The Curation of Our Little Library is Abysmal and I’d Like to Complain to a Manager
Imagine my excitement when a little library appeared just blocks away from my house. Painted green with a glass door that swung open and shut, at last something Pinterest-worthy was happening in my part of the country. I was sure the mere proximity of the thing would make me feel smarter and more well-read. However, the little library has been sitting smugly on the corner for a year now and, I hate to complain, but the outcome of this experiment is downright embarrassing for all involved.
So, please direct me to the person managing this whole situation, because I have a few complaints. Mostly I’m annoyed by the contents of the little library. I assumed everyone would chip in to contribute only the most enlightening and thought-provoking reading materials from their personal libraries. As for myself, I added my copy of The Secret and the person who took it is sure to be hella actualized by now. So, I’ve done my part.
But, as with their lawn care, others in this neighborhood have chosen to do the bare minimum. I saw one woman slip in a pamphlet for her laser hair removal MLM and then walk away as if she’d just saved the world. This is unacceptable.
What if someone important comes to our neighborhood and sees a dogeared copy of 50 Shades of Gray sitting right next to an abridged (abridged!) version of The Three Musketeers? What would Alexandre Dumas think to find his masterful adventure novel cut into pieces and shelved next to Horny Twilight? He would condemn us all.
I’ve also been meaning to address the San Diego travel book from 2003. It’s been in the library for almost four months and no one has taken it. We all know what 2003 was like and none of us are interested in revisiting it. (Two words. Embellished. Camo.) Keep your dated travel books where they belong, in the background of your Instagram photos where they’ll impress your 23 followers.
Of Mice and Men would have been a decent choice for inclusion, if someone hadn’t ripped out the final ten pages. Sure it’s not the happiest of endings and we can all relate to the impulse, but books with parts missing look tacky.
And Sarah Palin’s autobiography? I can’t get too mad about it, because someone was probably trying to get a cursed item out of their house. But, by attempting to pass it on to another neighbor, they’re reenacting one of the most overdone horror tropes. Everybody please burn your evil items in your backyards beneath the light of a full moon instead of adding them to the little library.
Also, if your novel is not in English, what are you even doing? This is America and I live here mostly so I don’t have to be subjected to the German language. German people make up words for everything and it’s exhausting. We don’t need a word for the sad feeling you get after cutting your toenails and we certainly don’t need a word for how men are doomed to turn into their fathers, because none of us want to think about that.
I could go on and on and on about the selection of books available, but that wouldn’t leave me time to complain about the sketchy characters who have started hanging out around the little library, with their wire rim spectacles and their bookshop totes. If you can believe it, I walked over there the other day to donate my copy of Eat Pray Love, a revolutionary work that transformed my relationship with myself, and they sneered at me. They told me it was a reductive novel and I needed to expand my horizons. Then they criticized the contents of the little library, which, honestly, was way too confusing for me and I really need to complain to a manager if I’m going to sort out the complicated array of feelings I’m experiencing right now.