1>the entry turned up missing, partially burned, or scrawled over

450
00:29:24.519 --> 00:29:28.519
<v Speaker 1>in short hand. I couldn't read one bundle of forms

451
00:29:28.519 --> 00:29:32.599
<v Speaker 1>from the nineteen forties had where I expected a standard classification,

452
00:29:32.920 --> 00:29:36.480
<v Speaker 1>only a penciled and a scribbled note see if mister

453
00:29:36.559 --> 00:29:41.240
<v Speaker 1>Wilder Knows. Defeated For the afternoon, I returned to my anchor,

454
00:29:41.680 --> 00:29:45.759
<v Speaker 1>missus Tran. Do you think these unnumbered books are special?

455
00:29:46.039 --> 00:29:51.440
<v Speaker 1>I asked. She grinned special. Every city needs its lucky stories.

456
00:29:51.680 --> 00:29:54.079
<v Speaker 1>We just happened to keep hours on the bottom shelf.

457
00:29:54.559 --> 00:29:57.240
<v Speaker 1>Maybe the library likes a bit of mischief. May be

458
00:29:57.400 --> 00:30:01.039
<v Speaker 1>so do we. I pressed her. But what if it's

459
00:30:01.079 --> 00:30:05.079
<v Speaker 1>not just luck? What if there's something buried here? She

460
00:30:05.200 --> 00:30:09.880
<v Speaker 1>patted my arm, half consoling, half dismissive. Some mysteries are

461
00:30:09.880 --> 00:30:14.119
<v Speaker 1>better for being unsolved. It gives the place flavor. I

462
00:30:14.119 --> 00:30:17.160
<v Speaker 1>couldn't let it drop. The next morning, I dug through

463
00:30:17.200 --> 00:30:21.680
<v Speaker 1>city history pamphlets and clipped news articles. Old stories abounded,

464
00:30:22.079 --> 00:30:26.200
<v Speaker 1>breakthroughs in science fair projects, town ordinances overturned by a

465
00:30:26.279 --> 00:30:30.359
<v Speaker 1>forgotten reference. Artistic careers set a blaze after an encounter

466
00:30:30.519 --> 00:30:34.279
<v Speaker 1>with the green book with the spirals. The details changed,

467
00:30:34.480 --> 00:30:38.880
<v Speaker 1>shifted outright, contradicted themselves when pressed for specifics, but the

468
00:30:39.000 --> 00:30:42.799
<v Speaker 1>essence remained. I followed up with a few of the anecdotes.

469
00:30:43.079 --> 00:30:46.559
<v Speaker 1>The math teacher, Missus Redford, agreed to meet. Oh. I

470
00:30:46.680 --> 00:30:50.240
<v Speaker 1>love that old almanac, she said, smiling over her coffee.

471
00:30:50.640 --> 00:30:54.079
<v Speaker 1>Something about it settles my mind. But I swear every

472
00:30:54.079 --> 00:30:57.079
<v Speaker 1>time I look for a calculation, it's on a different page,

473
00:30:57.119 --> 00:30:59.960
<v Speaker 1>in a slightly different hand. I chalk it up to aid,

474
00:31:00.200 --> 00:31:03.759
<v Speaker 1>you know, I asked if she noticed its lack of

475
00:31:03.839 --> 00:31:08.559
<v Speaker 1>catalog info. She frowned, shook her head, never bothered. I

476
00:31:08.640 --> 00:31:11.720
<v Speaker 1>know where it is, lower shelf, middle, right, next to

477
00:31:11.759 --> 00:31:16.599
<v Speaker 1>the Natural History. That's all I've ever needed. With every inquiry,

478
00:31:16.759 --> 00:31:21.319
<v Speaker 1>the contradictions multiplied. These books were by some unstated agreement,

479
00:31:21.640 --> 00:31:25.119
<v Speaker 1>borrowed by memory and habit, located more by ritual than

480
00:31:25.160 --> 00:31:30.119
<v Speaker 1>by rule. No one complained, no one fixed the gap. Instead,

481
00:31:30.279 --> 00:31:33.640
<v Speaker 1>they celebrated the exceptions, folded them into the mythos of

482
00:31:33.680 --> 00:31:37.480
<v Speaker 1>the building. Each piece of new evidence not only failed

483
00:31:37.480 --> 00:31:41.400
<v Speaker 1>to solve the puzzle, but deepened its weirdness. Their status

484
00:31:41.400 --> 00:31:47.000
<v Speaker 1>as unnumbered, uncataloged, somehow unclassifiable, wasn't the result of error,

485
00:31:47.240 --> 00:31:51.160
<v Speaker 1>but of an inherited tolerance for the unexplainable. The gap

486
00:31:51.279 --> 00:31:55.440
<v Speaker 1>was cared for, even secretly prized by generations who'd learned

487
00:31:55.480 --> 00:31:57.680
<v Speaker 1>to make use of what the system could not hold.

488
00:31:58.759 --> 00:32:01.720
<v Speaker 1>It was then that my understand and shifted. This was

489
00:32:01.759 --> 00:32:04.759
<v Speaker 1>not some minor oversight, the fault of a careless clerk,

490
00:32:05.119 --> 00:32:08.359
<v Speaker 1>or a glitch in migration from index cards to barcodes.

491
00:32:08.920 --> 00:32:11.680
<v Speaker 1>It didn't begin with the digital age, nor even with

492
00:32:11.759 --> 00:32:15.960
<v Speaker 1>the post war expansion or annex build. Somehow, this anomaly

493
00:32:16.000 --> 00:32:20.720
<v Speaker 1>predated every update, appearing consistently across time, even as old

494
00:32:20.799 --> 00:32:24.960
<v Speaker 1>staff retired or moved away. I began to suspect that

495
00:32:25.000 --> 00:32:27.400
<v Speaker 1>if there was an answer, it was buried not in

496
00:32:27.440 --> 00:32:30.799
<v Speaker 1>the digitized record or in the practical custom of borrowing,

497
00:32:31.160 --> 00:32:35.319
<v Speaker 1>but in the institution itself, somewhere hidden in its daily life,

498
00:32:35.640 --> 00:32:39.640
<v Speaker 1>its fragments of policy, its private jokes and half truths.

499
00:32:40.400 --> 00:32:44.440
<v Speaker 1>Was there perhaps a formal rule underpinning the exception, some

500
00:32:44.640 --> 00:32:48.839
<v Speaker 1>lost prohibition or a positive tradition that mandated leaving a

501
00:32:48.880 --> 00:32:53.359
<v Speaker 1>segment of the collection unclassifiable. I started reaching out to

502
00:32:53.440 --> 00:32:58.279
<v Speaker 1>senior volunteers and retired staff for hints. I called up Sarah,

503
00:32:58.480 --> 00:33:01.160
<v Speaker 1>who worked here through the nineteen s sixties and now

504
00:33:01.240 --> 00:33:04.799
<v Speaker 1>spent her morning's cataloging at the local family history library.

505
00:33:05.400 --> 00:33:10.200
<v Speaker 1>I asked directly about the exceptions, Oh the undividible shelf.

506
00:33:10.440 --> 00:33:13.599
<v Speaker 1>Sarah said, with such casual authority that it sounded like

507
00:33:13.640 --> 00:33:16.359
<v Speaker 1>a term of art. We all knew about it, but

508
00:33:16.440 --> 00:33:20.119
<v Speaker 1>it wasn't written down. I suppose people preferred it that way,

509
00:33:20.640 --> 00:33:24.359
<v Speaker 1>something about the spirit of collective ownership. Every one's books,

510
00:33:24.440 --> 00:33:27.839
<v Speaker 1>but no one's in particular. You can't file them because

511
00:33:27.839 --> 00:33:30.359
<v Speaker 1>as soon as you do, they stop being what they are.

512
00:33:31.519 --> 00:33:35.160
<v Speaker 1>I pressed for detail, What do you mean content authors?

