College and Research Libraries " A s Long As We Both Shall Live": In Which a Lesser Librarian Reviews His Reading Problem By A R T H U R P. S W E E T I . T H E T E S T I M O N Y Helen E. Haines (1935): " T h e spirit of delight and confidence in books, the re- ceptive and adventurous attitude toward the new and the experimental, the broad catholicity of lifelong friendship and un- derstanding for literature, should be at- tributes of librarianship more than of any other calling." 1 Lawrence C. Powell (1948): " W e are traditionally too busy ordering, catalog- ing, giving out, and getting back books to have much time for reading them. W e joke among ourselves about being too busy to read. This I deplore." " I think it is time for a revolution, for a return to fundamentals, the most elementary of which is the truth that books are written and published first of all to be read; and that as librarians, a favored people who hold custody of the world's permanent stocks of books, we should be the most avid readers on earth."2 Ernest J. Reece (1949): " N o question- ing of librarians would have been neces- sary in order to learn that they are less than satisfied with the knowledge of books possessed by library staffs."3 M. R. Sullivan (1949): "Tantalizing and tempting as the books may be, leis- urely reading is something you sacrifice when you join a library staff. Whatever time you may be able to eke out for read- ing must be devoted, for the most part, 1 Living with Books; the Art of Book Selection ( N e w Y o r k : Columbia U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s , 1935), p. 10. 2 " L i b r a r i a n s a s R e a d e r s of B o o k s , " Wilson Library Bulletin, X X I I ( 1 9 4 8 ) , 439-44. 3 The Task and, Training of Librarians ( N e w Y o r k : K i n g ' s Crown P r e s s , 1 9 4 9 ) , p. 26. Mr. Sweet is Acquisitions Librarian, Cor- nell University Library. to professional literature and book re- views."4 Felix Reichmann (1953): " T h e knowl- edge of books is our source of intellectual energy; cut off from our spiritual main- spring, librarianship becomes a mechani- cal service unit in the lower brackets and at the very best a managerial function in the higher echelons." " T h e r e can be no doubt that most li- brarians are vitally interested in books and are painfully aware of their lack of book-knowledge. Many recent experi- ences have shown that the library staff responded enthusiastically to every op- portunity to broaden their knowledge. It is the duty of all of us to make this in- terest active."5 Howard A. Burton (1954): " T h a t li- brarians should know more about books than their covers and the cards which lo- cate them is easy to see, but it is not al- ways so easy to see how this goal can be achieved. Libraries cannot depend on getting staffs made up only of devoted booklovers or of those determined to keep up with the best of current books; they cannot depend, that is, on the extra- curricular ambition of their staffs. But at last the profession is becoming more acutely aware of the problem and is sug- gesting ways of solving it. Any effort to * " Y o u H a v e S u c h an E a s y J o b , " Wilson Library Bulletin, X X I I I ( 1 9 4 9 ) , 687-88. 3 " H e r c u l e s and A n t a e u s , " CRL, X I V ( 1 9 5 3 ) , 22-25, 34. J U L Y 1 9 6 0 285 prevent the disappearance of the well- read librarian is praiseworthy."6 I I . R E S T A T E M E N T O F T H E C A S E These remarks represent only a small portion of the testimony which can be adduced from expert witnesses to show that all is not well with the marriage of librarians and books. Books, through the agency of their producers and users, have been making such increasingly outrage- ous demands u p o n librarians that there is substantial evidence of the latter's re- taliation by adulterous association with television. Divorce seems threatened; and it may be, even now, too late for this at- tempt at reconciliation. What bothers me, as one of the prin- cipals in the case, is that these numerous, presumably older and wiser, critical ob- servers have little to offer in the way of constructive guidance. T h e y shake their heads sadly, admit that it is a very tough problem, tell me piously that it could be such a beautiful thing, and seem to feel that they have discharged their duty. In my desperate determination to preserve the sanctity of our union, I have had to find my own way, with very little benefit of counsel, through the conflict and con- fusion, towards some possible, practical solution; until, at last, I feel ready to con- clude my separate peace and make my tentative, trial compact with the profes- sion I love. In the hope that a full and frank statement of my adjustment may prove helpful to other alienated souls among my colleagues, even though they may disagree, I record my convictions. A few basic propositions defining the problem appear to me to be either gen- erally conceded or statistically demonstra- ble, so that they can be accepted as a starting-point: 1. Professional librarians, working in whatever capacity in whatever type and size of library, ought to have a wide con- 8 " M a x i m u m Benefits f r o m a P r o g r a m for S t a f f Read- i n g , " CRL, X V ( 1 9 5 4 ) , 277-80. versance with the contents of books, over the entire range of recorded knowledge, plus a more intense acquaintance with the materials of one or more special fields, in addition to a familiarity with the major problems of all departments of librarianship. This, at least, seems to be our professional dogma. 2. In the practical sphere of j o b place- ment and recruiting, however, the neo- phyte librarian's knowledge of books, whether general or specialized, and his eternal dedication to the avocation of reading, are customarily assumed, with- out close examination; whereas, it is his mechanical skills and technical proficien- cies, as measured by previous training and experience, with which the employ- ers are primarily and minutely con- cerned. Thus, the number of languages he can boast, and his scholastic profi- ciency therein, are important considera- tions; the quantity and quality of read- ing he does in any of them, even—and especially—English, is immaterial and irrelevant. 3. In large research libraries, surely, (and, I suspect, in most smaller libraries, as well), the volume of business, the va- riety of materials, and the number of services to patrons increase year by year in greater ratio than the increase in staff. In part the disparity may be offset by more efficient methods or better plant and equipment; but such ameliorations cannot equate the entire disproportion. T h e very growth in the size of the col- lection creates new problems with which to cope. 4. From that high degree of specializa- tion which is the principal demand upon, and source of "status" for, the profes- sional librarian in the early stages of his career, the situation changes abruptly, midway up the ladder: exactly the re- verse specification applies, and it is a broad knowledge of both books and pro- fessional problems which becomes vitally important. Library administration pre- supposes the wide range of experience 286 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S which departmental pressures and sub- ject insularities make it difficult—often, all but impossible—for the librarian in lower echelons to obtain. This, then, is the predicament in which the earnest young librarian with g o o d intentions and high ambitions finds himself: His immediate economic wel- fare and his future professional reputa- tion depend upon his willingness to de- vote more and more attention to a highly restricted segment of the total li- brary function, and upon his ability to produce more and more "units" (books- cataloged, books-circulated, reference- questions-answered, etc.), by giving less and less attention to each one; yet he is perennially abused by his conscience, his public or private patrons, and his professional counselors, for