“The library was my haven when I didn’t realize I was at such high risk for falling apart.”

“I realized at an embarrassingly advanced age what most people already knew: libraries aren’t just about the books on their shelves––they’re about the readers they nurture, the communities they bring together and help, and the conversations they foster. . . There’s a special gratitude that comes from discovering this magic as an adult, which is why sharing my debut novel with you feels like a true privilege.”

“Whilst I no longer work at the library, I have fond memories of shelving books and spying accounts of Egyptian mythology, piling them on my book trolley, and then heading to the self-service machine to check them out. Libraries have always been a large part of my life, stretching back to when I was a child and, too short to reach the counter. . .”

“I was older than most when I first experienced the reassuring calm of the library—a refuge where I could stare out the window and dream just as often as I would open a book and engage. Daydreaming and reading intertwined, blurring the space between the stories I invented in my mind and those created by others. It was like a house of cards—precisely placed, perfectly balanced—until one fell, and, in solidarity, the other followed.”

“I cannot remember a life before reading. I can recall to this day the thrill of being given books as a child and then, as a teenager, the even greater excitement of choosing them myself: the unfurling of a sense of self with each new discovery, each a little more daring. I made my way, magpie-like, through the local mobile library, my school library, my parents’ shelves, and my grandfather’s bookcases.”

“I was a library kid. Growing up, we moved around a lot, and I while I can’t remember some of my teachers’ names, I can still vividly recall the joy of the stacks, the feeling of a dozen fresh Baby-Sitters Club or Sweet Valley High paperbacks stuffed in a plastic grocery bag, ready to be devoured like actual treats. Books were the perfect companion for the perpetual ‘new kid’ who didn’t have anyone to talk to at lunch.”

“When I was young, my mother brought me to the library at least once a week, our visits as routine as buying groceries or going to school. No matter what neighborhood we moved to, there was always a branch nearby, complete with a musty card catalog, squeaky revolving racks stuffed with paperbacks, and a librarian who would listen carefully to our questions and guide us to the right books.”

“Fictional stories like this one help us—help me—process my own adventures. They help me feel less alone, feel a part of a community of humans just trying to do their best in this wild, wide world.”

“Like a lot of authors, I grew up at the library. One of my first memories is of quietly reading at my local library in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan—I guess I was around four—when a pair of ladies saw me and asked if I was really reading the words or just looking at the pictures. I was reading, I told them.”

“I have spent an absurd proportion of my life in the library. My mother used to take me and my four siblings to the library every week—religiously. She did everything religiously. Especially religion. At the library we would each pick out four or five books, and mum would inspect them to ensure we hadn’t selected anything scandalous, before letting us check them out.”

“When I think of libraries, a flipbook of memories flashes through my mind. My local – the one I grew up with – is Watsonia Library in the north-east of Melbourne, Australia. It’s a low white building plonked right beside a busy train line and directly underneath two enormous transmission towers. Not exactly a dreamy location, but for many years it was my favourite place in the world.”

“I work as a high school librarian now. I still celebrate Banned Books Week every year, but it’s different, because I actually understand it. ‘Did you notice that most of these bans are for books with Black or LGBTQ+ characters?’ I ask the students. I tell them to remember that these statistics are only a small fraction of the story; I tell them that most book bans are insidious, as they were in my former town.”