513
00:33:35.519 --> 00:33:39.839
<v Speaker 1>Was it a matter of principle or just neglect? Sarah laughed,

514
00:33:40.039 --> 00:33:43.440
<v Speaker 1>but behind it was a hint of preemptive apology. Ask

515
00:33:43.559 --> 00:33:48.119
<v Speaker 1>three old timers, get five explanations my own. Some books

516
00:33:48.119 --> 00:33:52.759
<v Speaker 1>don't belong to systems, They belong to the place itself. Later,

517
00:33:52.920 --> 00:33:55.839
<v Speaker 1>I cornered Miss Patel over lunch. I laid out the

518
00:33:55.920 --> 00:34:01.519
<v Speaker 1>threads failed cataloging, odd staff initials, the changing tradition going

519
00:34:01.559 --> 00:34:06.640
<v Speaker 1>back decades. She listened, genuine curiosity flickering in her expression,

520
00:34:06.920 --> 00:34:09.960
<v Speaker 1>but when she spoke, her tone was softer, more private

521
00:34:10.000 --> 00:34:13.519
<v Speaker 1>than usual. I get it, Daniel, I know this isn't

522
00:34:13.559 --> 00:34:16.239
<v Speaker 1>just a data bug. It's a tradition in the best

523
00:34:16.280 --> 00:34:20.000
<v Speaker 1>and strangest sense. It's like I don't know a boundary

524
00:34:20.039 --> 00:34:23.719
<v Speaker 1>the library drew for itself that no one can quite cross.

525
00:34:24.280 --> 00:34:27.360
<v Speaker 1>I shook my head. But it makes no sense. If

526
00:34:27.360 --> 00:34:29.639
<v Speaker 1>you know about the gap, why not fix it, or

527
00:34:29.679 --> 00:34:33.320
<v Speaker 1>at least try. She cut me off, her smile now

528
00:34:33.360 --> 00:34:36.400
<v Speaker 1>tinged with something had never seen from her before, something

529
00:34:36.440 --> 00:34:40.400
<v Speaker 1>close to warning. Sometimes you just leave things as they are.

530
00:34:41.000 --> 00:34:44.920
<v Speaker 1>These books are every one's but no one's responsibility. That's

531
00:34:44.920 --> 00:34:47.719
<v Speaker 1>how they work here. Best not to fuss too much,

532
00:34:48.119 --> 00:34:51.599
<v Speaker 1>just let them be. I realized this was as much

533
00:34:51.639 --> 00:34:54.599
<v Speaker 1>an answer as she would give, maybe as much as

534
00:34:54.639 --> 00:34:58.920
<v Speaker 1>she knew. A quiet chill threaded through my curiosity, now

535
00:34:59.280 --> 00:35:02.360
<v Speaker 1>not fear, but a growing awareness that I was probing

536
00:35:02.400 --> 00:35:05.400
<v Speaker 1>at the edge of something old. The sense of order

537
00:35:05.440 --> 00:35:08.599
<v Speaker 1>I trusted had collided not with chaos, but with a

538
00:35:08.599 --> 00:35:12.239
<v Speaker 1>tradition so durable none of its living carriers could quite

539
00:35:12.280 --> 00:35:17.119
<v Speaker 1>describe it. Later that afternoon, I headed to the basement archives,

540
00:35:17.400 --> 00:35:20.119
<v Speaker 1>intent on one last combed through the mess of file

541
00:35:20.280 --> 00:35:24.480
<v Speaker 1>drawers and forgotten storage boxes. The old staff room had

542
00:35:24.519 --> 00:35:28.159
<v Speaker 1>served as a repository for every manner of bureaucratic detritus,

543
00:35:28.800 --> 00:35:33.840
<v Speaker 1>unlabeled keys, taped to undersides of drawers, cracked microfilm spools,

544
00:35:34.199 --> 00:35:38.320
<v Speaker 1>mouse nibbled program fliers from the fifties. On a hunch,

545
00:35:38.440 --> 00:35:42.000
<v Speaker 1>I pried open the lowest drawer, where I remembered miscellaneous

546
00:35:42.119 --> 00:35:46.800
<v Speaker 1>secure files once lived the territory of head librarians. The

547
00:35:46.840 --> 00:35:49.639
<v Speaker 1>lock had rusted tight, but taped beneath it was a

548
00:35:49.639 --> 00:35:53.519
<v Speaker 1>bundle of old keys, yellow with age. One fit the

549
00:35:53.559 --> 00:35:57.760
<v Speaker 1>lock if I jiggled it gently inside a trove of

550
00:35:57.800 --> 00:36:01.639
<v Speaker 1>battered envelopes bound by twine, each annotated in a firm

551
00:36:01.800 --> 00:36:07.280
<v Speaker 1>archival hand. The first packet, labeled saw Imerdina Correspondents nineteen

552
00:36:07.320 --> 00:36:10.559
<v Speaker 1>hundred and twenty three nineteen hundred and forty eight, were

553
00:36:10.559 --> 00:36:15.000
<v Speaker 1>stuffed with neatly folded letters, some on library letterhead, others

554
00:36:15.000 --> 00:36:20.280
<v Speaker 1>curiously informal notes, memos lists. I spread a handful on

555
00:36:20.320 --> 00:36:25.039
<v Speaker 1>the desk. The letters began formally discussions of city funding,

556
00:36:25.320 --> 00:36:29.800
<v Speaker 1>acquisition offers, notes on personnel. But soon a pattern emerged.

557
00:36:30.199 --> 00:36:34.079
<v Speaker 1>The undividible collection was referenced again and again, part of

558
00:36:34.159 --> 00:36:37.920
<v Speaker 1>every year's long range planning. What began as a technical

559
00:36:37.960 --> 00:36:41.400
<v Speaker 1>note the undividible shelf to be reshelved in new case.

560
00:36:41.760 --> 00:36:45.880
<v Speaker 1>Please instruct staff not to assign new labels quickly swelled

561
00:36:45.920 --> 00:36:49.880
<v Speaker 1>into something more cryptic. We must discharge our duty to

562
00:36:49.960 --> 00:36:54.199
<v Speaker 1>preserve what isn't easy to enumerate, wrote a former head librarian,

563
00:36:54.840 --> 00:36:58.440
<v Speaker 1>recall what happened to the records in nineteen seventeen. The

564
00:36:58.480 --> 00:37:02.639
<v Speaker 1>system wouldn't hold them, and the errors multiplied until we relented.

565
00:37:03.719 --> 00:37:07.719
<v Speaker 1>Other memos were stranger still. One from nineteen thirty eight

566
00:37:08.000 --> 00:37:13.360
<v Speaker 1>described how assigning dewy numbers resulted in corrupted ledgers vanished entries.

567
00:37:13.559 --> 00:37:17.440
<v Speaker 1>Staff confusion resolved only when the codes were simply erased.

568
00:37:18.199 --> 00:37:22.000
<v Speaker 1>Another letter detailed failed attempts to catalog the set, ending

569
00:37:22.400 --> 00:37:27.760
<v Speaker 1>the entries dissolved as if erased themselves. Tucked between annual reports,

570
00:37:28.000 --> 00:37:30.840
<v Speaker 1>I found a long, chatty missive from a librarian I

571
00:37:30.920 --> 00:37:34.679
<v Speaker 1>half remembered as a legend. She wrote, some years I'm

572
00:37:34.760 --> 00:37:38.119
<v Speaker 1>tempted to start fresh, to bring everything to heal, but

573
00:37:38.199 --> 00:37:41.320
<v Speaker 1>I recall the consensus there must always be a corner

574
00:37:41.400 --> 00:37:45.519
<v Speaker 1>beyond orderly reach, otherwise the spark of the place dims,

575
00:37:45.760 --> 00:37:49.400
<v Speaker 1>and so does the city's luck. There it was plain

576
00:37:49.480 --> 00:37:53.679
<v Speaker 1>as type the collection's nonconformity was not accident or neglect,

577
00:37:54.000 --> 00:37:58.280
<v Speaker 1>but a choice, not policy exactly, more a compact, a

578
00:37:58.400 --> 00:38:03.000
<v Speaker 1>kind of institutional folklore agreed upon by generations of caretakers.

