There’s something about being a librarian – for however short a part of one’s ultimate career – that sticks. Despite the fact that I was a librarian for less than a quarter of my working life I still naturally think of myself as one. It is the part that matters. Does any other career affect one that way, I wonder?
I’m not quite sure why I’m starting this blog. I’d like to use it for anything to do with books and libraries. There are lots of blogs of this sort but I guess one of the aspects of librarianship is that it makes one want to write as well as read.
And there is always the opportunity to rebuff the stereotypical librarian. I can’t recall ever having met one of those bespectacled middle-aged females in my life. In terms of appearance the nearest anyone came to it was Miss Skelland in Liverpool City Libraries. She was the first librarian I ever knew and let me have a library ticket at the age of three in the early 1950s despite my being too young (according to the rules one had to be seven – until then one had to have books out on one’s parents’ tickets which restricted the number they could have). That was one way in which she broke the mould – she wasn’t a great one for rules. I discovered the second way when I worked for her some seventeen years later. She swore like a trooper. What a wonderful woman.
As for books, I’m not too sure. I have a book blog under a different persona so I may not say too much about them here.
My partner and I were discussing the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel in the light of my recently having read Audrey Niffenegger’s ‘The Night Bookmobile‘. “I wonder what exactly the difference is?” I said. “About £8,” was the prompt reply.