The Roanoke Times
Reviewed May 18, 2008 by Cynthia D. Bertelsen
In contrast, Scott Douglas, a twentysomething public librarian from Anaheim, Calif., narrates the sometimes sordid reality of day-to-day life in libraries in his often hilarious and irreverent "Quiet, Please: Dispatches from a Public Library." He blows apart Manguel's ivory tower image of libraries. Telling how he found his career, Douglas begins by describing the lowest of the low in the library echelon in a chapter titled "Being the Chapter in Which Our Hero Discovers He Wants to be a Librarian."
The rest of this quirky book follows him as he gets his library degree (which he considers to be, frankly, meaningless) and starts work in a public library in a downscale California neighborhood.
Like Manguel, Douglas delves into the history of libraries, but only briefly. He focuses instead on the many absurdities of daily library practices.
No one and nothing escapes his caustic pen. (Or keyboard.) Crazy patrons and wacko librarians share space with cranky senior citizens and stubborn kids intent on using the library's computers and MySpace.com no matter what.
Douglas tosses in wry remarks and wisecracks on nearly every page, including nutty footnotes, too. In text boxes that he calls "commercial breaks," he dredges up seemingly irrelevant information and plops it all down like Web pop-up windows.
Pithy wisdom and side-splitting tales of life on the front lines -- the reference desk -- make this a great read for anyone who has ever used a library. And that means most of us.
In contrast, Scott Douglas, a twentysomething public librarian from Anaheim, Calif., narrates the sometimes sordid reality of day-to-day life in libraries in his often hilarious and irreverent "Quiet, Please: Dispatches from a Public Library." He blows apart Manguel's ivory tower image of libraries. Telling how he found his career, Douglas begins by describing the lowest of the low in the library echelon in a chapter titled "Being the Chapter in Which Our Hero Discovers He Wants to be a Librarian."
The rest of this quirky book follows him as he gets his library degree (which he considers to be, frankly, meaningless) and starts work in a public library in a downscale California neighborhood.
Like Manguel, Douglas delves into the history of libraries, but only briefly. He focuses instead on the many absurdities of daily library practices.
No one and nothing escapes his caustic pen. (Or keyboard.) Crazy patrons and wacko librarians share space with cranky senior citizens and stubborn kids intent on using the library's computers and MySpace.com no matter what.
Douglas tosses in wry remarks and wisecracks on nearly every page, including nutty footnotes, too. In text boxes that he calls "commercial breaks," he dredges up seemingly irrelevant information and plops it all down like Web pop-up windows.
Pithy wisdom and side-splitting tales of life on the front lines -- the reference desk -- make this a great read for anyone who has ever used a library. And that means most of us.