579
00:38:04.000 --> 00:38:07.000
<v Speaker 1>Some of the correspondents verged on the mystical hints that

580
00:38:07.079 --> 00:38:11.800
<v Speaker 1>major moments in city history averted disaster bursts of local innovation.

581
00:38:12.239 --> 00:38:15.920
<v Speaker 1>A run of successful civil engineering followed directly after some

582
00:38:15.960 --> 00:38:19.960
<v Speaker 1>one consulted these very books. Names of influential patrons and

583
00:38:20.000 --> 00:38:24.880
<v Speaker 1>staff recurred, but each time the records splintered into symbols, abbreviations,

584
00:38:24.920 --> 00:38:28.079
<v Speaker 1>and finally silence. If you must try again to make

585
00:38:28.119 --> 00:38:31.280
<v Speaker 1>a record, wrote one, do it only in pencil, and

586
00:38:31.320 --> 00:38:35.360
<v Speaker 1>never on a list. I sat there, heart quietly pounding

587
00:38:35.599 --> 00:38:38.440
<v Speaker 1>as the scale of the thing came into focus. The

588
00:38:38.480 --> 00:38:40.880
<v Speaker 1>shelf was not a stutter in the system, but an

589
00:38:40.920 --> 00:38:46.800
<v Speaker 1>unofficial rite. Attempts at cataloging always failed, sometimes by system error,

590
00:38:46.800 --> 00:38:51.480
<v Speaker 1>other times by unknown consensus, people simply refusing to sign

591
00:38:51.519 --> 00:38:55.559
<v Speaker 1>the forms. Even the city records, replete as they were

592
00:38:55.559 --> 00:39:01.320
<v Speaker 1>with bureaucracy, contained no surviving orders, only allusions in handwritten margins.

593
00:39:01.760 --> 00:39:05.639
<v Speaker 1>No file for these see Sawyer's memo kept off limits

594
00:39:05.639 --> 00:39:09.280
<v Speaker 1>for a reason. Let them be always circled, never closed.

595
00:39:10.360 --> 00:39:13.440
<v Speaker 1>The thought struck me with a force I hadn't anticipated.

596
00:39:13.920 --> 00:39:16.760
<v Speaker 1>I was not merely chasing a glitch, but shadowing the

597
00:39:16.760 --> 00:39:20.079
<v Speaker 1>border of something that had shaped the city's own intellectual

598
00:39:20.119 --> 00:39:24.239
<v Speaker 1>weather for a century or more. I carefully refiled the

599
00:39:24.280 --> 00:39:29.320
<v Speaker 1>documents mind a buzz. I felt disoriented, then quietly exhilarated.

600
00:39:29.760 --> 00:39:33.480
<v Speaker 1>The story was larger, far larger than any simple error

601
00:39:33.559 --> 00:39:38.639
<v Speaker 1>or overlooked eccentricity. The undividable collection was a fixture, woven

602
00:39:38.639 --> 00:39:42.679
<v Speaker 1>into the city's successes, and, by implication, its very capacity

603
00:39:42.719 --> 00:39:47.440
<v Speaker 1>to change. Suddenly, the half mumbled explanations from staff and

604
00:39:47.519 --> 00:39:52.280
<v Speaker 1>volunteers sprang into sharper focus. The tolerance for exception wasn't

605
00:39:52.360 --> 00:39:56.480
<v Speaker 1>laziness or avoidance. It was a principle, obscure but persistent

606
00:39:57.199 --> 00:40:00.719
<v Speaker 1>order and disorder. The catalogued and the unclassified Bible had

607
00:40:00.719 --> 00:40:03.599
<v Speaker 1>been held together here by choice, not for the sake

608
00:40:03.639 --> 00:40:08.039
<v Speaker 1>of chaos, but to preserve something that systems alone cannot guarantee,

609
00:40:08.440 --> 00:40:11.400
<v Speaker 1>whatever spark it is that makes libraries into more than

610
00:40:11.400 --> 00:40:15.320
<v Speaker 1>a filing cabinet of facts. In that moment, my central

611
00:40:15.400 --> 00:40:18.480
<v Speaker 1>question shifted. The real puzzle was not how this state

612
00:40:18.519 --> 00:40:21.400
<v Speaker 1>of exception came to pass, nor how it was maintained.

613
00:40:21.920 --> 00:40:25.760
<v Speaker 1>The facts, while peculiar, were clear. The deeper question, the

614
00:40:25.840 --> 00:40:30.480
<v Speaker 1>truly fascinating turn, was why why preserve this anomaly? What

615
00:40:30.559 --> 00:40:35.039
<v Speaker 1>does its persistence accomplish? Was there a philosophy, perhaps unconscious

616
00:40:35.079 --> 00:40:38.559
<v Speaker 1>but real, embedded deep in the customs the staff refused

617
00:40:38.599 --> 00:40:42.679
<v Speaker 1>to name. Perhaps the rule unspoken and learned through as

618
00:40:42.719 --> 00:40:45.880
<v Speaker 1>mosis was this. Not every piece of knowledge can or

619
00:40:45.880 --> 00:40:49.840
<v Speaker 1>should be folded, stamped, and cataloged. Some must be shared

620
00:40:49.840 --> 00:40:54.519
<v Speaker 1>as air, as rumor, as unrecorded conversation. The undividable books

621
00:40:54.559 --> 00:40:57.559
<v Speaker 1>were every one's, but belonged to no one, not a

622
00:40:57.639 --> 00:41:01.639
<v Speaker 1>single mind or record keeper, but the ever changing collaborative

623
00:41:01.679 --> 00:41:06.159
<v Speaker 1>seeking of the city itself. I closed the file drawer softly.

624
00:41:06.599 --> 00:41:11.000
<v Speaker 1>The echo of letters, memories faded, ink and silent agreements

625
00:41:11.039 --> 00:41:14.920
<v Speaker 1>settling in my chest like a hush. No Longer satisfied

626
00:41:14.960 --> 00:41:18.119
<v Speaker 1>to apply a rational fix and move on, I leaned back,

627
00:41:18.440 --> 00:41:21.800
<v Speaker 1>aware that the nature of my inquiry had shifted, not

628
00:41:21.920 --> 00:41:24.880
<v Speaker 1>a matter of lost order, but of a living compact.

629
00:41:25.440 --> 00:41:28.880
<v Speaker 1>I resolved to discover not merely how the blind spot survived,

630
00:41:29.239 --> 00:41:31.800
<v Speaker 1>but what quiet law had set aside part of our

631
00:41:31.840 --> 00:41:37.280
<v Speaker 1>intellectual life as deliberately and impartially untaggable. I came up

632
00:41:37.320 --> 00:41:40.440
<v Speaker 1>from the archive, blinking against the brighter staff room light,

633
00:41:40.800 --> 00:41:43.320
<v Speaker 1>weighed down by the stack of old memos and the

634
00:41:43.400 --> 00:41:46.840
<v Speaker 1>uncanny hush of such a layered secret. I tucked the

635
00:41:46.840 --> 00:41:49.760
<v Speaker 1>packet under my arm, returned the keys with a slight

636
00:41:49.840 --> 00:41:54.199
<v Speaker 1>tremor of ceremony. My hands felt slightly unsteady, none of

637
00:41:54.239 --> 00:41:56.880
<v Speaker 1>it from fear. It was as if I discovered the

638
00:41:56.920 --> 00:42:00.800
<v Speaker 1>wires behind the city's intellectual lights, humming away for longer

639
00:42:00.800 --> 00:42:03.760
<v Speaker 1>than I had been alive. The air in the staff

640
00:42:03.800 --> 00:42:06.920
<v Speaker 1>corridor felt sharpened, like a gap had opened in some

641
00:42:07.119 --> 00:42:11.079
<v Speaker 1>wall I'd always taken for solid. I put the documents

642
00:42:11.079 --> 00:42:13.719
<v Speaker 1>in a manilla envelope and slipped it into my battered

643
00:42:13.760 --> 00:42:16.760
<v Speaker 1>leather satchel, heart racing more than I wanted to admit.

