A young friend of mine recently moved to California. She's been sending back thoughtful and astute observations about the public library she works for out there.
Not surprisingly, that library is different from ours in ways both large and small. For instance, we are an independent library district -- the only kind of public library that is directly accountable, not to some other governmental entity with its own concerns (such as a county or city), but directly to the people it serves. My friend's library is within a city with lots of its own problems.
Yet, responding to her observations reminded me that organizations, like the people who make them, are more alike than not.
I've often said about the Douglas County Libraries that we follow a distinct rhythm: 2 years out, 2 years in. It's like breathing.
For 2 years, often around a building project, we have intense and probing discussions with the public. That's how we figure out what people want from us. Breathe out!
Then, for 2 years, we put our plans into practice. More often than not, they are successful, often wildly so. That ramps up our business.
And that's when we find out that the new level of activity requires us to change the way we do things. Breathe in!
Any dynamic organization -- make that "any organization," because an organization that isn't dynamic doesn't last very long -- finds that "changing the way we do things" falls into two broad strategies.
First, you centralize. This happens when you find that there's a lot of inconsistency in the system. There's duplication of effort, some major or minor squandering of resources through inefficiency and lack of standards.
Second, you decentralize. Too much focus on standards and predictability results in, well, too much predictability. To some, it looks like a loss of creativity, or stagnation. (Although predictability in getting the right things done is no vice.) It may indeed result in a lack of responsiveness, particularly when things are changing rapidly in the environment around the organization.
Which is best? Like so many other black or white choices, the answer is, "it depends." It depends on which set of problems your organization faces at the moment. It depends on the people in key spots, and what their own strengths are. It depends on what's happening in the context of your organization.
One of the strengths of our library has been our distinct local connections. That's largely a decentralized process -- our staff responding to a unique community.
But an honest assessment of our operations told us that there were a lot of ways we could give the public a better bang for its buck. We moved our book ordering into fewer hands, and managed to get a lot more efficient with our time -- and therefore get more materials faster.
We established some standards for graphics, taking our program promotions up a notch, and increasing the number of people who came to them. We've worked hard to coordinate a unified strategy for the use of phone and computer equipment.
This year, as we go into our final budget adoption, we're working hard to institute that mysterious quality called "alignment" -- where all the rowers in the boat are pulling in the same direction and at the same time. We're also using more centralized measures of accountability -- benchmarks that tell us what's working, and what isn't.
Breathe out; breathe in. Centralize; decentralize. Flexibility is a sign of life; rigidity is the distinguishing feature of death.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Thursday, November 9, 2006
November 11, 2006 - Checkouts Still a Basic Business
I was talking the other day with an economic development executive. A self-described Internet junkie, he wanted to know how the 'net was changing the profile of library use.
I told him a little bit about the study I reported on earlier this year: the more Internet stations we add, the more business we get everywhere else, too. But then I got curious about proportions. How do the uses of the public library compare to each other?
As of the end of October, we've already matched or beat our statistics for all of last year. In round terms, we have checked out over 4 million items. Our patrons have walked through our doors more than 1.2 million times.
We offer round the clock access to various electronic databases. To date, people have racked up over 400,000 searches.
Over 300,000 people have logged into our public Internet stations. We've answered over 230,000 reference questions.
We've had 168,856 volunteer hours donated to us. Imagine that each volunteer gives us just one hour. Given that we're open 69 hours a week, and have worked through some 44 weeks, that works out to about 55 volunteers every 7 days.
Finally, over 80,000 people have attended various library meetings.
So in terms of actual library use, here's what we know:
* Every person who walks through the door checks out about 3 and a half items.
* Every third person uses one of our subscription databases (either in the library, or from home).
* Every fourth person signs up for one of our Internet stations.
* Every fifth person asks a reference question.
* Every seventh person gives us an hour of their volunteer time.
* Every fifteenth person attends a library program.
Clearly, then, the greatest use of our public library is still as a place to borrow stuff. But there is quite a drop between what people check out, versus other measurable uses of our services.
