The Lost 'Library Voice'

by: Sung J. Woo

The library of my youth, in Ocean Township, N.J., was a tomb of peace, where the only sounds were shuffles, whispers and the occasional shush — delivered with an index finger crossing the lips of a bespectacled, cardigan-wearing librarian.

These days, at my local branch in Washington Township, N.J., I have to play an MP3 file in a loop — a sound bite of a hair dryer blasting between my ears — because without the white noise, I would not be able to think straight.

The theme of National Library Week, which begins on Sunday, is “Communities Thrive @ Your Library.” I have no problem with that. I just wish they would thrive more quietly. When did libraries become a cacophonous combination of cafe, video store, music store, computer lab and playground?

Twenty years ago, I was able to research my high school term papers in silence, but now the communal desks have been transformed into an open forum for children and adults to chat away as if they were hanging out at Starbucks.

Back in the day, there was such a thing as your “library voice,” which was pitched above a whisper but well below normal conversation, the sort of sotto voce used to deliver shameful apologies.

Not anymore. When fellow patrons walk through the doors and make a beeline for the DVD section, when they are clacking the discs’ plastic cases and lecturing on the savvy beauty of “Mad Men” or the intricate plotting of “The Wire,” I can hear their every word across the room.

One of the bigger libraries near me has a listening station for CDs, and the other day, two teenage girls sat down, clamped on headphones and proceeded to talk to each other while enjoying their music. Have you ever tried conversing with someone wearing Princess Leia-like headphones? You have to shout. Which is also what kids do when they log on the public computers to watch their favorite YouTube videos while opening up 15 windows of Instant Messenger. They may be quietly typing “LOL,” but they are also literally laughing out loud.

Meanwhile, tykes are burning up the carpet. I cannot remember the last time I went to my library when children were not playing hide-and-seek in the stacks, shrieking as they chased one another. The parents are usually nowhere to be seen, maybe playing a little hide-and-seek from their offspring. If this were story hour, I could understand, but it seems as if every minute of every day is now playtime.

Even librarians seem to be getting into the act, talking on the telephone as if sitting in a living room, letting everyone know that the plumber is arriving during lunch or that Uncle Jim is coming for dinner. At one point I had to turn up the dial of my hair dryer symphony to 11 because two librarians were discussing the location of a particular audio book — while standing at the opposite ends of the room.

At least this gives me a reason to look forward to old age, when I will again be blessed with the serenity that used to exist in libraries a long time ago — not because the noise level will have diminished, but because I will be too deaf to hear.

Sung J. Woo, a writer and Web developer, lives in Washington Township, N.J., and is the author of “Everything Asian” (Thomas Dunne Books, 2009).

From: NY Times