Short Story Review || In the Stacks (2023)
"A librarian reflects on the meaning of life, the journey of learning, & the end of an era."
: 🌕 : SPOILER ALERT : 🌕 :
The element that makes libraries so wonderful is simple: they exist. If required to fraction sections of their marvel for argument’s sake, one might highlight that they contain all the thoughts in the world or that they emphasize the beauty of diversity amongst human beings. One might also be inclined to make a special note for the people who work inside these buildings.
“When he opened his eyes, there was a light in them that I imagined might have been seen in certain prophets in certain places at certain times. A cosmic confidence.”
Have you a memory of a stranger whose character remained unknown to you but for their delightful storytelling ability or their thoughtful understanding of the Dewey Decimal system? In libraries, a person is met with others, both identical to them in nuanced, sombre ways & utterly estranged from the experiences that led said individual into the hall of knowledge. What remains true for all communities is that humanity benefits from institutions of knowledge keeping, spaces where a mind can go to roam, be humble, enticed, expanded, & enlightened.
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This story marks an important beginning. The Big Red Synthesizer has sat idle, misunderstood by the youth who paddle around the library during the week & the veteran readers whose goal has been to ravage all books in their most beloved genre.
For some readers, such as myself, going into this story might prove a frustration. I have vivid memories of my time in libraries. These range from early childhood all the way through to the present day, at a time when I am many decades distanced from the wobbling book lover who writes to you here. What remains true is that the story is not attempting to flounder a person’s nostalgia to play on the sentiment of longing. Instead, Sloan wanted Maisie to be remembered, & so, the reader shall do just that.
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In essence, this is a story about a local library whose dedicated Wednesday-attending patron’s musical success overwhelms everyone in spitting distance. Maisie is eighty-three years old & throughout an unknown period, she wandered to the library to twiddle with the Big Red Synthesizer—a machine capable of concerting melodies. Maisie’s dedication proved an ultimate chart-topping success. Her local library shared the melody she had worked so tirelessly to create with the nudge of a modern music mogul, & the rest, as they say, was history.
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Whereas I thought this story might offer me a bit of a twinge of modern fantasy, perhaps something in line with the cryptic messaging behind the wall of age & deterioration, Sloan’s story presents readers with a keenly simple message about the pursuit of learning, regardless of age. This felt underwhelming.
Although I can appreciate stories whose goal is to transfer the purely important messages of the world or for whom the easy tale of wandering the solitary & linear road helps one pass the time, I wanted more from this story as it had more to offer, leaving me utterly flummoxed that the characters would feel so emotional at Maisie’s juvenile reminder.
I should explain myself further, but I find that I do not necessarily have the words to do so. Of course, I can agree, as I’m sure other readers might as well, that to remind one of the continual experiences of humanity as they age, which may include adventure & newness, is not a negative endeavour.
Yet, with all the mystery that surrounded Maisie as she came in every Wednesday for her dedicated hours of practice, I felt that within her life, there was more to learn than simply being reminded that I could keep learning. The irony is that this is exactly what I was trying to do, but I was prevented from succeeding because the author had closed the door to me by keeping the plot oversimplified.
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Who was Maisie in life? What experiences led her to pursue music at eighty-three? The parameters of this story have left me wondering about the woman who wishes for everyone to know that one is not too old to learn something new & that no learning pursuit is done in vain. Yet, I am reminded that this lesson is not essential for all of us, some people already know this to be true. Why, then, was Maisie intent on sharing this message with other people before she died?
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Questions allow a person a venue for further learning & though I will not be granted the reprieve from having these questions answered, I find myself pondering them, nonetheless.
As the librarian’s eager support boosted Maisie’s melody across the internet & as the staff continued to protect their patron as her popularity skyrocketed, I was reminded of the easy waves of ecstasy that I felt while wandering, often purposefully, into a library.
Times have changed, the institutions are not altogether regarded as they were when I was young. Perhaps, in this story, readers may be left with an eagerness that will allow libraries to continue to evolve as the century unfolds & new forms of intelligence are welcome to the stage.
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Ultimately, this story was not one I enjoyed. It was quaint & easy to read & one I feel younger readers might have interesting thoughts about. Their imminent connection with the waves of social connectedness that directly impact their reality may breach the divide I find myself at the extreme of while reading about a place I used to know. Whereas some readers might find the simple messaging a kind reminder, others may wonder why they need to pursue something that a machine can do for them.
Maisie, one must remember, was no Beethoven; the Big Red Synthesizer built the tune, sharpened the hum, & soothed the vibrato that created the money-making melody Maisie took credit for.
Yet, I suppose one would be loath to judge Hans Zimmer for his use of the computer; one may be permitted to wonder what learning journey Maisie might have undertaken if she had held an interest in oil painting, clay moulding, or yoga.
All things are intertwined, & perhaps in this knowledge, the reader is kindly reminded that their growth is as intermingled with the lives of others as are the roots of trees in forests across our earthly home.
If you would like to read this story, please visit this link — « In the Stacks » by Robin Sloan
C. 💌