his narrow interests, shallow learning, and superfi- cial skills. H e is given to understand that the higher he hopes to g o in the profes- sion, the more essential a wide range of academic competence becomes; yet his day-to-day responsibilities convince him that any such broad background will have to be achieved more in spite of his j o b than through its aid. Small wonder that he generally looks beyond -himself for some resolution of this unenviable di- lemma, and grows cynical when no satis- factory answer is forthcoming. T h e r e are those who tell me that this problem is really nonexistent: purely imaginary. Most librarians, they say, do read, as much as is necessary; moreover, such "background" reading, unrelated to any immediate, practical problem, is of little real significance or professional value; and, finally, advancement is not actually dependent upon either breadth of experience or scope of book-knowl- edge. Unable to argue, I can only insist that my own admittedly limited experi- ence, observation, and reading refutes this complacent optimism on every count. T h e r e are others who, admitting the problem, would claim that there is no so- lution, unless it be T i m e and Luck; and the best thing is not to take it too seri- ously. But I am not willing to accept this counsel of defeat, frustration, and drudgery. I will readily concede that it must be, to a considerable extent, a per- sonal response, varying in its particulars from individual to individual. Since my conflicting interests, personal tastes, pro- fessional goals, and present circumstances are not the same as yours, our answers will not be identical. N o r will there be a fixed and final answer, even for the individual quester: as his situation changes, for better or for worse, his pro- gram must modify accordingly. I will further concede that it will rarely be, for any of us at any time, an easy solution. It requires conviction and strength of purpose, the sacrifice of other inviting pursuits and activities, the use of stopgap methods, and a certain resistance to fa- milial, community, and other social pres- sures; and none of these prerequisites is pleasant. Nevertheless, the way to a har- monious coalescence is there, for those who still can see their profession as some- thing more than just a j o b . I I I . R E F U T A T I O N O F T H E A L I B I S Faced with this need for a greater knowledge of books through a continu- ing program of personal reading, and with the realization that there is no ready-made, easy answer which will serve, where does one begin? I found that the first need was firmly and finally to lay the ghosts of a host of alibis which my own ingenuity or that of rationaliz- ing co-workers promptly produce to prove that it is unreasonable to expect me to do much reading. T h e foremost and favorite excuse is the old refrain: " N o time for reading." T h i s is obviously a vague evasion which, if pressed for explanation and justifica- tion, comes to some such conclusion as this: There are so many things outside of the workday routine which just have to be done; therefore, there is no time J U L Y 1 9 6 0 287 for reading,—much as I'd like to! (Al- ways well to add that.) Non sequitur: from a valid premise, a false conclusion. Certainly eating, sleep- ing, housekeeping, family ties, friendly associations, civic duties, etc., are all legitimate—if not inescapable—demands which make their several inroads on our so-called " f r e e " time. T o this some li- brarians might add a certain amount of gratuitous overtime on purely library matters. But there is implicit in this plea a certain confusion between two distinct types of imperative: natural law and so- cial compulsion. Morally speaking, there may be as much " o u g h t " in one as in the other; but the defiance of nature's re- quirements subjects us to far more severe sanctions than the avoidance of social pressures. Most of the claims on our out-of-office hours are social claims; and it is a rare individual w h o is not exposed to more of these than any one person could pos- sibly satisfy. A greater or lesser part of them will have to be rejected in any event; and, despite all self-delusion ("I really didn't want to, but I simply couldn't refuse"), it is still the individual who decides for himself how many and which ones will be undertaken, and which can be deferred, or evaded, or ig- nored. Here a significant law of human behavior becomes apparent: Whatever one eagerly and intensely wants to do, he somehow finds time to do. I shall not labor the point: the illustrations are all around you—even, if you will look with sufficient candor and clarity, within you. If the truly sincere addiction to reading is there, it will be served. A further fallacy in this alibi is its failure to take any account of the factor of time-organization and efficiency. Even if it is taking all my unsold waking hours to accomplish x number of personal and social functions, it may be because I am doing some of them inefficiently, or with unnecessary fastidiousness. By reschedul- ing sequences, grouping what can be combined, cutting unimportant frills, and giving a little unaccustomed thought to "ways and means," I may be able to d o the same number of things equally well and still have time to spend in reading. Of course it is true that this kind of thinking itself takes time: time which I may again plead the excuse of not having to spare. But when an expen- diture of, say, half an hour per day for just one week may net me an average gain of one hour for every day thereafter, I'd be foolish not to take the gamble. And, if nowhere else, there is always vacation: a wonderful time for such re- view, reassassment, and rededication. T h e n , too, there is a surprising amount of otherwise waste time in anyone's days which can be salvaged by reading. Carry with you, in pocket or purse, a worth- while paperback of your own selection, and discover how pleasantly you may pass those transitional times: riding on a bus, waiting your turn in the barber shop, or marking time until the dentist is ready for you. But the " t o o busy" justification is only one of the many diabolical rationaliza- tions there are to be reckoned with. An- other one, subtly flattering to one's self- esteem, says: " T o o tired to read"; be- cause I put so much of myself into the day's work, I'm just too worn out at the end of the day for any intelligent read- ing. Here, I suggest a simple, mathemati- cal approach: If you are working an av- erage of more than eight hours per day, you'd better start looking for another j o b ; if you are sleeping an average of more than eight or nine hours out of each twenty-four, you'd better see a doc- tor. If not, there are b o u n d to be seven or eight other hours, not more than half of which can be spent in a state of utter exhaustion. W i t h all due allowance for inescapable domestic routines, one or two of those hours must be available, some days, for reading. (I d o not even speak of weekends, holidays, convales- cences, etc.) Your only problem is to iden- 288 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S tify them, and arrange your schedule f o r their exploitation. A n o t h e r excuse is what I call the "bal- anced-personality" alibi, which argues: All day long, every day, as a librarian I am working with books; o n my own time I ' m g o i n g to d o other things, so that I d o n ' t turn into one of those b i b l i o m a n i - acs w h o have nothing else in the w o r l d but books to talk about. T h e essential flaw in this thesis is its disregard f o r the significant fact that a librarian, all day long, every day, is busy doing things to books, w h i c h is quite a different matter f r o m the leisurely reading of books of one's o w n choice. N o librarian of my ac- quaintance spends any appreciable por- tion of his salaried time in reading f o r pleasure, o r even f o r education; and I, for one, w o u l d like to k n o w