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1964 AND 1971 WERE BAD YEARS for the devoted readers of Brown University. They were also bad years for architecture. The John D. Rockerfeller III Library opened its doors in 1964; the Sciences Library in 1971. Since then, those of us on College Hill who value not only the content of the books we read, but also the situations in which we enjoy them, have asked the question: where the hell is a good place to read around here? I asked myself that exact question when, on a Friday some weeks ago, reading my novel (Prague, by Arthur Phillips), I sat in the little café section of the Rock trying with all my might not to notice the fact that my table rocked back and forth. It wasn't easy, considering I was already working my ass off trying to ignore my wobbly chair. I was having a less than amazing reading experience. The mission When I struck out to find a great reading spot on campus, I naturally looked to libraries. I discounted out-of-hand anywhere in the SciLi or the Rock. They may be good places to study (I find I'm particularly productive on the east side of the eleventh floor of the SciLi), but they're not good places to read. A good reading place needs to add to the reading experience, not take away from it. In short, the Cold War architecture which gave birth to both libraries also bestowed upon them the look of office blocks: the Rock would look right at home in the outskirts of some depressed New England mill town; the SciLi, in one of the less attractive office parks somewhere in postindustrial LA. It's hard to feel at home in either one. A great reading place should nearly scream out: "Take out your great books and read here!" The main libraries here at Brown seem to discourage reading as much as possible. The next most common place for people at Brown to read is the CIT. But it fails almost as badly as the Rock and the SciLi: rows of computers and dirty white boards and uncomfortable, ugly maroon chairs don't make me want to read any more than the exposed, unfinished concrete in the SciLi does. Orwig fares better; but again, it's a great place to study without being a good place to read. The stacks are buried underground in the basement on movable shelves, with the carrels stuck out in stark white rooms with little personality. Certainly better than the Rock with its rickety carrels or the SciLi with its tightly packed rows of carrels. But it doesn't quite fit the bill. So I called some friends for suggestions. Many of them were places not open to the public, for example, the solarium in King House, a couch somewhere on the fourth floor of Hunter Lab, or lounges in various dorms. They very well may be great places to read for those with access to them, perhaps even better because of their privacy. But they're not of much use to the rest of us. Cafés were the next most recommended places. Tealuxe, Au Bon Pain, Starbucks, Ocean, the Coffee Exchange, Café Zog-the list continues. Everybody has their favorite cafés to read in. And yet, I generally find the coffee shops in Providence lacking. Perhaps I've been spoiled by places such as Curious Liquids in Boston, with its overstuffed couches and chess board tables set back in alcoves in what used to be some Brahmin's wine cellar. But, alas, its building has been turned into condos. Besides, reading exclusively in cafés is likely to take a toll on the nervous system and the wallet. No-the places I needed to find in Providence were libraries. Old buildings with wood paneling and marble staircases, stuffed to the brim with knowledge in the form of the printed page. So I left my rickety table and headed to the Hay. The John Hay Library With some trepidation, I walked into the foyer, peered through the doorway marked "Entrance," and saw some very intimidating librarian-types at a desk labeled "Reader Services." Now, Reader Services was exactly what I wanted. I wanted someone to find me a place to read. But I was intimidated. Asking for a place to read would waste the time of these librarians-librarians who are so important they work in the Hay. So I skipped Reader Services and went upstairs. After poking around the building and using the restroom, I decided the Hay wasn't for me. I flashed back to parental lectures in wealthy friends' homes: "Don't touch anything, or you're in big trouble, mister!" The biggest obstacle to readers at the Hay is that it's intimidating. It has high ceilings, big oil paintings of important-looking people, and priceless books hidden away in locked rooms. I'm lucky that I ventured back in and found my way to the reading room. But first, I had to place my bag and coat in a locker and request entrance; one of the intimidating librarians then buzzed me in. Inside the reading room, the first thing I noticed was the silence. It's intimidatingly quiet. Once I got over