644
00:42:17.320 --> 00:42:19.880
<v Speaker 1>For a moment, I scanned the familiar lines of the

645
00:42:19.880 --> 00:42:23.599
<v Speaker 1>reference room through new eyes, the patchwork carpet, the long

646
00:42:23.639 --> 00:42:28.000
<v Speaker 1>wooden tables, the shelves illuminated by streaks of gray afternoon sun.

647
00:42:28.519 --> 00:42:32.639
<v Speaker 1>The unnumbered books rested like quietly alert animals, neither hidden

648
00:42:32.679 --> 00:42:36.599
<v Speaker 1>nor displayed, nestled in a space precisely defined by what

649
00:42:36.679 --> 00:42:40.840
<v Speaker 1>it refused. To define what had I found? Actually not

650
00:42:40.920 --> 00:42:44.239
<v Speaker 1>a scandal, not an error, but a fragile arrangement, a

651
00:42:44.320 --> 00:42:48.719
<v Speaker 1>chosen loophole, preserved and handed down by successive stewards. The

652
00:42:48.760 --> 00:42:53.360
<v Speaker 1>word undividable rattled pleasantly in my thoughts. Even now, the

653
00:42:53.400 --> 00:42:56.519
<v Speaker 1>reason for the gap felt ambiguous. Was it a rejection

654
00:42:56.639 --> 00:43:01.400
<v Speaker 1>of bureaucratic hubris, an embrace of collective ownership, an accidental

655
00:43:01.440 --> 00:43:04.800
<v Speaker 1>tradition that became principal simply by lasting long enough to

656
00:43:04.840 --> 00:43:08.679
<v Speaker 1>become sacred. The following week, I did what was now

657
00:43:08.719 --> 00:43:12.119
<v Speaker 1>my routine, assembled a handwritten list of every book on

658
00:43:12.159 --> 00:43:16.400
<v Speaker 1>the undividable shelf, by sight by cover, by ancient reckoning,

659
00:43:16.800 --> 00:43:20.440
<v Speaker 1>and set to investigate them title by title. I didn't

660
00:43:20.440 --> 00:43:24.039
<v Speaker 1>trust the online catalog for this. Instead, I knelt on

661
00:43:24.079 --> 00:43:28.320
<v Speaker 1>the scratchy carpet, stacking books on the desk, transcribing details

662
00:43:28.360 --> 00:43:30.800
<v Speaker 1>into my note book with the tenacity of someone for

663
00:43:30.840 --> 00:43:34.800
<v Speaker 1>whom puzzles had become a calling. The first surprise was

664
00:43:34.840 --> 00:43:39.039
<v Speaker 1>their ordinariness. A guide to river flooding with diagrams copied

665
00:43:39.079 --> 00:43:44.760
<v Speaker 1>out in sometimes trembling, sometimes bold script, A universal encyclopedia

666
00:43:44.760 --> 00:43:47.559
<v Speaker 1>from the nineteen forties that leapt between the rise of

667
00:43:47.599 --> 00:43:51.440
<v Speaker 1>white Clover, the biography of a Forgotten city trader, odd

668
00:43:51.559 --> 00:43:55.960
<v Speaker 1>census charts and tarot card interpretations with equal energy, and

669
00:43:56.000 --> 00:44:00.480
<v Speaker 1>footnotes in at least three different hands. A pictorial history

670
00:44:00.519 --> 00:44:03.559
<v Speaker 1>whose end papers were a sort of scrap book pressed

671
00:44:03.679 --> 00:44:07.599
<v Speaker 1>daisy pedals, a CEPA photo of three girls with bicycles,

672
00:44:07.920 --> 00:44:11.480
<v Speaker 1>A folded list of city council meeting dates from decades ago.

673
00:44:12.480 --> 00:44:15.000
<v Speaker 1>But the more I leafed through, the more I realized

674
00:44:15.039 --> 00:44:19.320
<v Speaker 1>that uniformity, or even coherence, was beside the point. The

675
00:44:19.400 --> 00:44:22.480
<v Speaker 1>only real thread through them was their resistance to system.

676
00:44:22.719 --> 00:44:26.719
<v Speaker 1>They sprawled across topics, skipping discipline. Their pages were thick

677
00:44:26.760 --> 00:44:31.639
<v Speaker 1>with marginalia clippings, tiny notes, round childish handwritings next to

678
00:44:31.679 --> 00:44:36.519
<v Speaker 1>prim librarian script, as if, against all odds, everyone felt

679
00:44:36.559 --> 00:44:40.199
<v Speaker 1>welcome to leave a mark. There was no single content,

680
00:44:40.480 --> 00:44:44.199
<v Speaker 1>no repeated author, no mystical code in their construction. I

681
00:44:44.280 --> 00:44:47.599
<v Speaker 1>tried to check publishers, but some bore no publishing info.

682
00:44:47.800 --> 00:44:52.239
<v Speaker 1>Others simply printed locally. A few had publication years that,

683
00:44:52.440 --> 00:44:56.519
<v Speaker 1>when I checked, corresponded to no records in regional print directories.

684
00:44:57.039 --> 00:44:59.639
<v Speaker 1>I tried searching for these books in the databases of

685
00:44:59.639 --> 00:45:03.519
<v Speaker 1>nearb by libraries. Nothing. They didn't appear in the WorldCat

686
00:45:03.599 --> 00:45:07.840
<v Speaker 1>system or in any regional index, and yet here they

687
00:45:07.880 --> 00:45:12.320
<v Speaker 1>were alive in our stack. Consulted daily, I built a

688
00:45:12.360 --> 00:45:16.679
<v Speaker 1>spreadsheet Old Habits that mapped each volume, descriptions, any marks

689
00:45:16.679 --> 00:45:19.960
<v Speaker 1>of provenance. The odd coded stamps or check out slips.

690
00:45:20.559 --> 00:45:23.039
<v Speaker 1>Patterns began to emerge, but not of the sort the

691
00:45:23.079 --> 00:45:26.719
<v Speaker 1>Dewey or LC system could codify. Many volumes were not

692
00:45:26.840 --> 00:45:31.199
<v Speaker 1>first editions, not especially rare or valuable. Their worth was

693
00:45:31.239 --> 00:45:35.079
<v Speaker 1>in their use, the finger prints literal and figurative of time.

