The Library by Jacob Lawrence, 1960
It is a small library in a small town. It sits on Main Street in a 150-year-old building that also houses a pub. Both the library and the pub are in the process of renewal, endeavoring to revive their historical importance, their usefulness and vibrancy, their centrality to our community. I began working there last week, and immediately felt a satisfying appreciation at the completion of a circle, which joins both my journey and destination…of coming home, of continuing to matter, and also, of an immediate and curious closeness to my deceased father, who I recalled had loved it when I worked in libraries before, and to his mother, my children’s librarian grandmother, Lorene.
Nonny Lorene died when I was an infant, but I was given her name, a small collection of children’s books, and a legacy of library lore which included the often-told story of how she, a widow, supported her two sons, her spinster sister, and various other relatives throughout the Great Depression, the only one left with a steady income during those hard years. Her library job saved the family, I was told. There could be no better job. For that reason, and many others, I believe that, and so even though Dad and Nonny have been gone from this earth for many, many years, I feel their presence in my little library, and know that they are pleased.
It feels right. I love every minute I spend there—reading the shelves, looking up classification numbers, typing up spine labels, adding genre stickers, covering books—touching them, reading them, smelling them, discovering new titles and authors, revisiting the old. Planning a new computer corner, training soon on our newly purchased county-wide circulation system, looking forward to story times and book signings, all that and so much more. There is nothing like a library.
I’ll end with the wisdom of Carl Sagan:
“Books permit us to voyage through time, to tap the wisdom of our ancestors. The library connects us with the insight and knowledge, painfully extracted from Nature, of the greatest minds that ever were, with the best teachers, drawn from the entire planet and from all our history, to instruct us without tiring, and to inspire us to make our own contribution to the collective knowledge of the human species. I think the health of our civilization, the depth of our awareness about the underpinnings of our culture and our concern for the future can all be tested by how well we support our libraries.” ― Cosmos
And E. B. White:
“A library is a good place to go when you feel unhappy, for there, in a book, you may find encouragement and comfort. A library is a good place to go when you feel bewildered or undecided, for there, in a book, you may have your question answered. Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people – people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book.”
Quotes from Hooked to Books, hookedtobooks.com. “50 Inspiring Quotes About Libraries and Librarians”
by Grace Plant, accessed 5/12/2023.
What I’m Reading
Tatiana De Rosnay’s Historical Fiction Novel, Sarah’s Key, A Review
Sarah’s Key tells the intertwined stories of two fictional inhabitants of Paris; Sarah, a ten-year-old girl caught in the terror of Nazi-occupied France, an innocent Jewish child desperate to protect her little brother, and Julia, the journalist destined to discover Sarah’s story sixty years later. Though Sarah and Julia are fictional characters, the situations of the story are sadly all too real.
Before reading Sarah’s Key, I hadn’t known of the Velodrome d’Hiver roundup, which was ordered by Nazis, and carried out by French police officers, but as with all events relating to this terrible time of human history, the story is by equal measure unimaginably catastrophic and yet characteristically illustrative of the horrors of the systematic application of the NAZI party’s stated objective to eradicate Jews in what they termed “A Final Solution to the Jewish Question” at the Wannsee Conference on January 20, 1942.
The Velodrome d’Hiver roundup in Paris, France is one example of the implementation of that horrific policy.
Here is a brief summary of the real events:
“Beginning in the early hours of July 16 [1942], French police rounded up thousands of men, women, and children throughout Paris. By the end of the day, the police had taken 2,573 men, 5,165 women, and 3,625 children from their homes. The roundup continued the following day, but with a much smaller number of arrests.
Approximately 6,000 of those rounded up were immediately transported to Drancy, in the northern suburbs of Paris. Drancy was at that point a transit camp for Jews being deported from France. The rest of the arrestees were detained at the Vélodrome d’Hiver (Winter Cycling Track), an indoor sporting arena in Paris’s fifteenth arrondissement.
After five days, Jews incarcerated at the Vél d’Hiv were transferred to other transit camps outside Paris. At Drancy, Pithiviers, and Beaune-la-Rolande, French police guarded these men, women, and children until transport to concentration camps and killing centers in the east. At the end of July, the remaining adults were separated from their children and deported to Auschwitz.
Over 3,000 children remained interned without their parents until they were deported, among adult strangers, to Auschwitz as well.
German authorities continued the deportations of Jews from French soil until August 1944.
In all, some 77,000 Jews living on French territory perished in concentration camps and killing centers—the overwhelming majority of them at Auschwitz.”
From: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, “The Velodrome D’Hiver (Vel d’ Hiv) Roundup”. Holocaust Encyclopedia. https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/the-velodrome-dhiver-vel-dhiv-roundup#july-2. Accessed on May 20, 2023.
De Rosnay’s novel expertly weaves the stories of her two heroines, as one suffers through the event and the other learns of it in a surprisingly intimate way many years later. This book reminds me of the importance of historical scholarship—true scholarship that doesn’t shy away from the painful realities of the past—and of the absolute necessity of bearing witness to the suffering of the innocent—as a way to honor them, of course, and also as a way to teach each new generation the lessons that seem so easy to forget, so fragile, and always under attack. We need to hear the stories. We cannot be allowed to forget.
Sarah’s Key is one of those books that takes us on an unforgettable journey, touches our hearts and souls, and joins us to the hearts and souls of others who were forced from this world before their natural times, and in terrible ways. It is both deeply dark and sweetly hopeful. A strange truth about literature, and part of its magic, is that you can enjoy it even while it is hurting you. Sarah’s Key is worth it.
Paris Photos by Lori Pohlman
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