Just because we can't measure it, of course, doesn't mean people are standing around with a confused look on their faces. (Although, sometimes, it might mean that, at which point our staff should make a graceful intervention.)
There's also the activity of "browsing," which is part of the process through which people get to those checkouts. It correlates to "shopping" -- people spend more time wandering around and handling the merchandise than they do actually paying for something.
Like shopping, hanging out at a library has another important dimension: social interaction. We are social creatures. We like to see others of our kind, and be seen by them. We like to listen to others, and have them listen to us.
Often -- although we don't have good numbers for this -- people are simply sitting and studying or reading. But quite as often, they're talking to each other. They may also attend meetings not sponsored by the library, but held there.
In all, I find these statistics reassuring. Despite the hype about computers replacing and displacing public places, it turns out that we still need those places for people to gather. And the traditional use of the public library -- a place to browse and borrow materials -- is still the big winner in terms of people's actions in the building.
2006 has been a year of many changes for the library. But it's important to remember that some things, basic to our business, are still our bedrock.
I told him a little bit about the study I reported on earlier this year: the more Internet stations we add, the more business we get everywhere else, too. But then I got curious about proportions. How do the uses of the public library compare to each other?
As of the end of October, we've already matched or beat our statistics for all of last year. In round terms, we have checked out over 4 million items. Our patrons have walked through our doors more than 1.2 million times.
We offer round the clock access to various electronic databases. To date, people have racked up over 400,000 searches.
Over 300,000 people have logged into our public Internet stations. We've answered over 230,000 reference questions.
We've had 168,856 volunteer hours donated to us. Imagine that each volunteer gives us just one hour. Given that we're open 69 hours a week, and have worked through some 44 weeks, that works out to about 55 volunteers every 7 days.
Finally, over 80,000 people have attended various library meetings.
So in terms of actual library use, here's what we know:
* Every person who walks through the door checks out about 3 and a half items.
* Every third person uses one of our subscription databases (either in the library, or from home).
* Every fourth person signs up for one of our Internet stations.
* Every fifth person asks a reference question.
* Every seventh person gives us an hour of their volunteer time.
* Every fifteenth person attends a library program.
Clearly, then, the greatest use of our public library is still as a place to borrow stuff. But there is quite a drop between what people check out, versus other measurable uses of our services.
Just because we can't measure it, of course, doesn't mean people are standing around with a confused look on their faces. (Although, sometimes, it might mean that, at which point our staff should make a graceful intervention.)
There's also the activity of "browsing," which is part of the process through which people get to those checkouts. It correlates to "shopping" -- people spend more time wandering around and handling the merchandise than they do actually paying for something.
Like shopping, hanging out at a library has another important dimension: social interaction. We are social creatures. We like to see others of our kind, and be seen by them. We like to listen to others, and have them listen to us.
Often -- although we don't have good numbers for this -- people are simply sitting and studying or reading. But quite as often, they're talking to each other. They may also attend meetings not sponsored by the library, but held there.
In all, I find these statistics reassuring. Despite the hype about computers replacing and displacing public places, it turns out that we still need those places for people to gather. And the traditional use of the public library -- a place to browse and borrow materials -- is still the big winner in terms of people's actions in the building.
2006 has been a year of many changes for the library. But it's important to remember that some things, basic to our business, are still our bedrock.
Thursday, November 2, 2006
November 2, 2006 - when Mother Nature is cruel
Mother Nature is mighty and unpredictable.
I've tried to set up a procedure to handle library closings or delayed openings. In general, we try to follow the school district. But sometimes what makes sense for them doesn't make sense for us.
As I'm writing this (the morning of October 27), Douglas County's weather is split along peculiar lines. In some areas, it's fine for travel. In others, people are socked in with snow. But the weather forecast says it's supposed to be in the 60s by noon. You gotta love Colorado.
The school district's delayed openings reflect local conditions. But what I decided to do is delay openings all around the library district until noon -- simplifying (I hope) the message to be distributed.