where such a j o b might be f o u n d . T h e lintotype ma- chine operator might use this excuse f o r not reading with better logic than the librarian. Moreover, there is n o inherent reason why the practice of spare-time reading should preclude the pursuit of all other personal interests, as this particular con- tention implies it w o u l d . A n d it might be added that librarians, of all people, should be aware of the extent to w h i c h any other b r o a d e n i n g and balancing in- terest—theater, art, photography, cook- ing, gardening, or bird-study—can be en- hanced and enlarged by the judicious use of books. A f o u r t h "way o u t " is a materialistic reaction which may be termed the "show- me-first-your-penny" alibi. It says: " T h e main reason for my needing to k n o w m o r e about books is so that I can d o a better j o b ; and that's the boss's p r o b l e m ; as far as I, personally, am concerned, there are other things I ' d rather d o on my o w n time, so I'll not undertake any reading program until they either pay me overtime or give me office time in which to d o it." T h i s is o n a par with the d e m a n d for a bribe b e f o r e one will agree to vote f o r a given political candidate. A n d if I am so indifferent? to the j o y of reading, and can see only " t h e i r " inter- est in having me well-read, it raises a serious question as to whether I have any business being in this profession and drawing my salary, however little! T h e n there is the "utter futility" alibi, c o n t e n d i n g that the n u m b e r and kinds of books which I ought to k n o w about and might like to read are so tremendous that it is just hopeless for me to scratch the surface, far less to delve deeply; there- fore, I might as well not attempt it at all. It w o u l d be n o less absurd to argue that we need not attempt to educate our children, because we can never teach them everything they need to k n o w ; or that I w o u l d be foolish to save a cent since, out of my meager earnings, I can- not possibly save u p a quarter-million dollars in my lifetime. All that is needed, for such a lame apology, is to stare it full in the face—and laugh. T h e obverse side of that one is the "sour grapes" alibi: Everything which is being published today is either trash or a rehashing of what someone else said better b e f o r e ; t h e r e f o r e , I, w h o have already read the W o r l d ' s O n e H u n d r e d Greatest Books, have little to gain f r o m any further reading, and n o p r o b l e m at all in keeping u p with the very few books worth reading. M y o w n experi- ence has been that this line of reasoning is less frequently encountered a m o n g li- brarians than any of the others we have noted. W h e r e it does appear, the only answer is: T h e n shame o n us for accept- ing m o n e y to buy and preserve hypocriti- cally p r o m o t e what n o b o d y really needs! T h e s e are the favorite and m o r e fre- quent extenuations I have encountered, though others u n d o u b t e d l y exist and there are, of course, countless variations and combinations of alibis. But in our catalog of absolutions there must be noted one other attitude of an even m o r e sinister caliber which is observable in varying degrees of purity and intensity. T h i s "extroversional v i e w p o i n t " denies J U L Y 1 9 6 0 289 that there is' any need f o r o r value in a knowledge of the contents and history of b o o k s o n the part of librarians, precisely because it maintains that the sole, p r o p e r f u n c t i o n of librarianship is to d o things to books or f o r books, and not to have any feelings a b o u t them or personal in- terest in them. Selection, it contends, is the work of the subject specialist, which the librarian rarely is and should not attempt to be; and use is a private prob- lem of the patron in which the librarian should interfere as little as possible. In between the two, the librarian's j o b is a purely commercial and technical o n e : to place orders and pay bills, index and describe for the user's convenience, main- tain records and take inventory, and (perhaps) help the user find what he wants if he asks f o r aid. If sincerely held, this belief represents a philosophy of library service, rather than a mere apology f o r not reading, which must be fought, with weapons m o r e effective than logical arguments, by those w h o h o l d a somewhat m o r e elevat- ing and long-range view of the librarian's f u n c t i o n . As Lawrence Clark Powell re- marked to T h e Library Association of Great Britain in 1957: " . . . b a d leader- ship in recent years . . . has led us after the false gods of housekeeping into the desert of jargon. T a l k i n g a b o u t tech- niques has b e c o m e f o r many a substitute f o r reading. T o o busy to read, they say. Fatal admission, I say, m a d e by those w h o thereby disqualify themselves as li- brarians. T h e r e is n o substitute for read- i n g . " 7 W e must understand that only insofar as you and I accept the labor of, and re- sponsibility for, acquiring such a knowl- edge of books as can supplement and, if need be, supplant the work of the sub- ject specialist, and afford a significant and i n f o r m e d service of active aid to the patron, will we be in any position to c o m b a t this mechanistic approach and to 7 " B o o k s Will B e R e a d : L i b v a r v Association Anntial L e c t u r e . " Library Journal, L X X X I I I ( 1 9 5 8 ) , 346-51. maintain the professional-intellectual status of librarianship. W e need not ex- pect to have others d o o u r work, while we reap the g l o r y — a n d the reward. As l o n g as I have not faced and fully rejected all of these specious reasons why I need not read, as long as I keep o n e or another of these alibis at my e l b o w f o r e x c u l p a t i o n w h e n the g o i n g gets tough and c o m p e t i n g interests press hard and I decide to d r o p my reading activity f o r the "indefinite present," any reading goal which I may set myself will never a m o u n t to much. In The Wonderful World of Books (1952), there is an essay by Louis Shores o n " H o w T o Find T i m e T o R e a d , " in which he advocates a con- sistent, daily program of fifteen minutes devoted to reading. I am not convinced that a ritualistic program of x minutes per day is always possible, o r generally sound; but it is clear that there must be an active conscience at w o r k to slap us d o w n if m o r e than three or f o u r consecu tive days pass with n o personal reading accomplished. Such a conscience doesn't stand a chance of survival, while it is in constant danger of b e i n g repeatedly an- esthetized by these delusive excuses. IV. T H E R E A D I N G A. What. T h e saving of this uneasy u n i o n between librarians and books de- pends, then, on the former's acceptance of these two articles of faith: that he ought to seek a greater knowledge and understanding of books, and that, while such knowledge must always remain ex- tremely i n c o m p l e t e and uncertain, he is able to learn m u c h m o r e than he n o w knows. T h e performance of the ceremony — t h e awarding of his library degree— symbolized not the end of his education, but its beginning. W h e n he has made that admission, without hypocrisy or con- straint, he is ready to start o n a lifetime of reading. But, read what? Start where? O n the basis of his o w n experience, Sir W i l l i a m Haley reports: " I came to the conclusion 290 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S that year in year out 150 books a year is a reasonable average." 