The library as a locus of control is a favorite target for authors and illustrators. In most cases the librarian regains control that is momentarily lost due to the presence of "outsiders." This, as with the section on "Fearsome Librarians," is divided into two sections: The first deals with patrons who bring havoc into the library, and the second with one specific case of a librarian who maintains control over the library by keeping (or trying to keep) the "wrong" people out.
Houghton, Eric. Walter's Magic Wand. Illustrated by Denise Teasdale. New York: Orchard Books, 1989.
Walter makes a magic wand from a stick in the morning, and that afternoon must go to the library. There he knocks papers and cards off the librarian's desk, and then builds a castle with her dictionaries. She is noticeably perturbed. He then proceeds to the bookcase and begins to conjure up wild animals, including seven hungry tigers. The quick-thinking librarian saves the patrons and scares off the tigers with thumbtacks. Next come eleven pirates "looking for someone to kidnap." But now the librarian builds a fortress with her dictionaries and shoots pencils at them. Finally, he calls up an ocean, which floods the library. The librarian again saves everyone by building a boat out of bookcases (for the letters A, R, and K). In each case, the librarian matches Walter's attempt by controlling the situation and in the process protecting her patrons (or "community"). Walter finally checks out his books (on tigers, pirates, and oceans) and discards his magic wand. The librarian returns it to him, and he spies remnants of his adventures stuck on her.
Most interesting about this book is Walter's aggression towards the librarian. In each instance, the narrator indicates that she is the one that is the object of his hidden anger: "But the librarian did not get eaten"; "But the librarian was not dragged off in chains"; or "But the librarian was not swept away." Walter brings chaos into the library (the world of order) through his vindictive fantasies in which he strikes out against an authoritarian figure. Yet, ultimately, it is the librarian who prevails and restores order.
The relationship between Walter and the librarian is interesting on a different level, however. In practicing his magic in the library and creating his chaos, Walter has become an artist, creating something from nothing. It may not be too absurd to argue that the book reflects the symbiotic relationship between children's authors and librarians. After all, librarians wield great validating and censoring power over authors: They can validate and empower an author through awards such as the Caldecott and Newbery, or through lists such as the ALA Notable Books. Librarians can also practice their own form of economic censorship by choosing not to purchase those books which they deem not worthy or desirable for their collections. After all, authors like Walter can bring their own form of chaos into the library by producing books which challenge community values, and thus place the librarian in a vulnerable (censorship) situation. In the book, the librarian's frown betrays her uncertainty about the author's intent.
In the end, however, the librarian shows that she identifies with and supports the author's (Walter's) work by cheerfully restoring Walter's magic wand. Walter also notices bits of the palm leaf and seaweed in her hair and collar. She, too, has actually enjoyed Walter's fantastical chaos. This librarian is clearly in touch with her community, at least most of it. Acting as a kind of gate-keeper, she protects the community from the chaos of the author's (Walter's) aggressions. At the same time, however, she re-integrates the author into the community by becoming a part of his fantasy world.
Interestingly, this book, like Sorry, Miss Folio, was first published in England. The humor (and the psychological depth) in the book seems somehow not quite American. It is far-and-away my favorite among the books reviewed here.
Kimmel, Eric A. I Took My Frog to the Library. Illustrated by Blanche Sims. New York: Viking, 1990.
A girl brings along a series of animals that do not belong in a library, and they create havoc in the librarian's controlled world. The frog scares her, the chicken lays an egg in the card catalog, the pelican hides the dictionary, the python sheds, etc. Only the elephant knows how to behave in the library, but then she knocks over the bookcases by accident. Now the girl leaves her animals at home, where the elephant reads to the others. The elephant becomes a kind of proto-librarian by reading to the other animals--similar to the children's librarian, who is mostly shown reading to children.
Williams, Suzanne. Library Lil. Illustrated by Steven Kellogg. New York: Dial Books for Young Readers, 1997.