Once that decision is made, we begin the laborious process of contacting all our staff. At the same time, we gear up our PR machinery: that means that we call TV stations Channel 4 and 9, post the news on the front page our website (www.DouglasCountyLibraries.org), and put a message on our phones (for now, call your branch library number in the yellow pages; soon, we'll have one district-wide number).
If you ever have questions about a library opening, these are the places to check.
Closing our libraries is always a mixed thing -- a risk no matter which way I call it.
On the one hand, I grew up north of Chicago, where winter snowstorms were frequent and severe. Eventually, you adapt -- learn how to get around in icy and dicey situations.
But in Colorado, those conditions don't last long enough for people to learn the skills they need. So we get more accidents.
I've become a little more protective of the public and staff through the years, without trying to totally wuss out, and have a timid library shut down when everybody else is open.
I'm even starting to wonder about my own driving skills. Once upon a time, I was a truck driver back in the midwest, where I endured one of the roughest winters in some 50 years. I got through the whole thing without incident, even though I was putting in some 6-8 hours a day on the road.
Yesterday (and my worn tires are probably much to blame), I got stuck in my own cul de sac on the way home. Were it not for the friendly helpfulness of my wonderful neighbors, I never would have made it to my driveway.
Mr. Hopkins, one of those great neighbors, popped up with snowsuit, snow blower, SUV and tow line -- which I promptly attached to what I thought was the metal ring designed for that purpose on my Toyota, but to what turned out to be a vacuum hose.
Sigh. I'm sure I had a car once that had a tow bar in that exact spot. But I will be the first to admit that I am mechanically inept. Mr. Hopkins straightened out that problem, too.
Ultimately, extreme weather is yet another lesson in humility. Sometimes, things don't go the way we want them to. But with the cooperation of our neighbors, coworkers, and friends, somehow we get by.
I've tried to set up a procedure to handle library closings or delayed openings. In general, we try to follow the school district. But sometimes what makes sense for them doesn't make sense for us.
As I'm writing this (the morning of October 27), Douglas County's weather is split along peculiar lines. In some areas, it's fine for travel. In others, people are socked in with snow. But the weather forecast says it's supposed to be in the 60s by noon. You gotta love Colorado.
The school district's delayed openings reflect local conditions. But what I decided to do is delay openings all around the library district until noon -- simplifying (I hope) the message to be distributed.
Once that decision is made, we begin the laborious process of contacting all our staff. At the same time, we gear up our PR machinery: that means that we call TV stations Channel 4 and 9, post the news on the front page our website (www.DouglasCountyLibraries.org), and put a message on our phones (for now, call your branch library number in the yellow pages; soon, we'll have one district-wide number).
If you ever have questions about a library opening, these are the places to check.
Closing our libraries is always a mixed thing -- a risk no matter which way I call it.
On the one hand, I grew up north of Chicago, where winter snowstorms were frequent and severe. Eventually, you adapt -- learn how to get around in icy and dicey situations.
But in Colorado, those conditions don't last long enough for people to learn the skills they need. So we get more accidents.
I've become a little more protective of the public and staff through the years, without trying to totally wuss out, and have a timid library shut down when everybody else is open.
I'm even starting to wonder about my own driving skills. Once upon a time, I was a truck driver back in the midwest, where I endured one of the roughest winters in some 50 years. I got through the whole thing without incident, even though I was putting in some 6-8 hours a day on the road.
Yesterday (and my worn tires are probably much to blame), I got stuck in my own cul de sac on the way home. Were it not for the friendly helpfulness of my wonderful neighbors, I never would have made it to my driveway.
Mr. Hopkins, one of those great neighbors, popped up with snowsuit, snow blower, SUV and tow line -- which I promptly attached to what I thought was the metal ring designed for that purpose on my Toyota, but to what turned out to be a vacuum hose.
Sigh. I'm sure I had a car once that had a tow bar in that exact spot. But I will be the first to admit that I am mechanically inept. Mr. Hopkins straightened out that problem, too.
Ultimately, extreme weather is yet another lesson in humility. Sometimes, things don't go the way we want them to. But with the cooperation of our neighbors, coworkers, and friends, somehow we get by.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
October 26, 2006 - fines support new veterans memorial
In years past, the library has offered several fine amnesty programs. For instance, we have, at various times, encouraged people to drop off cans of food. In exchange, we wipe out old debts, and pass the food along to some worthy charity.