8 For almost any librarian, this w o u l d represent only 10 per cent at best, and a tiny fraction of one per cent at worst, of the new titles currently received and cataloged by his o w n library (which is, again, an infini- tesimal fraction of the world's current publication)—disregarding entirely, as he cannot a f f o r d to do, any retrospective reading of previous acquisitions or re- reading of personal favorites which war- rant and reward such repetition. T h e best efforts he can make will therefore be quantitatively selective; and he had better accept this limitation (or frustra- tion) cheerfully. M y o w n answer to the p r o b l e m of se- lection which this realization poses has been: W i t h three exceptions and one qualification, read only what keenly in- terests you, haphazardly, as it chances to catch your fancy. T h r e e decades of rea- sonably active reading have completely convinced me of the soundness of L i n Yu-t'ang's observation: " H e n c e I con- sider flavor o r taste as the key to all read- ing. It necessarily follows that taste is se- lective and individual, like the taste for f o o d . . . . A n d if the reader has n o taste f o r what he reads, all the time is wasted. As Yuan Chunglang says, ' Y o u can leave the books that you d o n ' t like alone, and let other people read t h e m . " 9 T o read what I like, so that I am sure to like what I read, may seem like the sheerest self-indulgence; but this is one situation in which I believe indulgence is a wiser course than stern discipline. A n d here is where my one "qualifica- t i o n " enters in. M y likes and interests, within broad limits, are not either pre- determined or unalterable. T o extend L i n Yu-t'ang's analogy of "flavor o r taste" as the key to all reading, my reading pre- dilections resemble my dietary likes and 3 A Small Holding on Parnassus (London: Published for the National Book League by Cambridge University P r e s s , 1954), p. 8. 9 The Importance of Living (New Y o r k : Reynal & Hitchcock, 1937), p. 379. dislikes: they are relatively immutable at the extremes, but highly tractable over the wide range in between. Instead of ap- proaching the world of books with a whole set of hard-and-fast notions as to what I can or cannot stomach, like the spoiled brat w h o says, " I never ate that before, and I know I d o n ' t like it," I can and must adopt a trusting, experimental open-mindedness which welcomes new reading experiences, solicits and consid- ers the recommendations of others, and is constantly searching for new congeni- alities. Bertrand Russell's formula f o r "the secret of happiness" is also the sur- est recipe f o r happy reading: ". . . let your interests be as wide as possible, and let your reactions to the things and per- sons that interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than h o s t i l e . " 1 0 So Fate and Fancy are the primary criteria determining my current selec- tions, so long as Fancy is understood to be, not wayward, but of a consciously catholic bent, and Fate is thought of, not as predetermination, but as happy chance and natural accident, like the " f a t e " which brings two strangers to- gether in a lastingly happy marriage. But, as a librarian, I have also accepted three categories of material which I be- lieve ought to be more or less regularly represented a m o n g my reading accom- plishments, regardless of whether or not they qualify on the score of interest and inclination. I d o not like to think of these types as " d u t y r e a d i n g " ; yet, in scholastic terms, they are almost b o u n d to be closer to required reading than to suggested readings or free electives. T h e first of these is the professional literature of librarianship. Far f r o m pre- suming to prescribe for others, I find that I am still uncertain, even f o r my- self, h o w m u c h reading of this type I need attempt. I have my o w n mental reservations as to the practical utility and significance of m u c h of the current 10 The Conquest of Happiness (New Y o r k : Horace Liveright, 1930), p. 157. J U L Y 1 9 6 0 291 v o l u m i n o u s library literature. But cer- tainly there must be a systematic scan- ning of appropriate journals and, occa- sionally at least, a careful reading of some articles and certain books. Except for conversations or correspondence with colleagues, or the m o r e drastic, difficult but desirable expedient of numerous j o b - changes, this perusal of the professional literature is the only way I k n o w to gain even a partial awareness and apprecia- tion of problems and procedures in other departments of librarianship than one's o w n . T o this end such reading should be less parochial and personal than I sus- pect it n o w is f o r many of us. It should be concerned less with discussions of the topics with w h i c h we are already fa- miliar than with questions w h i c h are new or strange to us; less with the "Posi- tions O p e n " columns and news of ap- pointments than with the "Letters to the E d i t o r " and reviews of professional reading. N o w and then the latter may, in turn, lead us to some new b o o k w h i c h will prove to be pertinent and profitable, and even pleasant reading. T h e second category w h i c h I accept as requisite is that of books a b o u t b o o k s : literary essays, criticism and apprecia- tion, subject guides o r period surveys, c o m m e n t o n reading and writing. In my experience, such material serves three important purposes. First, it is suggestive of authors and works I w o u l d find congenial. Instead of leaving the discovery of my best-loved books entirely to chance and h a p p y acci- dent, I can enlist the aid of these other avid readers w h o , in describing their o w n reactions, will p o i n t o u t o n e o r an- other title which may serve me either as a p o i n t of departure o r as an end in it- self. T h u s , the reading which resulted in my keen and lasting enthusiasm f o r the writing of Llewelyn Powys began as a direct consequence of L . C, Powell's es- say o n that essayist. Secondly, though I d o not pursue any further most of the writings discussed in such books-about-books, I still derive f r o m them a certain conversational fa- miliarity—a polite, n o d d i n g acquaint- ance, perhaps—with many m o r e worth- while books than 1 ever c o u l d encompass o n my o w n . I d o not claim that this vicarious acquaintance is just as g o o d as a full reading; but I d o insist that it is infinitely better than n o acquaintance at all. A n d , finally, I derive f r o m this type of publication an important measure of empathy, fraternity, and (to use a some- what condescending term of o u r trade) inspiration. For we cannot easily escape the recurrent feeling that ours is a mar- ginal line of endeavor: that o u r wares, while widely respected, are scarcely in active d e m a n d by the majority of o u r fellows. T h e r e are b o u n d to be moments of misgiving (perhaps ten months after o u r last vacation) when we find ourselves w o n d e r i n g if the work is really worth the effort and actually as important as we claim; times when we feel that we are bucking an inimical society which is pre- pared to spend millions f o r cosmetics but not one cent for cosmology! A n d I have f o u n d that f r o m these books a b o u t books, I gain the reassurance I need that I am not alone in my feelings towards books and that it is, after all, a rather wonder- ful and e n d u r i n g kind of work. T h e third of my exceptional classes of material is that of cultural history: the history of art and literature, philosophy and religion, science and technology, c o m m e r c e and industry, government and economics, education and scholarship, and so on. O f course, I supposedly learned m u c h of this in my undergradu- ate days, and m o r e of it in library school; but I find that that learning has a dis- turbing property of evanescence: a strong tendency n o t to stay learned. Perhaps you are m o r e fortunate; b u t I have had to accept the necessity f o r a constant and endless relearning, as well as steady ex- pansion, of my understanding of society: its discoveries, ideas, catastrophies, and 292 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S proclivities. It is not e n o u g h f o r me to k n o w books: I must also k n o w