Author's note: While Grace has already written about her time spent in her hometown library, I wanted to give credit where credit is due to the place that ignited her passion for reading, and eventually writing! This piece is inspired by the Rainbow Magic series that specifically helped foster a love for reading early in Grace’s life as well as my own. Grace, the Iris team loves you and we are all so grateful that you chose to gift your talent to us!
When Queen Titania handed me my wand for the first time, I expected an elemental form of magic to appear when I waved it, like most of the other fairies received. Instead, all that appeared in front of me was a leather-bound book.
“Reading?” I asked the queen, confused. How could I possess the power of reading? It was something that everyone seemed to do, humans and fairies alike, without any sort of intervention. It didn’t seem like something that needed my assistance.
“No, Grace,” she smiled. “Your duty pertains to a place. You will be the keeper of all of the knowledge this place possesses, just as your grandmother was.” She waved her hand in dismissal, and that was the last I saw of the Fairy realm.
……
The receptionist took notice of me immediately. Tiny beings with wings tend to stick out like sore thumbs in the human realm, devoid of visible magic.
“Thank goodness you’re here Grace!” She exclaimed, her round and rosy cheeks pulling upwards into a warm smile. I perched on her desk. “You look just like your grandmother. Your wings are the same color! I could never tell if they were blue or green.” She shook her head. “Things just haven’t been the same here without her.”
I noticed the plaque dedicated to her outside. The library was exactly how my grandmother had described: a square, colonial-brick building, with white columns around the door and ivy creeping up the side.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The receptionist exclaimed, brushing a piece of graying hair out of her face. I forgot to introduce myself. You can call me Louisa.”
I managed a smile back, despite the fact that I was still unsure of what I was even doing here to begin with. Yet, the air in this place was comfortable. Bookshelves ran up and down the room in columns, and the big, arched windows made any overhead lighting obsolete. Maybe it was just the fact that Grandmother had always talked about this place when she was back home, but it felt as if I had already been here before.
……
So what exactly did being keeper of the library entail? Lots of reading. I liked reading already, but now, it was my entire job. Louisa explained that in order to best direct patrons around the library and keep them coming back, Grandmother had made it her mission to read every single book in the library. She had not gotten through all of them before she passed, but Louisa seemed to think that she came very close.
I perched in a hidden window seat, trying to remain hidden from the library patrons until I felt at least a bit more knowledgeable. Louisa would bring me another book as soon as I finished one. The window became my permanent spot — while I laid on top of the books, legs crossed behind me, the natural light illuminated the pages. They almost seemed to sparkle.
As the days passed, I moved quickly through the kids section, and then worked my way into the young-adult novels, which felt like the natural progression. I began to look for potential young people I could entice with the possibility of having access to the library and the seemingly infinite amount of books it possessed. Only, I noticed a problem: there were not many of them in the library at all.
Grandmother had always described this place as bustling, but this was no longer the case. There was a huge generational gap in who used the library. There were plenty of elderly patrons, and adults with small children, but next to no human teenagers. I had my work cut out for me.
……
Even from the beginning, it was difficult to read all of these books and not be inspired to write my own. If I was unsatisfied with how a story ended, how easy it seemed to rewrite its conclusion to make it better! Why not have the princess in the tower rescue herself instead of waiting for a prince?
One day, I picked up the nub of a pencil, disappointed by yet another story about a damsel in distress, and came so very close to scribbling down my idea for a new ending. Yet, there were more pressing matters– so many books to read, and an ever-dwindling number of patrons in the library! I felt Louisa’s eyes on me from the front desk. What would she think if I veered away from the duty Grandmother left for me?
I sighed, and put the pencil down. There was too little time for me to be distracted like this.
……
I tried talking to the few teenagers that did grace the library with their presence. It was an unenthusiastic “maybe,” or “that sounds boring,” or the worst: “I had to read that for school.”
I brought my concerns up during a visit with Queen Titania. “Do you think it could be Jack Frost convincing them that reading isn’t worthwhile?” I asked her. “Have you seen him?” she asked in reply, worry replacing the concern in her stare. No, I had not seen him. It was all the answer I needed.
Perhaps it was simply a generational difference between the humans. But if they were bored, why were the stories not evolving to counter this? The question lingered in the back of my mind.
……
“You are a fairy of many talents, Grace,” Louisa told me, when I broke down in frustration over yet another teen declining a library card. “I’m sure your grandmother would want you to keep this place alive however you see fit and by whatever means necessary. If something isn’t working anymore, why keep doing it?”
It certainly was not working. We regularly took in new books, yet none of them seemed to be what was wanted. If they thought that the current books we possessed weren’t interesting, why weren’t the authors writing ones that they would find more enjoyable?
I slowly nodded, finding the words. It was scary deviating from Grandmother’s path. But Louisa was right; her path was to keep this place going, the same as mine. “I think what we need here the most are new stories, but it’s been a while since I tried writing anything. Do you think they’d like it?”
Louisa nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I do think they’d like it! If you need anything, just say the word. Maybe it’s time you give storytelling another shot.”
She ripped the corner off of a piece of scratch paper, which was plenty big enough for me, and handed me the smallest pencil nub she could find.
That was all the confirmation I needed. I picked up the pencil, rested the piece of paper flat on the windowsill, and began to write.
To read Grace's feature on Lindsey, see "a patchwork of unconditional love".
