III.iii. In the Library

"In a library we are surrounded by many hundreds of dear friends, but they are imprisoned by an enchanter in these paper and leathern boxes."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Recently, I have begun to explore the library system at the university of Bologna. It consists of a fragmented collection of some ninety-three small libraries, each of which specializes in a certain subject matter. Unlike a North American university library system, it has no central location per se, owing really to the physical nature of the university facilities here; there is simply insufficient space for one large central library. Even though it only has about three million books, compared to twelve million at the University of Toronto, it is still an excellent resource.
    For my sake, the most useful library is that of the Visual Arts Department, tucked away in an inner chamber of Palazzo Poggi, a great Renaissance palace that was never meant to be part of a university, but now shelters a myriad of faculties and departments, even serving as a makeshift university centre. The Visual Arts library, difficult to find and unassuming until you enter it, consists of several long connected rooms lined with bookshelves, with an additional mezzanine level squeezed in below the vaults holding even more books. It is somewhat claustrophobic, but maintains a cozy academic air.
    I have been spending a great deal of time in this space, as it is not a lending library and nothing can be borrowed. Most of my course texts are relatively obscure, and since the concept of bookstores coordinating and pre-ordering course materials has not quite arrived here, reading library copies remains one of my only options. Sitting down here in one of the many molded plastic chairs on one of Bologna's many rainy fall days has become quite a pleasure, really. None of the sofa chairs and genteel fireplaces of the Anglo Saxon bibliophilic world. The place is usually crowded with other students, and it can be difficult to find enough space to settle down and spread out, but the mornings start out rather quietly and I find that being in such close quarters with others enhances study rather than detracting from it.
    I must admit, however, that the most astonishing aspect of this library is its users, for they are so numerous. In Toronto, even at the Fine Art library, there are rarely more than half a dozen solitary students, while here there are many more packed into a much smaller space. Astonishingly, very few study modern art. A quick glance over shoulders reveals droves poring over Giotto, Cimabue, Bellini, and I no longer feel as alone as I do in the concrete bunkers of my native institution. Here, despite all external appearance, young people care about their art
    The familiarity of this place comforts me and surrounds me with things I am familiar with in a city and country that are still new to me. The books that line the walls are not only Italian, but French, English, and German as well. I have recourse to books written by my professors from Toronto, to ideas I am familiar with, and to new horizons as well. The collections are a bit of a shambles, and locating a specific book can be quite a challenge. Library users tend to leave books unsorted on the reading tables, with notes asking others not to disturb their piles of books, which they will return to consult later. Consequently, it is difficult to find specific items on the shelves.
    Furthermore, the librarians insist on keeping dust covers on books, instead of rebinding them in institutional navy gold covers as is done in North America. This excess of torn, dog-eared paper gives an added semblance of disorganization, as do the books laid flat on their sides due to shelves neither deep nor tall enough. There is no extra shelf space to be found anywhere here, which adds to the happy disorder and confusion. It is a crowded, learned environment; an apt metaphor for the city that extends beyond the walls of this place.



The interior of the Visual Arts Library