something of the cultural history which tells me when, why, and h o w they exerted their influence (if any) o n the lives of p e o p l e . It is only through such reading of this sort as I am able to accomplish that I can correlate into a coherent, usable whole the temporally and topically varied balance of my reading. M y " e x c e p t i o n s " may seem like m o r e than a full program in themselves; and, of course, they easily c o u l d be. But I have not said (or believed) that they must be voluminously represented a m o n g my reading accomplishments: merely m o r e or less regularly. T h e already ac- cepted limitation, that I can never ex- pect to read m o r e than a minute frac- tion of what I should o r w o u l d wish to, applies with even greater force to these three categories than to my preferential reading. I w o u l d not allow all three types, collectively, to usurp as m u c h as half of my total reading time for any protracted period. For, over and over again, experience reinforces my conviction that the read- ing w h i c h does the most lasting g o o d , and the reading of which we make the best use, is the reading which we most enjoy. I regard as the first long step to- wards intellectual suicide the slavish fol- l o w i n g of anyone's list of "great" books, o r " b a s i c " books, o r " f a v o r i t e " books. H e is n o real reader w h o does not gradually c o m p i l e his o w n personal and u n c o n v e n - tional list. " H i s personal landscape is mine. A n d there f o r me is the w h o l e quest and end of literature: to find and to cherish those works whose vision merges with m i n e . " 1 1 B. How. If I read whatever I like, (and my likes are fairly wide and varied), and constantly strive to broaden my interests, I am still faced with an absurdly impos- sible amount of reading. But any further load limitations should lie in my manner 1 1 Powell, Islands of Books ( L o s A n g e l e s : T h e Ward Ritchie P r e s s , 1951), p. 111. of attack, and not in greater restriction of scope. I have already indicated that, in my o w n case, the approach is fortuitous and largely self-indulgent. T h e r e is, first, the matter of finding the right books; but this is n o p r o b l e m . A librarian has f o u r fine opportunities, o n e o r two of which may be his peculiar, professional prerogative, not available to ordinary readers. 1.1 examine the flood and flow of books currently acquired by my o w n library. T h e r e are many points along the proc- essing line f r o m receiving r o o m to circu- lation desk at which this can be d o n e without inconveniencing anyone, if I give just a little consideration to time and technique. T h e material thus sys- tematically screened will be mostly new p u b l i c a t i o n s — b u t not entirely. Whatever the v o l u m e of these current acquisitions, this process should not be arduous o r time-consuming; for, if the daily associa- tion with books makes any impression o n us whatever, it will c o n f e r the ability to make some classification and estimation of many of them at merely a glance. Such aspects of physical format as jacket-de- sign, character of type and illustrations, size, binding, and title, will tell us that this v o l u m e is a juvenile, that o n e is a secondary textbook, and some other is a p o p u l a r historical romance. T h e greater b u l k of the prospects will be eliminated by the use of little m o r e than profes- sional intuition. For the rest, where this appraisal by externals will not suffice, I use the tech- n i q u e of skimming, o r what I prefer to dignify with the name of "sampling analysis." I believe that in most cases I can f o r m an adequately accurate impres- sion of what a b o o k is about, and whether o r not it warrants my reading, f r o m just a few moments spent in the preliminary pages, in reading a few scat- tered paragraphs at r a n d o m , and even in consulting the jacket " b l u r b " (always with appropriate correction for editorial bias). I will make mistakes, but they will J U L Y 1 9 6 0 293 be proportionately very few. A n d the practice alfords this added, incidental bonus: that in the process of discovering the relatively few books I must really get to know I will gain a cursory introduc- tion to a much larger number. By the time I have sampled sufficiently to know that this volume is not for me I have probably f o u n d out a number of other things about it. W h e n I find a book that is clearly meant for me, I make a note of author and title for future reference, knowing that my memory is not to be trusted; and in this way I soon build up a list which, as the source of a large part of my cur- rent reading, becomes a partial record of past and prospective reading in one. It is an inevitable characteristic of this list that, selective as it is and must be, it will increasingly represent far more reading than I shall ever accomplish; for the new additions accumulate much faster than previous entries can be checked off as completed. But it is my insurance against ever wanting for likely, pre-selected sug- gestions. 2. Periodically, I take time to browse in the stacks. For, after all, I have only been at this library for a few years: I have not been able to inspect every b o o k acquired during that time; and, except for these excursions along the shelves behind the scenes, I would see none of the books acquired before that time. And, unlike many of my confreres, I rather prefer the not-so-brand-new book. I am a very slow reader; and I deliber- ately eschew the recently reviewed books in heavy demand which can only be al- lowed to each reader for one week. Read- ing loses much of its savor for me when it must be performed under a time-limit pressure. Moreover, unless his j o b requires a conversancy with the very latest books, I am convinced that any librarian is wise to let a b o o k age a little before he under- takes it. T i m e itself can be an aid in solving the reading problem. If I wait to read it until a year or two after the book's publication, I sometimes find that I don't need, or care, to read it at all. T h e n , too, one is sometimes misled by a transient m o o d : I have had the experi- ence of wondering, on a second examina- tion, how on earth I ever happened even to list the b o o k at its first inspection. Few, if any, books which are really worth my precious reading-time will have be- come any less so when they are two or three years old than they were at publi- cation. 3. I read reviews, brief bibliographical notices, prospectuses, and catalogs: not comprehensively or systematically but, again, by random selection. Here the re- sulting service is less in helping me find what I must read than in giving me a short synopsis of many more-or-less dis- cussed books which I need not read. 4. Occasionally I allow my reading it- self to suggest further reading. I believe my over-all program should have not only breadth of scope, but intermittent depth, as represented by the more inten- sive pursuit of a given author or a cer- tain subject. I have come, over recent years, to agree with Sir William Haley that: ". . . there are all kinds of excite- ment and adventure to be had from asso- ciative reading. . . . T h e looser such asso- ciative reading is, the better. You will find yourself making the most astonish- ing, yet seemingly natural, leaps. You will also find that no writer of the first, or even the second, class has worked or lived in complete literary isolation."1 2 I may also allow the suggestion of a col- league to put one or another title on my list; but only because he has convinced me that I would enjoy it: never out of a mistaken sense of professional or social duty or obligation. So the finding of material is easy: it is the reading of any substantial part of what one has found which poses the problem. Hence, I consider it only wise " Op. cit., pp. 71-72. 