694
00:45:36.159 --> 00:45:38.960
<v Speaker 1>When I asked if anyone remembered where a particular odd

695
00:45:39.000 --> 00:45:43.159
<v Speaker 1>book came from, the responses were always incomplete. I think

696
00:45:43.199 --> 00:45:46.440
<v Speaker 1>that was donated, or maybe found in a council closet,

697
00:45:47.199 --> 00:45:50.280
<v Speaker 1>or it's always been on that shelf, hasn't it. The

698
00:45:50.280 --> 00:45:52.760
<v Speaker 1>more I pressed, the more it became clear that their

699
00:45:52.800 --> 00:45:57.880
<v Speaker 1>existence had forever floated, just outside of record tracking. Their

700
00:45:57.960 --> 00:46:02.159
<v Speaker 1>use was equally odd books, even though seldom borrowed, show

701
00:46:02.239 --> 00:46:05.880
<v Speaker 1>signs of being in or out, request slips, check out histories,

702
00:46:05.920 --> 00:46:10.039
<v Speaker 1>worn barcodes. These instead had a different circulation. They seemed

703
00:46:10.039 --> 00:46:13.320
<v Speaker 1>to migrate according to need, appearing at reading tables long

704
00:46:13.400 --> 00:46:16.800
<v Speaker 1>before they were formerly requested, left open and reshelved by

705
00:46:16.880 --> 00:46:20.199
<v Speaker 1>unseen hands. One day, the city auditor would sit with

706
00:46:20.239 --> 00:46:23.280
<v Speaker 1>a book of municipal boundaries. Next day it would be

707
00:46:23.280 --> 00:46:28.400
<v Speaker 1>spread beside school kids studying state birds. The term reference

708
00:46:28.599 --> 00:46:31.840
<v Speaker 1>seemed truer than ever, not as a category, but as

709
00:46:31.880 --> 00:46:36.159
<v Speaker 1>a way station, a resource, always available, always re enterable,

710
00:46:36.440 --> 00:46:40.960
<v Speaker 1>without a protocol for removal. I tried more systematically, this

711
00:46:41.079 --> 00:46:44.920
<v Speaker 1>time to locate any duplicate copies for sale online give

712
00:46:44.920 --> 00:46:47.360
<v Speaker 1>an age alone. Some should have shown up in used

713
00:46:47.360 --> 00:46:51.840
<v Speaker 1>book listings or institutional sales. I found none. The closest

714
00:46:51.840 --> 00:46:55.400
<v Speaker 1>matches had different titles, different contents, or a matching cover,

715
00:46:55.679 --> 00:46:59.519
<v Speaker 1>but a wholly unrelated book inside. Once I thought I'd

716
00:46:59.519 --> 00:47:03.360
<v Speaker 1>found a man a nineteen twelve gazetteer of local commerce,

717
00:47:03.760 --> 00:47:07.159
<v Speaker 1>but opening the listing led only to a blank page.

718
00:47:07.400 --> 00:47:10.400
<v Speaker 1>I tried to request it through interlibrary loan at a

719
00:47:10.440 --> 00:47:15.199
<v Speaker 1>regional academic library, only to be told no such holding.

720
00:47:16.239 --> 00:47:20.199
<v Speaker 1>In our city newsletters, library book clubs, and society columns

721
00:47:20.239 --> 00:47:23.320
<v Speaker 1>casually referenced these books. I found the answer in the

722
00:47:23.320 --> 00:47:26.840
<v Speaker 1>blue encyclopedia. The green pictorial gave me the clue I

723
00:47:26.880 --> 00:47:30.239
<v Speaker 1>needed for my father's family book group logs were full

724
00:47:30.280 --> 00:47:34.360
<v Speaker 1>of references, but always with a curious elasticity. The green

725
00:47:34.440 --> 00:47:37.320
<v Speaker 1>book for one reader was the thick brown one for another.

726
00:47:37.679 --> 00:47:41.760
<v Speaker 1>The canal history changed author and scope depending on the speaker.

727
00:47:42.800 --> 00:47:45.880
<v Speaker 1>I reached out to an old friend, a former staffer,

728
00:47:46.159 --> 00:47:49.320
<v Speaker 1>now working as an archivist at the City Museum. Have

729
00:47:49.400 --> 00:47:53.320
<v Speaker 1>you ever seen anything like this? I asked, describing the books,

730
00:47:53.519 --> 00:48:00.000
<v Speaker 1>their catalog resistance, the fingerprints of multiple generations scrawling the margins.

731
00:48:00.000 --> 00:48:03.679
<v Speaker 1>It was quiet, musing, we have something similar. Maps in

732
00:48:03.719 --> 00:48:08.280
<v Speaker 1>the archives, no official atlas, matches, no known cartographer, but

733
00:48:08.360 --> 00:48:12.239
<v Speaker 1>they turn up in city plans, cited as authorities. It's

734
00:48:12.280 --> 00:48:14.960
<v Speaker 1>as if there's a current just under the record. I've

735
00:48:15.000 --> 00:48:18.679
<v Speaker 1>heard old timers call them the reference shadows, documents that

736
00:48:18.760 --> 00:48:21.840
<v Speaker 1>never quite settle into the system, but never vanish either.

737
00:48:22.960 --> 00:48:26.800
<v Speaker 1>I let that phrase echo reference shadows. There was a

738
00:48:26.800 --> 00:48:29.920
<v Speaker 1>comfort in the idea that our library wasn't alone, but

739
00:48:30.079 --> 00:48:33.559
<v Speaker 1>was part of an invisible network of shared anomalies, a

740
00:48:33.639 --> 00:48:38.559
<v Speaker 1>fellowship of the uncatalogable. As weeks passed, my affection for

741
00:48:38.599 --> 00:48:42.440
<v Speaker 1>the shelf turned from irritation to a gentler fascination. But

742
00:48:42.519 --> 00:48:45.639
<v Speaker 1>I wanted to know how the city itself remembered the anomaly,

743
00:48:45.960 --> 00:48:48.800
<v Speaker 1>if at all. So I went to the best sources,

744
00:48:49.199 --> 00:48:55.360
<v Speaker 1>old patrons, lifelong residents, retired librarians. I started with missus

745
00:48:55.400 --> 00:48:59.320
<v Speaker 1>Trans's genealogy group over pot of weak tea, inviting them

746
00:48:59.360 --> 00:49:02.639
<v Speaker 1>to share memory of the collection. The answers surprised me

747
00:49:02.719 --> 00:49:06.159
<v Speaker 1>for their variety. One remembered a rainy Saturday when she

748
00:49:06.159 --> 00:49:10.360
<v Speaker 1>had solved a family mystery after a strange encyclopedia landed

749
00:49:10.400 --> 00:49:14.320
<v Speaker 1>in my lap. Another recalled borrowing a slim volume about

750
00:49:14.440 --> 00:49:17.719
<v Speaker 1>census techniques, though I never did find that book again,

751
00:49:18.039 --> 00:49:22.239
<v Speaker 1>except when I truly needed it. Someone mentioned a scientist

752
00:49:22.440 --> 00:49:25.760
<v Speaker 1>who won a state grant after piecing together flood data

753
00:49:25.800 --> 00:49:30.239
<v Speaker 1>from the shelf. Another a community theater director who found

754
00:49:30.400 --> 00:49:33.599
<v Speaker 1>just the right inspiration from an old history with no

755
00:49:33.840 --> 00:49:38.800
<v Speaker 1>spine label. What was curious was consensus in disagreement. The

756
00:49:38.880 --> 00:49:42.840
<v Speaker 1>details of each encounter shifted, the book's titles or colors

757
00:49:42.960 --> 00:49:46.440
<v Speaker 1>changed from teller to teller, but the corps remained a

758
00:49:46.519 --> 00:49:51.639
<v Speaker 1>sense that these volumes opened just enough away forward. Later

759
00:49:51.800 --> 00:49:56.119
<v Speaker 1>I tracked down Margaret, a retired children's librarian now in

760
00:49:56.119 --> 00:49:59.960
<v Speaker 1>her eighties, whose memory for institutional logic was nearly unmis

761
00:50:01.280 --> 00:50:03.440
<v Speaker 1>Why do you think these books have gone so long

762
00:50:03.519 --> 00:50:08.159
<v Speaker 1>without being numbered? I asked. She regarded me thoughtfully, her

763
00:50:08.239 --> 00:50:12.440
<v Speaker 1>voice raspy. But warm systems want to close every gap, Daniel.

764
00:50:12.760 --> 00:50:16.320
<v Speaker 1>But gaps are where the mind breathes. Those books. Maybe

765
00:50:16.360 --> 00:50:19.039
<v Speaker 1>they're there to ensure the library never becomes a box

766
00:50:19.079 --> 00:50:24.719
<v Speaker 1>with a locked lid. Their play improvisation, uncornered possibility. That's

767
00:50:24.760 --> 00:50:27.440
<v Speaker 1>how young readers find their way to wonder, and old

768
00:50:27.480 --> 00:50:32.159
<v Speaker 1>researchers to surprise. She paused, then wagged a finger at me.

