The British destroyed our original Library of Congress and the 3,000 books it housed, in 1814 during the War of 1812.
Following that loss, Thomas Jefferson offered to sell his collection of 6,487 books to the Library for whatever price Congress fixed as the value. Congress paid him $23,950.
At the time, Jefferson had the largest and finest library in the entire New World. It contained classics in politics, history, philosophy, law, literature, science and fine arts.
Today, the Library of Congress is the largest library in the world and holds 173 million items, 39 million of them are books. Every day 15,000 items are added to the collection by the library’s 3,000 employees.
Libraries are places where our history is stored. Where truths already discovered can be easily found. Where, through story and legend, we can be spurred to pursue dangerous challenges, be motivated to overcome heartbreaking adversity, be inspired to courageous self-sacrifice. They are repositories of our history and the history of peoples around the world. They keep the record of our discoveries in math and physics, music and art.
Libraries track the noble and the common, the beautiful and the hideous. Almost every community has one. The purpose of libraries is to help make us better.
Are they? Are they making us better?
Do the drag queen story hours for children — as many libraries have started to offer — make us or our children better? Do books like Crank in the teen section, a book that makes meth use and teen rape seem acceptable, seem good? Are books like It’s Perfectly Normal which encourages children ten and up to experiment with all manner of sexual activities inspiring?
Something has gone completely wrong with our libraries. My own local library has three dozen titles by Ellen Hopkins the sick author of Crank, the-written-for-teen obscenity. My library, the Schaumburg Township Library, is not an isolated example. Why?