I'd like to introduce a different program: for one week, make a point to pay your fines with real money. Why? Because there's an important civic project underway, and it deserves your financial support.
That project is the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument. As noted on their website, (http://veteransmonument.highlandsranch.org), "Tuesday, August 8, 2006 marked the first anniversary of the death of Army Staff Sgt. Christopher Falkel, a 2001 ThunderRidge High School graduate who served as a Green Beret. Falkel was the first Highlands Ranch resident to be killed in action."
Many older communities have monuments to fallen soldiers. Highlands Ranch does not. Again as noted on the website, a group of "community volunteers, led by Jeff Alvis, and supported by the Highlands Ranch Park & Recreation Foundation and the Metro District of Highlands Ranch, has launched a fundraising campaign for the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument, to be built near the Highlands Ranch Library entrance in Civic Green Park."
The Civic Green Park has often been described as "the heart of Highlands Ranch," a truly civic place. The design -- both tasteful and very much in the spirit of the Colorado landscape, was created by Brian Muller. The idea is to place this monument at the north end of the park, not far from the front door of our library.
In addition to the features of the monument -- an arch, five large native rocks featuring the emblems of the five branches of the armed services, a small cascading water feature and pond -- there will also be a dedication wall.
On this wall will be tiles, available for purchase from the website. They come in two sizes; 4 by 8 inches for $200, or 8 by 8 inches for $500 (available in limited quantity). The tiles don't have to be for soldiers who lost their lives; you may simply acknowledge the service of any veteran, or member of the armed forces.
I should also stress that the tiles are not limited to residents of Highlands Ranch, or even of Douglas County. Of course, there will probably be some kind of connection to Douglas County residents.
War, of course, is a terrible thing. This monument isn't about a glorification of conflict. But it is about something we need to remember: there is a dimension to all of our lives that isn't just recreational or economic. It involves our connection to larger moments of shared social history, to issues of state, and even of global significance. It is appropriate to pause to reflect, to consider the real, individual cost of military service, and the purposes to which we ask people to give their time, or their lives.
To that end, the Board of Trustees has voted to dedicate all fine money collected during the week from Sunday, November 5, through Saturday, November 11, Veterans Day, as a donation to this project, and its contribution to our shared community.
The target for the project is $200,000. At present, it has collected a little over $17,000.
So please, consider making a small sacrifice to honor the much larger ones of our service people.
I'd like to introduce a different program: for one week, make a point to pay your fines with real money. Why? Because there's an important civic project underway, and it deserves your financial support.
That project is the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument. As noted on their website, (http://veteransmonument.highlandsranch.org), "Tuesday, August 8, 2006 marked the first anniversary of the death of Army Staff Sgt. Christopher Falkel, a 2001 ThunderRidge High School graduate who served as a Green Beret. Falkel was the first Highlands Ranch resident to be killed in action."
Many older communities have monuments to fallen soldiers. Highlands Ranch does not. Again as noted on the website, a group of "community volunteers, led by Jeff Alvis, and supported by the Highlands Ranch Park & Recreation Foundation and the Metro District of Highlands Ranch, has launched a fundraising campaign for the Highlands Ranch Veterans Monument, to be built near the Highlands Ranch Library entrance in Civic Green Park."
The Civic Green Park has often been described as "the heart of Highlands Ranch," a truly civic place. The design -- both tasteful and very much in the spirit of the Colorado landscape, was created by Brian Muller. The idea is to place this monument at the north end of the park, not far from the front door of our library.
In addition to the features of the monument -- an arch, five large native rocks featuring the emblems of the five branches of the armed services, a small cascading water feature and pond -- there will also be a dedication wall.
On this wall will be tiles, available for purchase from the website. They come in two sizes; 4 by 8 inches for $200, or 8 by 8 inches for $500 (available in limited quantity). The tiles don't have to be for soldiers who lost their lives; you may simply acknowledge the service of any veteran, or member of the armed forces.