769
00:50:32.679 --> 00:50:35.519
<v Speaker 1>If you ever succeed in pinning them down, make sure

770
00:50:35.519 --> 00:50:38.880
<v Speaker 1>you don't kill what makes them valuable. Sometimes you keep

771
00:50:38.920 --> 00:50:42.159
<v Speaker 1>an exception, not because it makes the world tidy, but

772
00:50:42.239 --> 00:50:46.320
<v Speaker 1>because it keeps it alive. That measure of wisdom hummed

773
00:50:46.320 --> 00:50:49.840
<v Speaker 1>in me. As I returned to my investigation, little by little,

774
00:50:50.079 --> 00:50:53.159
<v Speaker 1>a much broader pattern began to take shape. Through some

775
00:50:53.280 --> 00:50:56.800
<v Speaker 1>old correspondence, I found a letter from the nineteen seventies,

776
00:50:57.199 --> 00:51:01.519
<v Speaker 1>a gentleman's agreement. It described between city libraries to leave

777
00:51:01.599 --> 00:51:05.559
<v Speaker 1>part of the shelf reserved for collective improvisation. It wasn't

778
00:51:05.559 --> 00:51:09.920
<v Speaker 1>a policy exactly. There was no file, no signed contract.

779
00:51:10.920 --> 00:51:14.440
<v Speaker 1>It was a pact, unwritten, a sort of handshake between

780
00:51:14.559 --> 00:51:18.280
<v Speaker 1>generations to keep part of local knowledge from ever closing

781
00:51:18.320 --> 00:51:22.760
<v Speaker 1>in on itself. I decided then to attempt, once again

782
00:51:23.000 --> 00:51:26.880
<v Speaker 1>what had foiled every previous librarian, to bring the collection

783
00:51:27.079 --> 00:51:31.840
<v Speaker 1>wholly into the system. Armed with fresh determination, I went

784
00:51:31.880 --> 00:51:35.199
<v Speaker 1>back to the digital catalog late one quiet evening, when

785
00:51:35.199 --> 00:51:37.280
<v Speaker 1>the only other sign of life was the hum of

786
00:51:37.320 --> 00:51:40.800
<v Speaker 1>the server rack in Kurt's back office. I tried entering

787
00:51:40.800 --> 00:51:45.320
<v Speaker 1>the reference collection manually, using alternate code schemes Library of

788
00:51:45.400 --> 00:51:50.599
<v Speaker 1>Congress and International Standard, even made up placeholder codes. The

789
00:51:50.679 --> 00:51:55.280
<v Speaker 1>results were laughably consistent. Every time I pressed save, the

790
00:51:55.320 --> 00:51:58.960
<v Speaker 1>screen flickered, the entry, reverted to blank, or replaced my

791
00:51:59.079 --> 00:52:03.400
<v Speaker 1>code with another fitted spiral or symbol. Once the software

792
00:52:03.440 --> 00:52:07.039
<v Speaker 1>locked me out entirely pretending the table didn't exist until

793
00:52:07.079 --> 00:52:10.159
<v Speaker 1>I reopened the program, I tried on the back up

794
00:52:10.239 --> 00:52:16.039
<v Speaker 1>database freshly created same errors. Frustrated, I attempted to scan

795
00:52:16.119 --> 00:52:18.880
<v Speaker 1>the book covers to enter images into the digital archive.

796
00:52:19.440 --> 00:52:24.079
<v Speaker 1>Each scan appeared as visual noise blank digital images structured

797
00:52:24.119 --> 00:52:28.960
<v Speaker 1>only by noise and static. I rebooted, scanned again the same.

798
00:52:29.440 --> 00:52:32.440
<v Speaker 1>When I tried photographing the books with my phone, the

799
00:52:32.519 --> 00:52:36.440
<v Speaker 1>image files would occasionally display for an instant, then vanish

800
00:52:36.480 --> 00:52:40.719
<v Speaker 1>from the gallery. Finally, after an hour of muttered expletives

801
00:52:40.719 --> 00:52:44.360
<v Speaker 1>and drawn out size, I summoned Kurt, desperate for a

802
00:52:44.400 --> 00:52:49.960
<v Speaker 1>technical explanation more convincing than just another system bug. He

803
00:52:50.079 --> 00:52:54.400
<v Speaker 1>ran diagnostic tests, moved the catalog database to local only,

804
00:52:54.840 --> 00:52:59.079
<v Speaker 1>disconnected from the Internet, even tried importing the image files

805
00:52:59.079 --> 00:53:02.760
<v Speaker 1>into a stripped down version of the software. It's not

806
00:53:02.840 --> 00:53:07.159
<v Speaker 1>a virus, not malware, he said at last, sounding quietly mystified.

807
00:53:07.719 --> 00:53:11.320
<v Speaker 1>There are no error logs. The database is fine. It's

808
00:53:11.440 --> 00:53:14.679
<v Speaker 1>just these titles. It's as if the field switched themselves

809
00:53:14.719 --> 00:53:17.000
<v Speaker 1>to read only the moment you try to fill them.

810
00:53:17.440 --> 00:53:20.679
<v Speaker 1>I've seen weird metadata before, but not this. I don't

811
00:53:20.679 --> 00:53:24.960
<v Speaker 1>have an answer, He glanced at me, conceding for once

812
00:53:25.440 --> 00:53:29.440
<v Speaker 1>the possibility that the issue wasn't technical at all. As

813
00:53:29.440 --> 00:53:32.559
<v Speaker 1>I left pacing through the elderly stacks, it dawned on

814
00:53:32.639 --> 00:53:35.880
<v Speaker 1>me that the failure wasn't a mechanical or even cultural one.

815
00:53:36.519 --> 00:53:39.679
<v Speaker 1>For whatever reason, these books simply did not permit being

816
00:53:39.719 --> 00:53:45.760
<v Speaker 1>held within any fixed frame systems. Recoiled records, ghosted, images, faded,

817
00:53:46.079 --> 00:53:50.280
<v Speaker 1>and even direct attempts to fix them led nowhere. That night,

818
00:53:50.400 --> 00:53:54.719
<v Speaker 1>restless I found myself sorting through decades of city newspaper microfilm,

819
00:53:54.920 --> 00:53:58.599
<v Speaker 1>looking for any formal policy about these odd books. Instead,

820
00:53:58.719 --> 00:54:03.760
<v Speaker 1>I found hints as about lucky references, unlisted guides and essays,

821
00:54:03.760 --> 00:54:06.800
<v Speaker 1>celebrating library treasures that always seem to be where you

822
00:54:06.880 --> 00:54:11.480
<v Speaker 1>needed them. In the city's boom years, the Green Encyclopedia

823
00:54:11.480 --> 00:54:14.639
<v Speaker 1>was credited in a mayor's speech with an inspiration for

824
00:54:14.719 --> 00:54:19.440
<v Speaker 1>a new waterworks. In times of civil strife, social reformers

825
00:54:19.519 --> 00:54:22.960
<v Speaker 1>thanked the reference ghosts for bringing needed facts to light.

826
00:54:24.159 --> 00:54:27.760
<v Speaker 1>No city ordinance, no written rule, no policy of exception,

827
00:54:28.280 --> 00:54:32.320
<v Speaker 1>but a rhythm. Each time the city hit crisis, someone referenced,

828
00:54:32.599 --> 00:54:37.360
<v Speaker 1>often obliquely, these undividable books as sources of unlikely solution,

829
00:54:38.119 --> 00:54:41.559
<v Speaker 1>sometimes in public, more often in a sides or family

830
00:54:41.639 --> 00:54:46.840
<v Speaker 1>letters or memoirs. A generation later, after a particularly revealing

831
00:54:46.920 --> 00:54:50.760
<v Speaker 1>batch of oblique references in city council minutes, I returned

832
00:54:50.760 --> 00:54:55.519
<v Speaker 1>to Miss Patel one morning, breaking my usual habit of decorum.

