Walking through buildings two and three of the Library Annex during an open house tour a few weeks ago, I was reminded of how much I miss books. Rows upon rows of books (about 290,000 in total) shined invitingly beneath fluorescent lights, painstakingly organized and meticulously tracked. About 110,000 will find a home in the new George Lawrence Abernathy Library. The remaining books, over 60% of the library’s collection, have been relegated to the Annex permanently.
These books, many archaic or obsolete, are the ones I miss most. Some are still categorized under the Dewey Decimal system, a testament to their disuse; books acquired or circulated over the last 16 years have been recategorized under the Library of Congress system. I miss wandering among towering stacks late at night as I toil away on an essay that does not want to write itself. I miss tangible reminders of the overwhelming quantity of knowledge that was produced before me. Most of all, though, I miss the hidden gems stumbled upon by chance and the joy that comes from finding a book that speaks to you—especially one you did not even know to listen for.
We are doomed to forget history and the knowledge that came before us if we rob ourselves of the ability to stumble across it. The Annex limits our ability to do just that.
The Annex is located at 153 Dunmurry Road immediately north of campus. It abuts the far end of the College’s cross-country trails. Despite its geographic proximity, the building is largely inaccessible to students, faculty and community members. Physical browsing is not allowed. Tours and research visits must be scheduled in advance.
Tens of thousands of books and rows upon rows of archival materials, journals and government documents sit on shelves in a gated complex behind multiple layers of ID scanners and, for some books, a layered check out process involving multiple QR codes. These security measures feel out of place for a College’s largest hub of knowledge—and for the next two years, its primary one. I would forgive a visitor for asking: Is the College keeping the books in or the community out?
Library staff said the system is working. Twice a day shuttles haul books back and forth from the Annex to the Lilly Gallery. 1,049 items are in circulation as of Oct. 28, and many more are accessed digitally. Especially for Davidson’s tech-native studentry, finding books online may be more convenient than trying to figure out how to use the Library of Congress system. This, though perhaps true, paints an incomplete picture.
Digital libraries hide information to all except those who know what to look for. No amount of keyword search training or research guides can help those with no objective in mind. Books out of sight fade out of mind; physical inaccessibility becomes invisibility. Books might last longer in their climate-controlled tombs of corrugated metal, but why is longevity the main goal? What good is a crisp, barely-worn book on a topic we do not know to look for when it is hidden from view?
The decision to sequester books from sight was intentional. The intent, I am sure, was not to hide knowledge. Instead, hard choices were made about how to best use limited space in the new building. Redesigning Davidson’s “center of knowledge” is an ambitious project and I have tremendous respect for the individuals involved. In doing so, however, they seem to have overlooked a basic principle. Libraries are about two things: books and people—by definition and without exception. Functional access to books ought to be the centerpoint of any library. I worry the new building does not uphold this principle to the fullest extent.
It is reassuring to know that, according to current plans, almost 40% of Davidson’s books will find a home in the new library. It is also reassuring to know the remaining books are in good hands at the Annex. I have the utmost respect and appreciation for the library staff who work diligently to ensure these texts, which had for so long been left to collect dust in E. H. Little Library, are carefully preserved, catalogued and made accessible to community members.
I am disheartened, however, to think the books that have been permanently relegated to the Annex will not be missed in the new building. Looking around the Lilly Gallery while I write, I see a collaborative work space. It feels hollow. It is painfully devoid of the most basic characteristic of a library: physically accessible knowledge.
As I reflect on the exciting possibilities presented by the new library, I worry that the $100 million project set to be under construction through fall 2027 will fall flat. I miss the old library. I miss its books. I am saddened, above all, by the decision to keep fewer books in the new building that will limit the ability of future students to replicate the experience that was central to my first two years at Davidson and that I already sorely miss heading into my last.