I should also stress that the tiles are not limited to residents of Highlands Ranch, or even of Douglas County. Of course, there will probably be some kind of connection to Douglas County residents.
War, of course, is a terrible thing. This monument isn't about a glorification of conflict. But it is about something we need to remember: there is a dimension to all of our lives that isn't just recreational or economic. It involves our connection to larger moments of shared social history, to issues of state, and even of global significance. It is appropriate to pause to reflect, to consider the real, individual cost of military service, and the purposes to which we ask people to give their time, or their lives.
To that end, the Board of Trustees has voted to dedicate all fine money collected during the week from Sunday, November 5, through Saturday, November 11, Veterans Day, as a donation to this project, and its contribution to our shared community.
The target for the project is $200,000. At present, it has collected a little over $17,000.
So please, consider making a small sacrifice to honor the much larger ones of our service people.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
October 12, 2006 - Library Hauntings
This is just a little early, but I thought people would like to know, as they approach Halloween, that some 100 United States libraries are reported to be haunted.
I read it in an article by George M. Eberhart, in a book called "The Whole Library Handbook." He is also the author of "Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology," "The Roswell Report: An Historical Perspective," "A Geo-Bibliography of Anomalies: Primary Access to Observations of UFOs, Ghosts, and Other Mysterious Phenomena," and more.
Most of the hauntings are a little mundane: cold spots in the building, elevators or computers that run erratically in the older wings, strange noises late at night. Of course, if you've ever worked in an old building after the sun goes down, you know that hearing odd things -- bangs, screams, moans, manual typewriters, people rifling through papers -- can be most unsettling, even if it only turns out to be frantic grad students cramming for a final.
Other phenomena are stranger. Here's one that would definitely have gotten my attention. The library director at the Cumberland University in Lebanon, Tennessee said that on March 5, 2001, he saw "a cat come floating across my office floor and disappear among the boxes stored under the table behind my desk. I did not see any legs or paws and no motion like a normal cat walking on a floor. The apparition was near the floor, about the right height for a cat, but it appeared to be gliding smoothly through the air instead of touching the floor."
In Tarrytown, New York, several years after his death, Washington Irving's ghost was reported to have been seen walking through the parlor and into the library -- where he was wont to pinch young ladies.
At the U.S. Capitol Building, Rotunda, in Washington, D.C., a male librarian has been seen paging through obscure volumes near where he once hid $6,000 -- a sum found in 1897 when the collection was moved to the Jefferson Building.
In Evansville, Indiana's Willard Library, a "lady in grey" has been seen many times. In fact, there are three ghostcams if you'd like to join the watch. See www.willardghost.com/index.php.
At the Peabody Institute Library in Danvers, Massachusetts, an old apparition has hushed noisy passersby.
Out here in the west, the dead are unquiet, too.
At the Albuquerque/Bernalillo County Library System, San Pedro Branch, in New Mexico, a disembodied voice calls out of an evening, "please come check out a book."
At the Long Beach Public Library in California, the "appropriate" books sometimes falls from the shelves, presumably while people are looking for them.
In Portland, Oregon, library staff saw a man sitting in a room that was supposedly locked and empty. As a supervisor went upstairs to check, the library assistant watching the camera saw the mysterious figure vanish.
Sadly, the only library in Colorado with a haunting is Denver Public, where people report having been pushed in the basement -- by nobody.
But I'll add another one. I could have sworn I saw a tall Indian, in buckskin and feathered head dress, stroll noiselessly through the foyer of the old Philip S. Miller Library on Plum Creek late one Sunday after hours. I couldn't find him, though.
I like Eberhart's take on all this: "...libraries offer such dynamic mental and sensual stimulation that if haunts are truly evidence for postmortem survival, I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather spend my earthly afterlife than in a library..."
Watch for me.
[LaRue's Views, unless stated otherwise, are his alone.]
I read it in an article by George M. Eberhart, in a book called "The Whole Library Handbook." He is also the author of "Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology," "The Roswell Report: An Historical Perspective," "A Geo-Bibliography of Anomalies: Primary Access to Observations of UFOs, Ghosts, and Other Mysterious Phenomena," and more.
