Edmund White begins his new short story, "Record Time," with the observation that "loneliness can be a full state or an empty one." White then contrasts the self-conscious, stomach-churning loneliness of his adolescent school experiences with the fulfilling, self-sufficient isolation that he learned to revel in as a 13 -year old -- a loneliness that was redeemed by the company of music, novels, and art books borrowed from his local library. He writes: "I'd come home from school by way of the library, my biceps aching from my burden of records, scores, and books, and I'd barricade myself in my room." Library books transformed his empty room into a welcome sanctuary.
White describes the various treasures he lugged home from the library in loving detail -- a Brahm's violin concerto sleeved in a romantic 1950's record jacket, a Japanese art book containing a wood block print of young lovers running on high wooden shoes through the morning rain, book titles listed inside the musty dust jackets of the Modern Library -- and it is clear that he attributes much of what he is today to those adolescent hours of solitary discovery.
White absorbed the library materials voraciously, without judgment ("I didn't think to judge these experiences any more than a starving man turns up his nose at food"). He enjoyed reading the opinions of others, however, and as his Midwestern world broadened and deepened, he grew into himself.
If you love libraries and what they stand for, I highly recommend that you take the time to read White's short story. You can find it in one of his recent books, "Chaos." I think that you'll recognize a bit of yourself in the story -- I did.
One cautionary note -- the three short stories in "Chaos" are all superb -- they have broad appeal and address universal truths. The novella, after which the book is titled, tends toward the "raw" end of White's writing spectrum (not, as Jerry Seinfeld would say, that there's anything wrong with that), and may not be everyone's cup of tea.
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