294 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S to let chance and inclination have full sway. I have imposed u p o n myself n o moral obligation to persevere doggedly to the bitter end of any b o o k which fails to "sell itself." Accident, error, or misun- derstanding may occasionally place o n my list a title which never belonged there. W h e n this becomes clear, the b o o k goes back to the shelf without further waste of time. If it is my kind of b o o k , it will be so more or less f r o m the begin- ning, and not suddenly b e c o m e so on page 150. N o r will I submit to any sort of schedule or program: I c o u l d not tell you today, with any degree of assurance, what I shall be reading next week; and I w o u l d hate to know, myself. A n o t h e r characteristic of my undisci- p l i n e d m o d e of attack is the practice of keeping three or f o u r o r m o r e books in process of being read at any one time. I take my reading time where and when I find it; and I may find it when I am mentally—and temperamentally— either fresh or stale. W i t h several books under way simultaneously, I can adapt my reading to the m o o d and means of the m o m e n t , and thus make certain that n o potential reading time is completely lost. I have learned, too, to beware of com- paring my accomplishments too closely against those of anyone else, especially in any quantitative sense; f o r this can lead only to discouragement, o n the one hand, o r intellectual snobbery, o n the other, and the mere statistics are not meaningful in themselves. I recognize the fact that I am a slow and painstaking reader and that m u c h of what I accept and enjoy w o u l d scarcely qualify as easy reading. I am more concerned with be- ing able to give a clear (not necessarily detailed) account of the essence of the books I have read than I am in keeping score of titles read. A n d when I c o m e u p o n a passage which seems to me par- ticularly apt o r original, I frequentlv stop to copy it in my vade mecum; f o r I have f o u n d that this is a specially g o o d way of making the b o o k a permanent part of my working equipment. So, when Haley says that "150 books a year is a reasonable average," I can admit without any sense of guilt that my o w n performance is considerably less than this. O n the other hand, when a col- league of mine suggests that "a b o o k a m o n t h " is enough to qualify a librarian as a reader, I can emphatically disagree. T h e r e are limits; but the range is surely very wide, and the rate rarely constant. T h e v o l u m e of my reading, however im- posing, will in itself never gain me more than mere notoriety; it is the appropri- ateness of my selections, and what I have made of them, that will bring the real rewards. T h e r e have been a n u m b e r of voices raised in advocacy of the application of "remedial r e a d i n g " measures to this p r o b l e m of librarians' reading; and there have been a few attempts to put such application into practice. Personally, and o n insufficient evidence, I find myself h o l d i n g a reactionary—even antediluv- ian—suspicion that the gains to be made in this direction are not entirely sound. But I am o p e n to conviction; and I am sure, with Prof. Burton, that: " A n y ef- fort to prevent the disappearance of the well-read librarian is praiseworthy." Speeding u p the reading pace is one way of approaching o u r difficulty, provided it is accompanied by an equivalent accel- eration of the processes of assimilation. " B u t the paradox is that inside a whirl of busyness o u r minds still work slowly, and o u r misery is in the unsynchronized disparity. Already considerable masters of linear translation, we are laggard and torpid in thought. Perhaps the only ease this civilization can h o p e for is not by slowing d o w n but by still more efficient speeding u p . " 1 3 In the meantime, I ac- cept my o w n limitation in this respect and refuse to allow that fact to discour- age me or to pass as an excuse for put- 1 3 Christopher Morley, Historv of an Autumn (Phila- delphia: Lippincott, 1938), pp. 71-72. J U L Y 1 9 6 0 295 ting in less than the m a x i m u m possible reading time. T h e s e matters of technique are not presented as the solution. A f t e r fair trial, I feel sure that they are the right ap- p r o a c h f o r me, affording a practical bal- ance between f r e e d o m and constraint; they may not w o r k f o r someone else. I cite my attitudes less because they repre- sent o n e possible answer than because they suggest the questions w h i c h must be asked of himself, and answered, by anyone intending to w o r k towards a greater knowledge of books. It might be said with some justice that the only dis- tinguishing feature of my plan is its very planlessness. I only k n o w that with it I have been accomplishing far m o r e read- ing (though still not half e n o u g h ) than at any previous period. O n e other question is pertinent to this p o r t i o n of the litigation: the decision to buy o r to b o r r o w . A l t h o u g h I w o u l d be delighted to o w n a large, private library, it is clear that the fiscal limitations o n my ability to buy are a great deal m o r e drastic than even the temporal limita- tions o n my ability to read. I think that the only books w h i c h it is vital f o r m e to o w n are those relatively few to w h i c h I shall want to refer, again and again, (though this, of course, does not mean only that type of c o m p i l a t i o n k n o w n to librarians as "reference works"). Even these I will often begin by b o r r o w i n g ; f o r I a m not sure to recognize these favored few until I have read them once, put them away, and find myself wanting them again. For the substantial balance of my reading, once through is e n o u g h ; and it is only sensible to b o r r o w . Surely the very least that any library adminis- tration can d o to foster staff reading is to make its holdings available to all staff members o n the best circulation terms accorded to any user. It seems to m e entirely p r o p e r to expect unlimited-term loan, subject to recall if the b o o k is re- quested b y someone else, with n o restric- tions o n the n u m b e r of titles allowed. Yet this f r e e d o m to b o r r o w should never be taken f o r granted by the librar- ian. It is a prerogative w h i c h he should b o t h insist u p o n having and regard with delighted amazement when he receives. T o take such a privilege f o r granted is a sure sign that " t h e h o n e y m o o n is over." As a university librarian I am continu- ally aware of the very substantial tuition fees paid by the students, a considerable- p o r t i o n of w h i c h is clearly f o r the right to use the library collection o n less ad- vantageous terms than I am accorded, free of all charge! A n d I am not willing to say that their need is greater than mine. V. T H E R E A C T I O N If the first requirement of my adjust- ment is the refutation of alibis, and the second is the reading itself, the third must be a reaction of some sort. T h e reading can have d o n e m e little g o o d if, w h e n it is over, I have n o feeling what- ever about the b o o k . T h e f o r m a t i o n of some k i n d of o p i n i o n o r set of o p i n i o n s is surely as essential a part of any adult reading as the correct translation of sym- bols into sense. B u t these reactions are critical j u d g - ments w h i c h may disclose something about the nature of the b o o k , o r may re- veal something a b o u t the reader. T h e in- tuition of this latter possibility makes us reluctant to analyze and articulate the " w h y s " of o u r reactions—at times, even to ourselves: we may be e x p o s i n g some damaging admission that were better left in obscurity. As a result, we understand very little a b o u t many of the b o o k s we have read, and even less about ourselves; and yesterday's reading is apt to be for- gotten tomorrow. Again, the marriage analogy suggests itself. I c o m e to each new b o o k (polyga- mously) as