Most of the hauntings are a little mundane: cold spots in the building, elevators or computers that run erratically in the older wings, strange noises late at night. Of course, if you've ever worked in an old building after the sun goes down, you know that hearing odd things -- bangs, screams, moans, manual typewriters, people rifling through papers -- can be most unsettling, even if it only turns out to be frantic grad students cramming for a final.
Other phenomena are stranger. Here's one that would definitely have gotten my attention. The library director at the Cumberland University in Lebanon, Tennessee said that on March 5, 2001, he saw "a cat come floating across my office floor and disappear among the boxes stored under the table behind my desk. I did not see any legs or paws and no motion like a normal cat walking on a floor. The apparition was near the floor, about the right height for a cat, but it appeared to be gliding smoothly through the air instead of touching the floor."
In Tarrytown, New York, several years after his death, Washington Irving's ghost was reported to have been seen walking through the parlor and into the library -- where he was wont to pinch young ladies.
At the U.S. Capitol Building, Rotunda, in Washington, D.C., a male librarian has been seen paging through obscure volumes near where he once hid $6,000 -- a sum found in 1897 when the collection was moved to the Jefferson Building.
In Evansville, Indiana's Willard Library, a "lady in grey" has been seen many times. In fact, there are three ghostcams if you'd like to join the watch. See www.willardghost.com/index.php.
At the Peabody Institute Library in Danvers, Massachusetts, an old apparition has hushed noisy passersby.
Out here in the west, the dead are unquiet, too.
At the Albuquerque/Bernalillo County Library System, San Pedro Branch, in New Mexico, a disembodied voice calls out of an evening, "please come check out a book."
At the Long Beach Public Library in California, the "appropriate" books sometimes falls from the shelves, presumably while people are looking for them.
In Portland, Oregon, library staff saw a man sitting in a room that was supposedly locked and empty. As a supervisor went upstairs to check, the library assistant watching the camera saw the mysterious figure vanish.
Sadly, the only library in Colorado with a haunting is Denver Public, where people report having been pushed in the basement -- by nobody.
But I'll add another one. I could have sworn I saw a tall Indian, in buckskin and feathered head dress, stroll noiselessly through the foyer of the old Philip S. Miller Library on Plum Creek late one Sunday after hours. I couldn't find him, though.
I like Eberhart's take on all this: "...libraries offer such dynamic mental and sensual stimulation that if haunts are truly evidence for postmortem survival, I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather spend my earthly afterlife than in a library..."
Watch for me.
[LaRue's Views, unless stated otherwise, are his alone.]
Thursday, October 5, 2006
October 5, 2006 - so you want to be a cataloger
You'll think I'm kidding. But I've got an experience for you that will change your life. And you'll love it: Yes, YOU can be a cataloger.
No, really.
I'm guessing that if you read this column, you love books. If you love books, the odds are very good that you've got books all over your house or apartment. They might even have started out in order. But they're probably not in order now. In fact, you're probably not quite sure which books you do have these days.
But that's about to change. Just follow these steps:
1. Go to Library Thing. You'll find it at www.librarything.com.
2. Create an account. It's free (up to 200 books), or $10 a year, or $25 for life.
3. Start looking for books you own. A database that combines some 45 libraries world-wide, including the massive Library of Congress, not to mention the files of Amazon.com, lets you quickly find what you want. Click on a match, and you've got a catalog record of your book. You've just started building your online collection.
4. In "list" or "cover" view, you can review your new library. You can search, sort, edit, and "tag" your titles. You can rate and review them.
5. You can find out what other people think of those books -- and what books they might have recommended.
6. Library Thing doesn't sell books; it just shares information about them. But once you know what you're looking for, there are libraries and bookstores!
At this writing, there are some 79,000 profoundly addicted users, and over 5.6 million books in the system. You can share information about yourself, too, and find -- who knows? -- your literary soulmate. Or at least you'll find people interested in the same things you are.
