Miss Morgan's Book Brigade

Have you ever noticed that books are shaped like doors?” I asked. “And windows.” “Both are entries.” “That open to new realms,” Marcelle said. “And to new friends.

In 2023, as I write this, librarians in America are on the front lines of the culture war. Censorship is at an all-time high. According to the American Library Association’s Office for Intellectual Freedom, “a record 2,571 unique titles were targeted for censorship in 2022, a 38% increase from the 1,858 unique titles targeted for censorship in 2021.” This is the highest number of attempted book bans since ALA began compiling data about censorship in libraries more than twenty years ago.

Mourning is a winding path. Sometimes the walk is invigorating, and I feel fine. Then one word, one memory, and I trip and tumble to the ground. Pebbles of memory break through the skin of my palms. It hurts so much I can barely breathe.

I urge you to support your local library and librarians by raising your voice about the importance of reading and accessibility to books and culture.

Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?

It seems to me that today, people have never been so divided—those with automobiles, those with horse and carriage, those with none. We live in separate spheres, the ties that once connected us severed.

Libraries are the foundation of democracy. They are among the few places where people may enter for free and enjoy culture, whether through books, author readings, games, classes, computers, films, or music. Today’s lending libraries have it all, from books to tools to toys to neckties to classes on adulting, thanks to librarians who have adapted to the needs of their communities. I urge you to support your local library and librarians by raising your voice about the importance of reading and accessibility to books and culture.

Our greatest heart-treasure is a knowledge that there is in creation an individual to whom our existence is necessary.

For all evils there are two remedies: time and silence.

My favorite word was “finifugal,” sorrow at the end of something, whether it was the end of summer, the end of a book, or spending time with soldiers who’d become dear friends. As with the best books, endings are also beginnings. But what

Silence was a part of the library, a part of life. We need silence to think. To feel. I knew about loss.

Sometimes the people who want the best for us are the worst for us.

Books are bridges...they show how we're connected.

Oftentimes, what you do in life is not so much a choice as chance. Either something happens to someone close to you, or there’s a reaction to events.

we must live in the now. We don’t know what tomorrow holds. What if we delayed until everything was perfect and right? Who would ever plan a trip or have children? Who would ever take a chance?

Librarians are on the front lines of the cultural war, protecting our right to read freely. These days, many people would rather block a friend or family member than have the difficult conversation. Likewise, it’s easier to ban a book rather than examine the truths inside or discuss the topic with loved ones.

All human wisdom is contained in these two words—wait and hope.

I’m nice to everyone, and I resent people who are stingy with basic kindness.

There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.

Over the phone, the archivist was frosty until I told her I work at the NYPL. Then she thawed because she believed we’re kindred spirits. We are not. I’m nice to everyone, and I resent people who are stingy with basic kindness.

Confidence is necessary in life—to leave your parents’ home, to begin a new job, to travel. But too much confidence leads to complacency, and to believing that my way is the only way, that my worldview is the view. Everyone should ask: Why do I think this? What is a strong counterargument? How did growing up the way I did inform what I believe now? Why does this book or belief make me uncomfortable?

Libraries bring together the wretched, the skilled workers, the bourgeois. I can hardly see this situation prevailing in France. We require different books for the distinct classes, as well as separate premises.” “Why divide readers into categories?” I retorted. “Who are you to decide which books people should enjoy?

The politicians—one with a monocle, another with a carnation in his buttonhole, and a third with a cane—cornered Miss Morgan. I wondered what that was like, to have people press themselves upon you, always wanting something. I decided that being a nobody wasn’t a bad thing.

Losing a loved one is a risk that we don’t know we’re taking when we travel,” she continued. “We assume everyone at home will remain in hale health.

Books, newspapers, and journals contained our past, the way we saw things, and the way we wished things would be. They carried our longings, our dreams for children, an hour of escape, and an education.

Books are bridges, my father had said to me when I was a child. They show how we’re connected.

Time and silence,’ ” he read. “Both of which can be found in libraries. My favorite is ‘All human wisdom is contained in these two words—wait and hope.’ I also appreciated ‘There are two ways of seeing: with the body and with the soul.

Mostly, I feel a distance from people, like we're in a subway station, and they're on a different platform. I can't cross the tracks to join them, and the noise from the trains is so loud I can barely make out what they're saying.

She said, “Someone to tell it to is one of the fundamental needs of human beings.