a b r i d e g r o o m to marriage, with certain expectations as to what the experience will afford. I have chosen this mate (or have been chosen and allowed (Continued on page 319) 296 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S "As Long As W e Both Shall Live" (Continued from page 296) to suppose that I chose) because I think that it is g o i n g to help, o r c o m f o r t , o r im- prove, o r amuse, or delight. A t the very least, I should know, after a time, whether or not it has met my expecta- tions—and why. T o discover this is neither to praise o r to d a m n the b o o k : if the two d i d not match, it may have been my expectations that were out of line, and not the b o o k . But, says the newly-wed, this is t o o personal an experience to b e discussed. Q u i t e possibly he may carefully avoid ex- amining his o w n real feelings in the mat- ter. I have n o wish to set u p as a marital- relations counselor; but, in the case of the reading, I am certain that it must be discussed: first in soliloquy; then a m o n g friends; and finally with the critic. It is my expectations that are important. If I am consistently satisfied, I am expect- ing too little, and must raise my stand- ards; if I am consistently disappointed, I am expecting t o o m u c h , and must c o m e d o w n f r o m my pedestal; if I am con- sistently bored, I have n o expectations, and must set about d e v e l o p i n g some if I d o not intend to b e c o m e a worthless misfit in the w o r l d of books. W h a t is reasonable to expect I determine f r o m my o w n reading experiences and f r o m the comparison of my expectations with those of others. T h e librarian's j o b is n o t customarily thought of as embracing the f u n c t i o n of critic. T h e critic is supposed to evaluate; the librarian, to provide, describe, per- haps (if invited) to prescribe, and dis- seminate. Perhaps the average librarian's reluctance to p r o n o u n c e judgments (es- pecially, adverse), amounting almost to an occupational disease, is really a nice regard f o r p r o p e r professional b o u n d a - ries. But, in actual fact, many of o u r pro- fessional activities are, to a considerable extent, critical—no matter h o w l o n g and loudly we protest our utmost impartial- ity: cataloging and classification, for ex- ample; or the weeding-out of material; or, the most o b v i o u s and basic critical j u d g m e n t of all, selection. T h e historical development of publishing and library service has carried us over, willy-nilly, into the critic's province; and we are apt to d o a better j o b if we play our part in evaluation in a conscious and conscientious, rather than self-deceptive, manner. I am unable to understand o r sympa- thize with the false modesty which leads most of us to disparage and conceal our o w n critical viewpoints because they are amateurish, personal, and prejudiced. A l l of the most important decisions we make in a lifetime are matters of ama- teurish, personal, and prejudiced judg- ment: vocation, religious and political af- filiations, marriage and friendships, etc. W e make little or n o attempt to hide the o p i n i o n s which these reflect, nor d o we feel any need, f o r the most part, to d e f e n d them or excuse them. W h y should it suddenly b e c o m e so different when we are c o n f r o n t e d with art, in any of its forms, o r philosophy? Is it because we confuse critical o p i n i o n with dictum? T o say that 7 like a certain b o o k is n o t to say that I r e c o m m e n d it indiscriminately to others, or that I predict it will prove to be immortal, o r even that I consider it intrinsically better than other books of similar sort and purpose. Even though every practising, professional critic de- clares an opposite reaction, my pro- nouncement remains valid within the range in which I have projected it—pro- vided I have taken the pains to say why I find it so. " M y reading has always been extremely personal—why deny it?—a hungry search f o r books to feed my o w n prejudices, as well as to strengthen my weaknesses, an earnest quest f o r verifica- J U L Y 1 9 6 0 319 tion of my o w n e x p e r i e n c e . " 1 4 In the pursuit of a greater knowledge of books, it is not just a question of what books are to be k n o w n , but of who's k n o w i n g them — a n d how. V I . T H E R E L A T I O N T h e best reading efforts I can manage to make, even if I credit myself with " k n o w i n g " all those titles I have merely skimmed and rejected o r read a b o u t in some other b o o k , are g o i n g to fall far short of the total knowledge of books I need. A m I in the end and after so m u c h effort, to be defeated in my purpose? I believe that the answer here, as in so many other crucial problems of librarian- ship, lies to a great degree in coopera- tion. It is a matter of m i l d amazement to me that librarians, w h o have g o n e so far in cooperative acquisition, coopera- tive cataloging, cooperative circulation, and cooperative storage, should have d o n e so pathetically little in the way of cooperative reading. If there are far too many in o u r pro- fessional ranks w h o w o u l d scarcely qualify as readers in any sense, there is a m u c h larger n u m b e r w h o read but, hav- ing read, seem to consider it a p o i n t of h o n o r or duty never to m e n t i o n the fact in polite society; if they admit the addic- tion to reading at all, it is only to one or two of their most intimate acquaint- ances. Since this attitude is completely foreign to my make-up, I cannot claim to understand it; but I suspect that this strange reticence has various motiva- tions: in some cases, the belief that such conversation about books read w o u l d prove b o r i n g to others; or, perhaps, the fear that what one has read recently w o u l d be regarded by others as t o o trivial to mention or, even worse, as dis- tinctly queer; or, in other instances, the misgiving that what o n e had to say a b o u t a given title might prove to be not the " r i g h t " reaction; and so on. In any event, 1 4 Powell, Islands of Books, p. 54. there is a clearly discernable tradition that any g r o u p of librarians, f r o m two to twice two thousand, assembled any- where outside the library, may discuss salary scales and w o r k i n g conditions, travel experiences and vacation plans, personalities and gossip, movies, sports and T V programs, politics and the weather—anything, except books and reading! W h i l e I shall never accede to this tra- dition, I am obviously powerless to d o m u c h about changing it; yet, I w o u l d have y o u consider what seems to me to be three good reasons why it ought to be changed. T h e principal o n e is based u p o n an observed p h e n o m e n o n which I have formulated as Sweet's L a w of the Natural Diversity of R e a d i n g Interests: If you take any g r o u p of f r o m six to six- teen reading librarians, and make n o ef- fort to influence or m o l d their instinctive preferences, you will find remarkably lit- tle overlapping in their fields of primary interest. O n e reads science fiction, by choice, and another, detective stories; a third is particularly interested in local history, and a fourth, in music; still an- other combines an interest in medieval history with a love for m o d e r n art, while I claim the essay, and other forms of belles-lettres, as my favored sphere; con- temporary English and American fiction has its well-read adherents, and so it goes. If, then, each m e m b e r of this g r o u p is sharing with each other m e m b e r a run- ning review of his particular reading in- terests and activities, everyone must de- rive at least a conversational acquaint- ance with a tremendously b r o a d scope of material to supplement his m o r e inten- sive familiarity with certain specific fields. If you contend that such a vicari- ous, " d r a w i n g - r o o m " knowledge of many books is worse than having n o n e at all, I can