Library Thing will even pass along information to your blog, if you've got one. You can access Library Thing by cell phone when you're standing in a bookstore.
No less a newspaper than the Christian Science Monitor proclaimed, "LibraryThing appears poised to turn the cataloging of books into a form of communal recreation."
But you know what? That's what cataloging has always been -- the attempt to describe, as a group (of librarians, in this case), the fascinating world of literature. Just scanning through the tags or headings people give books tells you just how many ways we can describe something.
Like Amazon.com, Library Thing includes brief user reviews. Frankly, I like our own Douglas County Libraries catalog better than that; it includes links to the major reviews, and plot summaries.
But as is true with so many things, this isn't about competition; it's about collaboration. Library Thing adds a social dimension to the longstanding tradition of booklists. That's something public libraries have done in person for a long time. Now, it can be done online.
In a way, it's ironic. The trend in librarianship is away from so-called "original cataloging" -- where everyone is expected to create the cataloging record. In part, Library Thing fits into that; you grab what other people have done. Some in the library profession have thought this signals the end of a noble occupation.
But now you also get to add something personal, something that frames that record according to your own unique worldview. And that opens the door to all kinds of interesting new discussions and referrals.
Suddenly, to be a cataloger is be ... cool. Popular, even.
So, dear Readers, let's get cracking. A book uncataloged is like a friend not spoken to. There's work to do. Why shouldn't it be fun?
[Disclaimer: LaRue's Views, unless otherwise stated, are his alone.]
No, really.
I'm guessing that if you read this column, you love books. If you love books, the odds are very good that you've got books all over your house or apartment. They might even have started out in order. But they're probably not in order now. In fact, you're probably not quite sure which books you do have these days.
But that's about to change. Just follow these steps:
1. Go to Library Thing. You'll find it at www.librarything.com.
2. Create an account. It's free (up to 200 books), or $10 a year, or $25 for life.
3. Start looking for books you own. A database that combines some 45 libraries world-wide, including the massive Library of Congress, not to mention the files of Amazon.com, lets you quickly find what you want. Click on a match, and you've got a catalog record of your book. You've just started building your online collection.
4. In "list" or "cover" view, you can review your new library. You can search, sort, edit, and "tag" your titles. You can rate and review them.
5. You can find out what other people think of those books -- and what books they might have recommended.
6. Library Thing doesn't sell books; it just shares information about them. But once you know what you're looking for, there are libraries and bookstores!
At this writing, there are some 79,000 profoundly addicted users, and over 5.6 million books in the system. You can share information about yourself, too, and find -- who knows? -- your literary soulmate. Or at least you'll find people interested in the same things you are.
Library Thing will even pass along information to your blog, if you've got one. You can access Library Thing by cell phone when you're standing in a bookstore.
No less a newspaper than the Christian Science Monitor proclaimed, "LibraryThing appears poised to turn the cataloging of books into a form of communal recreation."
But you know what? That's what cataloging has always been -- the attempt to describe, as a group (of librarians, in this case), the fascinating world of literature. Just scanning through the tags or headings people give books tells you just how many ways we can describe something.
Like Amazon.com, Library Thing includes brief user reviews. Frankly, I like our own Douglas County Libraries catalog better than that; it includes links to the major reviews, and plot summaries.
But as is true with so many things, this isn't about competition; it's about collaboration. Library Thing adds a social dimension to the longstanding tradition of booklists. That's something public libraries have done in person for a long time. Now, it can be done online.
In a way, it's ironic. The trend in librarianship is away from so-called "original cataloging" -- where everyone is expected to create the cataloging record. In part, Library Thing fits into that; you grab what other people have done. Some in the library profession have thought this signals the end of a noble occupation.
But now you also get to add something personal, something that frames that record according to your own unique worldview. And that opens the door to all kinds of interesting new discussions and referrals.
Suddenly, to be a cataloger is be ... cool. Popular, even.
So, dear Readers, let's get cracking. A book uncataloged is like a friend not spoken to. There's work to do. Why shouldn't it be fun?
[Disclaimer: LaRue's Views, unless otherwise stated, are his alone.]
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