833
00:54:55.880 --> 00:54:58.800
<v Speaker 1>I keep finding stories about these books showing up just

834
00:54:58.840 --> 00:55:02.440
<v Speaker 1>when someone needs them, a student, a bureaucrat stuck on

835
00:55:02.519 --> 00:55:05.760
<v Speaker 1>a code, an artist. The way people talk about them,

836
00:55:05.960 --> 00:55:07.800
<v Speaker 1>it's as if they have a mind of their own,

837
00:55:08.400 --> 00:55:11.360
<v Speaker 1>but they're in the room, available to any one. Does

838
00:55:11.360 --> 00:55:14.840
<v Speaker 1>it mean anything or is it just city myth? She

839
00:55:14.920 --> 00:55:18.679
<v Speaker 1>put down her mug, regarding me with careful interest. Why

840
00:55:18.719 --> 00:55:22.760
<v Speaker 1>not both? Maybe the unpredictability is the point. Any One

841
00:55:22.800 --> 00:55:25.360
<v Speaker 1>can find something in them, but no one can claim

842
00:55:25.400 --> 00:55:29.239
<v Speaker 1>them as property. It's not magic, it's openness, like the

843
00:55:29.280 --> 00:55:32.840
<v Speaker 1>best ideas, always belonging a little to every one, never

844
00:55:32.920 --> 00:55:36.920
<v Speaker 1>only to the person who grabbed them first. She smiled,

845
00:55:37.079 --> 00:55:40.119
<v Speaker 1>and with the practiced delicacy of her profession, returned to

846
00:55:40.199 --> 00:55:44.199
<v Speaker 1>sorting overdue notices. I took her point. If the best

847
00:55:44.239 --> 00:55:47.320
<v Speaker 1>ideas hide at the edge of system, not in the rules,

848
00:55:47.559 --> 00:55:51.599
<v Speaker 1>but in the intersticial spaces, then maybe the library's greatest

849
00:55:51.639 --> 00:55:56.519
<v Speaker 1>tradition wasn't its order, but its hospitality to disorder. I'd

850
00:55:56.519 --> 00:55:59.400
<v Speaker 1>read enough city histories to know that traditions often come

851
00:55:59.480 --> 00:56:04.000
<v Speaker 1>not from declarations, but from accumulations of accidents, brought together

852
00:56:04.119 --> 00:56:07.920
<v Speaker 1>and polished by use. The undividable collection might have begun

853
00:56:08.000 --> 00:56:11.159
<v Speaker 1>as a slip, a fondness for the odd, a refusal

854
00:56:11.199 --> 00:56:14.559
<v Speaker 1>to cull a beloved book, But in survival it became

855
00:56:14.599 --> 00:56:20.280
<v Speaker 1>a theory of knowledge, one maintained through practice, not doctrine. Still,

856
00:56:20.400 --> 00:56:23.480
<v Speaker 1>I wanted a broader perspective. I wrote to a retired

857
00:56:23.599 --> 00:56:28.119
<v Speaker 1>linguistics professor at the university, an old colleague, now researching

858
00:56:28.119 --> 00:56:33.039
<v Speaker 1>the phenomenon of untranslatable local terms. I described the books,

859
00:56:33.320 --> 00:56:36.280
<v Speaker 1>their refusal to be categorized and the role they seem

860
00:56:36.360 --> 00:56:41.880
<v Speaker 1>to play in sparking the unexpected. She replied with uncharacteristic swiftness.

861
00:56:42.320 --> 00:56:45.039
<v Speaker 1>You know, in some languages there are words which can't

862
00:56:45.039 --> 00:56:49.239
<v Speaker 1>be translated without becoming shrunken less than they were. These

863
00:56:49.280 --> 00:56:52.280
<v Speaker 1>are the wild flowers in the garden of meaning, resistant

864
00:56:52.280 --> 00:56:55.960
<v Speaker 1>to pruning. The undividable books, as you call them, may

865
00:56:55.960 --> 00:56:59.440
<v Speaker 1>be serving a similar role. The ambiguity is not a lack,

866
00:56:59.679 --> 00:57:04.639
<v Speaker 1>but a sh shield preserving possibility. That struck home. The

867
00:57:04.639 --> 00:57:08.599
<v Speaker 1>comparison felt apt, not just surviving error, but resistance as

868
00:57:08.639 --> 00:57:12.440
<v Speaker 1>an ethical stance. If you catalog every flower, dig up

869
00:57:12.480 --> 00:57:17.800
<v Speaker 1>each weed, the garden loses surprise, becomes only maintenance systems

870
00:57:17.920 --> 00:57:22.119
<v Speaker 1>efficient as they are exhaust themselves with perfection forgetting that

871
00:57:22.239 --> 00:57:26.280
<v Speaker 1>disorder is sometimes the engine of change. I began to

872
00:57:26.320 --> 00:57:30.079
<v Speaker 1>wander the stack in quieter moments, watching patrons consult the

873
00:57:30.199 --> 00:57:35.559
<v Speaker 1>unnumbered books, often pausing, occasionally scribbling a note, sometimes closing

874
00:57:35.559 --> 00:57:38.199
<v Speaker 1>a volume with a vague smile of someone who's half

875
00:57:38.280 --> 00:57:41.320
<v Speaker 1>solved a riddle. I began to see the collection as

876
00:57:41.360 --> 00:57:45.199
<v Speaker 1>more than a harmless quirk. It was a living social contract,

877
00:57:45.679 --> 00:57:48.559
<v Speaker 1>a collective memory of how much the city allowed itself

878
00:57:48.599 --> 00:57:52.559
<v Speaker 1>to question, to improvise, to not finish every catalog card.

879
00:57:53.599 --> 00:57:56.599
<v Speaker 1>By the time autumn was yielding to real cold, I

880
00:57:56.639 --> 00:58:00.800
<v Speaker 1>had a notebook thick with interviews, anecdote, old letters. But

881
00:58:00.840 --> 00:58:04.960
<v Speaker 1>the logic was clear. The collection persisted because it preserved

882
00:58:04.960 --> 00:58:09.719
<v Speaker 1>the opening in the system, uncertainty, potential, and collaborative chance.

883
00:58:10.800 --> 00:58:14.159
<v Speaker 1>That realization formed the basis of a new question. Was

884
00:58:14.199 --> 00:58:19.039
<v Speaker 1>the anomaly accidental or conscious? Did the original librarians intend

885
00:58:19.039 --> 00:58:21.679
<v Speaker 1>to keep alive a method or did the city itself

886
00:58:21.719 --> 00:58:25.159
<v Speaker 1>shape the books as needed a slow accretion of local

887
00:58:25.199 --> 00:58:29.280
<v Speaker 1>desires quietly passed from one's steward's hands to the next.

888
00:58:30.320 --> 00:58:33.159
<v Speaker 1>The answer I began to suspect was that it didn't matter.

