"As with the mysterious libraries of Borges’ fiction, my hometown library still haunts my dreams: an elegant structure of shadowy interiors, labyrinthine halls and spiral staircases. There was an upstairs room that in my dreams was always hard to find: its windows painted shut, shelves overflowing with odd fragile books. For me, the library was a world unlike any other. At the front desk, whispery librarians stamped our library cards. Downstairs was the Children’s Room, where we sat in circles and stories were read. Magical times. Out front grew an old copper beech with low branches: a perfect climbing-tree where I could sit and read the afternoons away: fantasies like Edward Eager’s delightful time-travel books. What's your library paradise story?



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