The Richelieu Reading Room at the National Library of France in Paris is beautiful. No, you can’t get in, unless you are a registered researcher or skilled at talking your way past librarians.
Don’t fuck with librarians.
In the newspaper, I’m using a weaker word than “fuck,” the watered-down euphemism required by the kabuki of daily newspapering. Which in the freer online world I can ignore. Why not? The nation is in continual crisis, if not circling the drain. Norms are trashed left and right. Newspapers are wan imitations of themselves as it is. Time to unleash all the words.
Librarians are badass. At least I can say that in print.
Yes, the National Archives is not, technically, a library so much as a repository of public documents. But it has its own library and a chief librarian, and is in charge of all presidential libraries. We’re on safe ground considering it a library.
And yes, those busting into Mar-a-Lago on Monday were not librarians, per se, but FBI agents acting as their proxy. Still, going down to Florida to collect their overdue materials was certainly a boss librarian move. The sort of hardball I’ve come to associate with librarians.
Librarians can’t be milquetoasts. They must deal with the public. Frequently wrangle other people’s children for hours. Librarians can’t suffer fools. Busting in, guns drawn, blowing the safe, is very on-brand for librarians. “I believe you have something that belongs to us!”
|Mrs. Rachel Beers, circa 1978,|
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