only record my dissenting o p i n i o n . T o me it is one further and fruitful way of k n o w i n g about a great many m o r e books than we can ever k n o w intimately and directly, and of k n o w i n g them bet- 320 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S ter—because of personal associations— than a bibliographical reference or a paragraph in some guide-to-the-literature w o u l d allow. Theoretically, such exchange of b o o k - knowledge might be either oral (as in g r o u p discussion) or written (as in a li- brary-staff publication); and, in either case, it might be either informal (as in an i m p r o m p t u , ad libitum account) or sys- tematic (as in a prepared speech or pa- per). After participation in various ex- periments, 1 have reluctantly c o n c l u d e d that there is n o one " b e s t " approach, and that the situation calls for some use of all possible methods. T h e main thing is that there should be some constant ef- fort at c o m m u n i c a t i o n of this sort, even if at the outset it is a responsibility ac- cepted only by a small minority. T h e second argument in favor of co- operative reading is that it confers the auxiliary benefit of clarification and co- ordination of one's o w n reading. T h e very effort to formulate my impressions and descriptions of the books I have read in m o r e precise terms that I w o u l d ever d o f o r myself alone serves to correct any misconceptions, sharpen vague notions, and relate the diverse reactions I derive f r o m each, and thus makes the books a m o r e permanent yet pliable part of my total working equipment. A n d the third reason f o r such relation of reading experience is its very value as propaganda. O n l y when some brave (or foolhardy?) souls take the initiative, and figuratively stand u p in meeting-house to make their declarations as readers and reactors, will the reluctance of others to d o the same be overcome. T h e r e is a happy quality of contagion in b i b l i o p h - ilism: as one reader voices his enthusi- asms or concerns, he stirs u p a like re- sponse in listeners w h o w o u l d otherwise have remained silent. But let us be very clear on one p o i n t : any cooperative reading efforts are worse than wasted if they are intended to sell to others my favorite authors or even my chosen topics. T h e aim must be to share — n o t to convert; there must be not merely tolerance of, but positive respect for others' varying interests and discov- eries; and the only permissible proselyt- ism is that on behalf of the general g o o d and the c o m m o n aim of a greater com- posite knowledge of books. W h a t is needed is not standardization of reading efforts in any one direction but a wide- spread individuality of effort, plus the p r o u d , affectionate, unashamed admis- sion of this d e v o t i o n to books. " T o the end I shall be r e a d i n g — a n d forgetting. A h , that's the worst of it! H a d I at com- mand all the knowledge I have at any time possessed, I might call myself a learned man. N o t h i n g surely is so bad for the memory as long-enduring worry, agitation, fear. I cannot preserve m o r e than a few fragments of what I read, yet read I shall, persistently, rejoicingly. W o u l d I gather erudition for a future life? Indeed, it n o longer troubles me that I forget. I have the happiness of the passing m o m e n t , and what more can mortal ask?" 1 5 T h e w o r d " r e l a t i o n " has a happy am- biguity which lends a m u l t i p l e meaning to its use as the theme of this chapter. It can mean: (a) the "act of relating, o r telling"; or (b) "the m o d e in which one thing stands to a n o t h e r " ; or (c) the "state of being mutually or reciprocally inter- ested." 16 Because there is a relation, in sense (b) between our individual read- ing activities, we must d e v e l o p a relation, in sense (c), by means of a relation, in sense (a). In pioneer fashion, we can help each other, if we will. V I I I . T H E R E C O N C I L I A T I O N A n d so, while there is still time, I ten- der these, my reconciliation vows, to my estranged profession, the " c a l l i n g " of books: I shall read, in part for profit and in 1 5 George Gissing, The Private Papers of Henry Rye- croft (New Y o r k : The Modem Library, n . d . ) , p. 45. li5 Webster's Colleaiate Dictionary (5th ed.; Spring- field, M a s s . : G. & C. M e r r i a m Co., c1936), p. 839. J U L Y 1 9 6 0 321 part f o r pleasure, as voraciously as deter- m i n a t i o n can manage and as variously as interest allows; I shall read "persist- ently, rejoicingly." By reading books a b o u t books, and by casual acquaintances with other books, I shall learn about many m o r e books than I am able to k n o w through the actual reading. I shall constantly study the pro- fession, her traits and tendencies, n o t merely because she is such a fascinating enigma, but because the better I know her the m o r e likely we are to avoid fu- ture discord. I shall f o r m impressions and o p i n i o n s about the books I read; and, whenever the o p p o r t u n i t y arises, I shall voice those views—not arrogantly, yet earnestly. I shall try to induce my colleagues to give me the benefit of their diverse read- ing experiences; and, in this, I shall not wait f o r them to take the initiative, but will begin by discussing my o w n reading, in the a n n o u n c e d expectation that they will respond in kind. A n d if they should prove to be unwill- ing to cooperate, I shall not allow this failure to mitigate o r cancel the other re- sponsibilities, here undertaken. R e a d , react, relate. T h a t is my pro- gram: neither a casually simple one, nor yet an impossible o r unreasonable goal. A n d , to the extent that I succeed, I be- lieve that this search f o r a greater knowl- edge of books will inevitably be its o w n reward. " T h e inquiring m i n d , the relish- ing m i n d , the ever-young (because un- satiated) m i n d . Books cannot o n their o w n give you these things. It is what y o u in the first place m u s t — n o matter h o w long y o u l i v e — b e always prepared to give to them. A d m i t t e d l y they can then return it to you stimulated and height- ened, the k i n d of 'breeder-reactor' effect we n o w talk about so glibly in this atomic age. But, so far as y o u are con- cerned, every masterpiece is dead until you bring it to l i f e . " 1 7 T h e s e aims, there- fore, I promise to pursue f o r "as l o n g as we b o t h shall live." 1 7 Haley, op. cit., pp. 19-20. Inflation A recent study of books in thirteen different subject fields showed that f r o m 1947- 58 the price increase ranged f r o m 47 to 58 per cent. For example, books in the field of science had an average cost of $5.52 in 1947. T h e average cost in 1958 was $9.16. Books in the field of business w h i c h had an average cost of $4.72 in 1947-49 had an average cost of $7.98 in 1958. Books in the field of history had an average cost of $4.76 in 1947-49 and by 1958 the average cost was $6.46. In the area of U . S. periodical prices, the average cost of periodicals in the field of agriculture in 1947-49 was $1.77, and i n 1958 the average cost was $2.48. . . . A c c o r d i n g to i n f o r m a t i o n obtained f r o m a leading library supply house, there has been a 38 per cent over-all increase in all items since 1950. In 1945 the average salary of all p u b l i c library employees (part time, full time, professional, clerical, b u i l d i n g staff, etc.) was $1,100. In 1956 the a m o u n t was .$2,230 Beginning salaries of library school graduates have risen f r o m an average of $3,675 in 1954 to $4,693 in 1958, an increase of a b o u t 27 per cent. . . .-—From U. S. Congress. House. Committee on Education and Labor. Subcommittee on Spe- cial Education. Extension of Library Services Act. Hearings, 86th Cong., 2d sess., on H.R. 9319, H.R. 9494, H.R. 9812. Washington: 1960. p. 8. 322 C O L L E G E A N D R E S E A R C H L I B R A R I E S