| MILLIONS OF BOOKS: WHO NEEDS THEM? Of all the institutions of the nation to suffer from the neglect or hostility of the late and unlamented "Neonesian" regime, The Royal Library in Midlburh was perhaps one of the least fortunate. Its vast and tomb-like building was already in considerable need of repair at the time of the take-over, and as a symbol of everything the Neonesian authorities despised as reactionary and outmoded, the library's fate at their hands was not kind. Immediately upon the restoration of the royal government, work on the refurbishment of the building was put into high gear. A large addition at the rear which had been begun several years ago and was about to be completed in 296 was finished in record time. Employing contingents of Home Guard volunteers, a hurried inventory was taken, and the books physically present on the shelves were checked against the institution's catalogues. Result: of the libraries vast collection (2,158,723 volumes at the previous official count) nearly 20% were found to be missing or so badly deteriorated that they would need to be replaced, if possible. (The Rare Book Vault had been hastily emptied and its contents secretly transferred to a disused salt mine near the Royal Abbey of St. Victor even as the Neonesian seizure of power was in progress, so they, at least, were spared the depredations of the crazed reformers. They are being returned to Midlburgh even as we write.) | Finally, last Wednesday, with the entire staff, the entire government, and a crowd of ordinary Altlanders estimated at 5,000 looking on, King George II Victor cut a scarlet ribbon stretched for the occasion across the central doorway and officially reopened the Royal Library for the use of booklovers. But traffic to the library in the week since its reopening has been sparse at best. Where have all the booklovers gone? "They're out of the habit of visiting the place. They'll get back into it, I'm sure," were was the reassuring explanation offered by Sir Jens Scrivnar, the Master of the King's Books, who presides over the collection as a kind of head librarian. Others aware of the situation were not, however, quite as rosy in their views. "The taste for books has been on the wane for years," commented Prof. Endars Kolman of the Royal University of Midlburgh. "The Neonesian boys may have been lunatics about many things, but they got that straight. Among the young especially, reading for anything but information is a dying art, and information is now more readily available in other forms. Fifty years from now, the Royal Library will be in reality what it only look like today: a mausoleum." "That old line about the Library's looking like a mausoleum doesn't give enough credit to the lightening effect of all those windows," retorted the building's latest architect-in- charge, Sir Nels Helmsgord. "And we've made the interior of the main reading room downright cheerful," he added. Reach by telephone in his comfortable study at King's College, Komdn, Dr. | Getfrid Hijlbryn, Regius Professor of Altlandid literature voiced again his well-known view that his own profession would soon be considered a branch of archaeology. "Yes, literature is not useful, and in an increasingly pragmatic world, that means that it is no longer real. No one is going to shell out good money to subsidize a bunch of young men and women's indulgence of their favorite hobby. I expect the Regius Professorship to be history after the end of the present reign." With that Dr. Hijlbryn rang off and hastened to his place for dinner at the high table. "Who needs millions of books to be physically present in one big , old, gloomy building?" asked trendy Futurologist Elfans Edlar. "Electronic data storage is the way of the future. The whole thing could be on-line and instantly available to anyone who knows how to push a few buttons. All that money they spend on the physical preservation of the collection, not to mention what they've just blown on plaster and gilt, would buy enough electronic storage capacity for ten royal libraries and pay for the tech staff to boot." He smiled at the recognition that he has just used an old term which, in the present context, did not ncessarily any longer mean what he meant it to mean. In the end, only the public can really decide the argument among these distinguished gentlemen. They will vote with their feet, which either will or will not take them up the steps of that huge gray building on Univeristy Square. If Sir Jens in correct about people just being out of the habit, they may get back into it now, and the library's future will be secure. If they don't, it may just have gotten its last paint job. |
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DIED. NO ONE we can think of. DIED. THE IDEA of all-out war over Wwww. BORN. CHILDREN; to millions of people too obscure to be of interest to VEX; often in hospitals, sometimes in taxis. AGE REVEALED. RIJNHELD KENIGSTHRAL, Altland's Chancellor for Diplomatic Relations, in Midlburgh, by office intern: at least as old as San Patricio's The Da. HIRED. ALBERTO BAMBINO CAPONERO, much sought-after Disondan-born beverage wholesaler; after fleeing the country with new passport; by anonymous business interests in San Patricio, for an undisclosed sum. |
FIRED. MONIKA LUDWINSKY, 21, U. of Syl Ingalish major; from internship in Chancellery for Diplomatic Relations; for undiplomatic conduct and irresponsible prattle. HONORED. CHIEF INSPECTOR ANATOLE MIGRAINE, with Order of the Golden Pine, in Cédre, Phenixia; by the Altlandic government for work in the Rue Sorbet murder mystery; mainly to annoy and prod M. Gomchou, his opposite number in Altland. SHOT FROM BEHIND. GOV. GEN. PHILIPPE ALEXICOT; by camera; in photo above. RETURNED. M. THANKSAMILLION H. SUCHY, Bienenfreund, evil twin of Westria's popular Chancellor; to his senses, after two-day leave. (Photo from anonymous Brolecian source.) |