889
00:58:33.840 --> 00:58:37.400
<v Speaker 1>What mattered was the persistence, the survival through earrs. When

890
00:58:37.440 --> 00:58:42.599
<v Speaker 1>every other system was redrawn, rationalized, merged, or digitized, the

891
00:58:42.679 --> 00:58:46.679
<v Speaker 1>undividable collection resisted inclosure. You could not check it out,

892
00:58:46.920 --> 00:58:49.639
<v Speaker 1>could not assign it a provenance, and yet it quietly

893
00:58:49.719 --> 00:58:53.360
<v Speaker 1>underwrote the city's capacity to adapt, to innovate, to leave

894
00:58:53.400 --> 00:58:56.039
<v Speaker 1>some room open in the order for whatever next needed

895
00:58:56.079 --> 00:58:59.480
<v Speaker 1>to be thought. I returned one evening to the old

896
00:58:59.519 --> 00:59:03.559
<v Speaker 1>file of correspondence, Sawyer's letters to Medina, a log book

897
00:59:03.599 --> 00:59:07.039
<v Speaker 1>scrawled in hasty pencil, a memo noting the system errors

898
00:59:07.039 --> 00:59:10.840
<v Speaker 1>of someone's failed attempt at full cataloging. I realized each

899
00:59:10.960 --> 00:59:15.119
<v Speaker 1>generation had tried earnestly, even doggedly, to bring the shelf

900
00:59:15.119 --> 00:59:18.400
<v Speaker 1>to heal, and each had stopped at the last because

901
00:59:18.400 --> 00:59:20.800
<v Speaker 1>in trying to close the record, they had discovered what

902
00:59:20.880 --> 00:59:25.119
<v Speaker 1>closure would cost, the invention, the possibility, the river of

903
00:59:25.239 --> 00:59:30.360
<v Speaker 1>collaborative improvisation. All this led me finally to the realization

904
00:59:30.559 --> 00:59:34.519
<v Speaker 1>I've been circling for weeks without admitting. The Library's greatest

905
00:59:34.559 --> 00:59:37.440
<v Speaker 1>power lay neither in the precision of its records, nor

906
00:59:37.519 --> 00:59:40.760
<v Speaker 1>in its commitment to perfect recall, but in its willingness

907
00:59:40.800 --> 00:59:43.840
<v Speaker 1>to host what could not be known in advance, what

908
00:59:43.920 --> 00:59:47.800
<v Speaker 1>could only be discovered together in a space never finally locked.

909
00:59:48.800 --> 00:59:52.679
<v Speaker 1>It was a philosophy, but also a technology, not electronic

910
00:59:52.800 --> 00:59:57.400
<v Speaker 1>or photographic, but social. The refusal to catalog the undividable

911
00:59:57.400 --> 01:00:00.320
<v Speaker 1>books was not a form of neglect, but maintain tenants

912
01:00:00.360 --> 01:00:04.559
<v Speaker 1>of the city's intellectual immune system, making certain that even

913
01:00:04.599 --> 01:00:07.800
<v Speaker 1>in the most efficient eras, there remained a commons of

914
01:00:07.920 --> 01:00:11.800
<v Speaker 1>ideas open to the next need, the next improvisation, the

915
01:00:11.840 --> 01:00:16.639
<v Speaker 1>next unbidden question. On the day that realization finally landed,

916
01:00:16.960 --> 01:00:19.920
<v Speaker 1>I set aside my stack of investigation notes and did

917
01:00:19.920 --> 01:00:23.960
<v Speaker 1>the simplest thing. I walked to the undividable collection, gently

918
01:00:24.000 --> 01:00:27.639
<v Speaker 1>lifted the Great Almanac, paged through its well thumbed entries.

919
01:00:28.199 --> 01:00:31.159
<v Speaker 1>Newly aware, I saw the layers pressed between the pages,

920
01:00:31.519 --> 01:00:34.880
<v Speaker 1>a pressed wildflower with faded color, a note on city

921
01:00:35.000 --> 01:00:39.199
<v Speaker 1>rainfall in a barely legible script, a hand drawn family tree,

922
01:00:39.480 --> 01:00:41.960
<v Speaker 1>an annotated map with a street that never made it

923
01:00:42.000 --> 01:00:46.199
<v Speaker 1>to official record. I shelved the book carefully, not on

924
01:00:46.239 --> 01:00:49.400
<v Speaker 1>the out of place cart, not displayed as marvel, but

925
01:00:49.519 --> 01:00:54.880
<v Speaker 1>precisely where it was, uncatalogued, quietly present, neither hidden nor collected,

926
01:00:55.079 --> 01:00:59.000
<v Speaker 1>but allowed. The library I saw then, was less a

927
01:00:59.039 --> 01:01:02.679
<v Speaker 1>fortress of orders than a living ecosystem, a place where

928
01:01:02.679 --> 01:01:06.920
<v Speaker 1>the cataloged and the uncataloged, the finished and the improvisational,

929
01:01:07.239 --> 01:01:11.000
<v Speaker 1>the solved and the searching existed, not in opposition but

930
01:01:11.079 --> 01:01:15.599
<v Speaker 1>in creative conversation. In the days after, I found myself

931
01:01:15.639 --> 01:01:20.000
<v Speaker 1>more patient, less anxious to supply conclusions. I paid closer

932
01:01:20.039 --> 01:01:22.760
<v Speaker 1>attention to what chance might offer, to what could arrive

933
01:01:22.960 --> 01:01:25.840
<v Speaker 1>only in the absence of closure. The gap on the

934
01:01:25.880 --> 01:01:28.559
<v Speaker 1>shelf became less a source of worry than a space

935
01:01:28.599 --> 01:01:33.000
<v Speaker 1>to be tended, revisited, protected, not only for myself or

936
01:01:33.039 --> 01:01:35.480
<v Speaker 1>for the profession, but for the city that had relied

937
01:01:35.559 --> 01:01:39.639
<v Speaker 1>on such fertile gaps for longer than anyone could precisely remember.

938
01:01:40.719 --> 01:01:44.320
<v Speaker 1>One morning, as I was returning a newly borrowed, unnumbered volume,

939
01:01:44.719 --> 01:01:47.960
<v Speaker 1>the spine faded further since last month, corners worn so

940
01:01:48.079 --> 01:01:51.199
<v Speaker 1>smooth it felt almost warm in my hands. I paused

941
01:01:51.280 --> 01:01:54.079
<v Speaker 1>and wondered, how many other towns, other cities, had their

942
01:01:54.119 --> 01:01:58.320
<v Speaker 1>own undividible collections, how many other systems, for all their

943
01:01:58.320 --> 01:02:02.519
<v Speaker 1>banners of order, quietly left to shelf, drawer, folder, or

944
01:02:02.559 --> 01:02:06.679
<v Speaker 1>inner room, uncataloged, preserving a place for curiosity, an accident

945
01:02:07.039 --> 01:02:11.280
<v Speaker 1>for knowledge that did not wish to be fully circumscribed. Perhaps,

946
01:02:11.320 --> 01:02:14.719
<v Speaker 1>I thought, the deepest tradition in any institution devoted to

947
01:02:14.760 --> 01:02:17.559
<v Speaker 1>knowledge is not to finish the project, but to leave

948
01:02:17.599 --> 01:02:21.880
<v Speaker 1>one's shelf one small Commons at the edge of classification,

949
01:02:22.360 --> 01:02:25.960
<v Speaker 1>inviting the restless and the inventive to try and try again,

950
01:02:26.360 --> 01:02:30.039
<v Speaker 1>to discover not what is contained, but what is left gloriously,

951
01:02:30.320 --> 01:02:34.719
<v Speaker 1>stubbornly open. I slid the book between a city directory

952
01:02:34.800 --> 01:02:38.000
<v Speaker 1>and a battered pictorial history, let my hand rest for

953
01:02:38.000 --> 01:02:40.679
<v Speaker 1>a moment atop the leather. In the hush of the

954
01:02:40.679 --> 01:02:44.360
<v Speaker 1>reference room, I felt with unusual certainty that I was

955
01:02:44.400 --> 01:02:46.639
<v Speaker 1>standing not at the end of a puzzle, but at

956
01:02:46.639 --> 01:02:51.000
<v Speaker 1>the entrance to a tradition, larger, quietly, ceaselessly than any

957
01:02:51.000 --> 01:02:56.079
<v Speaker 1>one catalog or caretaker. And I thought, perhaps this, finally

958
01:02:56.400 --> 01:02:57.679
<v Speaker 1>is what libraries are for.