that, however, I felt like I had discovered one of the few sacred places left on this campus. Sunlight streaming in huge windows, beautiful books on the shelves, people studying huge old books that belong in Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. The chairs are comfortable, the tables rock-solid. Not a rickety piece of furniture to be found. Another trip to the Hay took me to the University Archives, asking for a brief account of the history of the library. A friendly archivist put in front of me a copy of Encyclopedia Brunonia, a reference book for all things Brown. My report: the Hay was built as the main library for the University in 1910, and served that function until the Rock opened in 1964. Before the Hay was built, the library had previously been housed in Manning Hall (Manning Chapel) and then in Robinson Hall (which is now the Economics Department). As time moves on, it seems, libraries at Brown become less and less attractive. I hesitate to imagine the library built to accommodate Brown's billionth book. The Providence Atheneum Much homier than the Hay, the Atheneum opens up to the exploring reader nooks and crannies galore. Rather than being greeted by coat-check lockers, I found a coat tree next to the circulation desk. And although the staff requests that every visitor leave his or her coat and bag there, it seems far more reasonable than the somewhat draconian measures in the Hay. Sure, there is an old and rare collection locked away at the Athenium as well, but for those who lack the strength of will required for the Hay, the Atheneum is a much more welcoming environment. The top two floors are in fact one large room with stacks, stacks, and more stacks. Every so often, in the regular if not somewhat labyrinthine system of shelves, you'll find a desk on which to open up whatever thick book your little heart desires. It is perhaps not the quietest of reading venues, but anything short of the densest philosophy should be well-served by the cozy environment and cute little desks in the top floors of America's oldest subscription library. And, if stack browsing isn't your style, you'll also find a cushy reading room with a large (not at all wobbly) table and some leather chairs. The Atheneum is close to the Brown campus, on the corner of College and Benefit streets, across from the courthouse. They request that regular users purchase a $25 student membership, which will also entitle you to check out books. Despite its limited hours-studying for finals may be best situated in the CIT-it is quite the place for a novel. The RISD Library Caddy-corner to the Atheneum is the RISD library. I mounted a rather steep set of stairs to find myself in a space much smaller than I might have imagined. But the room is certainly more than adequate despite its size. The whole room is covered by wood paneling, and the stacks form little alcoves every ten feet or so. Again I find comfortable chairs and heavy wooden tables whose stability could hardly be disturbed by a carelessly placed elbow. There are perhaps only two downsides to the RISD library. First, there's a not insignificant amount of traffic noise invading the otherwise pristine space. Despite its proximity to the RISD library, the Atheneum seems to be exempt from this problem. Second, it's intimidating for entirely different reasons than the Hay: The RISD library is frequented by RISD students, who, as a matter of course, are too well dressed. Granted, this should not be an obstacle to the most dedicated of readers, but to the faint of heart and the self-conscious sweatshirt-wearers: beware, for the RISD library may be a tad overwhelming. Conclusions I hope that I have not overlooked any obvious alternatives to the three libraries mentioned here. I did visit the John Carter Brown and the Annmary Brown Memorial to evaluate their potential. The John Carter Brown's reading room displays a rather menacing sign stating that it is only for the use of those engaged with materials housed there. The Annmary Brown Memorial, on the other hand, is a beautiful museum-their current exhibit is most definitely worth a look-but it is not a library. The sad part about this is that it took me until my senior year to discover these three places. I've been deprived for over four years of a good place to read, finding makeshift spots: sometimes the Blue Room, other times a vacant classroom in Sayles. But now I've got those spaces where I can open a book and lose myself for hours in the words of some long-forgotten philosopher or cutting-edge novelist. It doesn't matter to me, really. All I need are my book and the right space. Finally, I have found the right spaces. Scott Richmond B'03 just shaved his head, and now he looks tougher than ever. |
copyright © 2002, The College
Hill Independent
last updated 11 22 02
Lindsay Ryan sinks deep into Providence's own