I probably wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for libraries. And by that I mean I wouldn't have read the books I did, particularly those that inspired me to believe that being a writer was even a possibility.
During one of the loneliest periods of my childhood, I would enter the warm and well-lit library of my public school every morning to return the book I'd finished overnight before borrowing another. I'd chat brightly to the librarian, Mrs Hollis, an ever-comforting presence.
To quote writer Rebecca Solnit, libraries are 'temples of books, fountains of narrative pleasure, and toolboxes of crucial information'. But a library is far greater than the sum of its books. Not only are they places that help sustain literary culture, they're important as public spaces in themselves.
I've spent countless hours in libraries and they've had a renewed presence in my life of late, but I wasn't planning to write about libraries for a while — until a few weeks ago, that is, when an op-ed appeared on Forbes entitled 'Amazon should replace local libraries to save taxpayers money'. The writer, an economist, put forward his idea that libraries 'don't have the same value they used to'. It caused a public outcry all over the world.
I particularly appreciated an Australian response from Justine Hyde, a writer and director at the State Library Victoria. In her piece, 'For the love of libraries', she skillfully decimates the arguments in that now infamous op-ed, which was redacted the same day it was published. Hyde specifically addresses the financial aspects of the argument with the available data, which is compelling. I lingered over her comment that a great many people rely on libraries, 'particularly the under-privileged, marginalised and disenfranchised'. Who did she mean by that?
Perhaps that definition could be applied to someone like me, who grew up far less privileged than I am now. We had some books at home so I wasn't wholly deprived but I did have to discover reading without any real parental guidance; and, anyway, English wasn't even our home language. But then when I started working at my local public library — the first job I held after high school — it became clear that while I might have been the child of refugees, for many, libraries themselves were a refuge.
I can still recall one of our regular patrons, who wore the same clothes every day and habitually avoided eye contact in an out of the way corner as he quietly read magazines. I was disturbed by his presence and didn't know how to bridge what felt like the unbridgeable distance between us; I feel ashamed now that the best I managed was regularly asking my manager whether we should call a social service to help him. The staff, in any case, just let the man be, because in this suburban public library everyone was welcome.
"Libraries were inaccessible and rarefied spaces in Vietnam. My father was ambivalent about many aspects of our life in Australia but libraries were certainly not one of them."
What other public buildings do we have which are driven by the same open-hearted ethos? Back then I didn't appreciate how the library must have been so precious to him, since he clearly didn't have a home to return to. He was just one of the many people who needed that library far more than I did, which I would also think about whenever I'd shelve the large print books, magazines in different languages, and audio books. Many of these items were brought back by the mobile library, an important outreach service which would visit patrons who couldn't get themselves to the library without great effort, if it was even possible for them to leave home at all.
At another job I held some years later at a local council, our flagship library had a dedicated space for young people, with Playstations as well as computers with internet access. Back in 2004 this was a radical shift in policy, especially as it was a space in the library where you could even eat and talk without being reprimanded. Whenever I visited in the late evenings, there were always young people staying right until the library's closing time, dragging their feet to go home only because they had to.
Of course, most who visit public libraries are not necessarily disenfranchised. I know this because I'm in a local library at least once a week, especially in recent years since I started working on my laptop and now have a toddler as well. Libraries are where I see students hanging out and studying, people applying for jobs and conducting job interviews on the phone, mums with kids browsing books, older people learning how to use computers — and other patrons just sitting there quietly, doing whatever in peace. In the different parts of Sydney I frequent, there's a great deal of cultural diversity as well: white men, women in hijabs, Chinese grandparents — all within metres of each other, sharing the same space.
One of the features of Australian culture that my father has never lost his awe over is public libraries, as libraries were inaccessible and rarefied spaces in Vietnam. He was ambivalent about many aspects of our life in Australia but libraries were certainly not one of them. He still finds it incredible that you can just borrow a book and take it home, on the mere promise of returning such a valuable item. You could never just borrow a book like that in Vietnam, he'd often say.
During a two-week stint in Dili last year, I visited the Xanana Gusmão Reading Room on a number of occasions. It was clearly a much-loved place full of young people making use of the resources. However, it wasn't lost on me that Timor-Leste's only public library had a fraction of what an average public library does in Australia.
There's no doubt that buying and owning books can bring much pleasure — yes, including from Amazon — and nowadays I have the kind of personal library I never dreamed was even possible as a child. Yet I still borrow books and spend time in libraries, and I wholeheartedly support the call to renew our libraries and increase funding to them — particularly in NSW, which receives the lowest amount of state funding in the country.
How much poorer would our civic life be without all of our vital public libraries serving communities right across Australia and, indeed, the world.
Sheila Ngoc Pham is a writer, producer and radio maker. She currently teaches public health ethics at Macquarie University and is a PhD candidate at the Australian Institute of Health Innovation. She tweets as @birdpham