Libraries as Life Support Machines
Leanne Moden – a writer, performer, and theatremaker, based in Nottingham – explores why reading and libraries are so important to her. . .
My love of reading started in Wisbech Library in 1992, with Thomas.
Thomas was always such a friendly face in our local library. He had a smile for everyone, and I never saw him lose his temper. He was quiet and unassuming. He was also a little wooden, and he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he had plenty of books in the carriages that he pulled behind him. And the best part about him was, he was always willing to share.
Thomas was a bright blue wooden train, the kind that libraries sometimes have in their children’s sections to display their books in a more child-friendly manner. It certainly worked on me.
A cheeky chappie with a cheerful face, and three carriages of vibrant picture books trailing behind him, Thomas was the main attraction at our local library. He was exactly the right size for little readers to climb all over him. But Thomas didn’t mind. As long as we all took six books home every week, read them diligently, and returned then the next time we popped into town, then Thomas was happy.
I never saw my parents reading when I was growing up, and we didn’t have any bookshelves in our living room – or anywhere else in our house for that matter. But I am so grateful to them for those weekly trips to the library, where I could lose myself in books.
Later, when I was having a tough time in Secondary school, the school library was a haven for me. Somewhere to sit quietly and disappear into other worlds with a book. I read voraciously as a teenager – anything I could get my hands on. I loved Jacqueline Wilson and Judy Blume, Douglas Adams and the Point Horror books. Reading gave me time to sit still and calm down, to get away from my worries, and to just be myself.
When I left home for the first time at eighteen – the first person in my family to go to university – the library on campus way the place where I felt most comfortable. I was riddled with homesickness and, as an awkward, bookish non-drinker, I was finding it impossible to make friends. Books were my comfort, and sheltering in the library on cold wintery evenings made me feel less alone. I looked forward to curling up in the reading room after lectures, and even after I finally found a good group of friends, I still snuck off to the library whenever I could. The stillness and the quiet of the library was like meditation, in between the noise and stress of seminars and exams and new experiences.
When I finished uni and struggled with temporary jobs, I re-joined this Wisbech library, and seeing Thomas’ smiling face in the children’s section was such a comfort. In a world where everything seemed to be changing, Thomas and the library remained. I checked out six books every week, read them diligently, and returned then the next time I popped into town, covertly waving hello to Thomas every time.
Then, my partner and I moved to Nottingham, and the first thing I did was register at our local library. I figured that it would be another place to escape to, another way to get away from the worries of the world. But this time, the library surprised me.
By this point, reading and writing had become more than a hobby for me, and I realised the potential of libraries as a place to connect with other people, rather than a place to retreat from the world. I started leading a fortnightly writing group, working with people who were passionate about reading and writing, and I discovered reading as a shared creative experience.
Last week, I asked my writing group to write about a space that had provided solace to them. I wrote about Wisbech Library in 1992, and I wrote about Thomas. I wrote about his encouraging smile, and I wrote about how libraries and books have always been there for me, helping me to escape the world, and helping me to embrace it. I wrote about my gratitude to Thomas, and to all the libraries I’ve known and loved, because they’ve shaped who I am.
I don’t know if Thomas is still there, in the children’s section of Wisbech Library. But I hope so…