![This is a picture of a blonde child standing on a round library stool, wearing a hot pink dress, mint green cowboy boots and black striped tights. She's looking at books on a high shelf while her younger brother explores the floor of the Bemidji Public Library.](https://static01.nyt.com/images/2023/02/19/multimedia/19libraries-print7-gtjv/19libraries-print7-gtjv-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale)
A Love Letter to Libraries, Long Overdue
The New York Times sent photographers to seven states to document the thrum and buzz in buildings once known for silence.
Supported by
Elisabeth Egan and
Step into a public library and you know what to expect.
First, there’s the smell: a paper bouquet of nothing and everything, including notes of vanilla, sawdust, wet coats, rubber soles and school. Then there are the spines lined up like soldiers, snug in plastic jackets. There are the shelves — metal, wood, sturdy as trees — stretching in every direction.
![This is a picture of a young reader, visible from the knees down, stretched out in a small cubby among shelves of picture books.](https://static01.nyt.com/images/2023/02/14/multimedia/14Libraries-chicago-02-bgmq/14Libraries-chicago-02-bgmq-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale)
There are the rolling step stools. The windowsill ferns. The free bookmarks. The bulletin board papered with fliers advertising firewood, a 10-speed bike, free kittens, CPR class.
There are the sturdy armchairs, the picked-over magazine racks, the award-winning dioramas on loan from adolescent creators, the study carrels etched with decade-old graffiti. There’s the water fountain spouting the coldest beverage in town, a different vintage from the lukewarm dribble in the school gym or the violent torrent at the Y.M.C.A.
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