A small-town librarian converts the residents to reading books. When confronted by a hostile motorcycle gang, she turns out to be physically strong enough to defend her library. In the process, she converts the motorcycle gang into readers, and develops a special relationship with the gang's leader.
"I bet you think all librarians are mousy little old ladies. Hair rolled up in a bun. Beady eyes peering out at you over the tops of those funny half-glasses. An index finger permanently attached to lips mouthing "Shhh."" Of course, Library Lil turns out to be quite different--wild, outgoing. The first picture shows the librarians alienating their community, in particular in their quest for "silence." The expressions display distrust; interaction is limited to "Shhh." By contrast, Lil "was a kid first, just like most people." Her childlike nature and fantasy are emphasized. She is big on reading, but also interacts with her fantasy world and her real world (unlike Elizabeth Brown). She also has amazing physical strength. In most scenes her steadiest companion is a cat, who seems to be the only one who truly understands her.
When she arrives, all the residents of her town watch television and never read. She uses a power outtage to convert them to reading, and soon the library and story hour are in great demand. In direct opposition to the process depicted in Library Dragon, she converts the community, rather than vice-versa. Her ultimate victory over the motorcycle gang, however, is based upon her great physical prowess, not her reading or story-telling skills. Yet, she does bring them into her community, and she does take care of that community's library needs. In the end, she has "fallen" for the motorcycle gang leader, and as accepted some limited viewing of television (pro-wrestling).
The theme of the librarian versus the television also comes to the fore in Patricia Polacco's Aunt Chip and the Great Triple Creek Dam Affair, and in Don West's The Day the TV Blew Up.
Many books in other categories flirt with the notion that the librarian is a fearsome creature who wishes mainly to prevent access to the collections. Most of these satirize this idea through gross exaggeration. Only one book that I have found thus far actually depicts the librarian as attempting to block access by upholding discriminatory rules.
Miller, William. Richard Wright and the Library Card. Illustrated by Gregory Christie. New York: Lee & Low Books,1997.
"the eyes of white people"
Based upon an episode from Richard Wright's autobiography--Black Boy--this story book describes how Wright used the library card of a white man to borrow books from a public library in Memphis. This shares many similar traits with Tomás and the Library Lady, but in this case the librarian functions as the direct opposite: She attempts to prevent access to the world of books, rather than encourage their use. As in that other book, however, the library is seen as a place of liberation which contains special knowledge. Building upon the stories which he has heard from his grandfather and mother (again, similar to Tomás), Richard develops a strong desire to read. Since "the doors of the library were shut against him because he was black," he turned to reading discarded newspapers and books. He has a "hunger for words," but only white people had access to them. He could only check out books if he were doing so on behalf of a white patron. The liberation theme emerges again when the library card makes him feel as though he were already "on a train to Chicago"; i.e., leaving the oppression of the South.
When he enters the library, the patrons look up in curiosity. Even the librarian puts on glasses to "make sure she wasn't seeing things." Even though she accepts his explanation (that he is borrowing the books for someone else), she still declares her displeasure at his presence. Her suspicion leads her to verify that the books are not actually for this young black man, himself. In what is perhaps the defining moment of this scene, we read: "Once again, heads turned and Richard felt the eyes of white people on him." However, she again accepts his story. She and the white patrons laugh at him when he claims that he cannot even read. He loses himself in the stories of Dickens, Tolstoy, and Stephen Crane. Eventually he is ready to move on to Chicago, and returns the card to the white man from whom he had borrowed it. As he rides north on the train, the effect of the library's books does not leave him: "The words came back to him, the stories more real than the train itself. Every page was a ticket to freedom, to the place where he would always be free."
This book raises serious questions for librarians and potential librarians: How do you decide the nature of your community? Who is included and who is excluded? What is your role in enforcing or opposing the state apparatus? Do such patterns of exclusion and inclusion still occur, and do we perpetuate injustices in the process? While the librarian is a relatively minor figure in this book, she is one of the most potent, and negative, images of librarianship in these books.
Complements, compliments, annoyances: Matthew Z. Heintzelman
