When I became a school librarian I had lovely visions of introducing children to wonderful, life-enhancing books (I still do, as it happens). Later I modified this somewhat – to getting kids reading anything, almost, that they were prepared to read, including Minecraft manuals, comics and anthologies of the world’s 1,000 grossest fart jokes.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the sheer, gruelling amount of time I would spend trying to get overdue books back.
Almost every school library, I am sure, starts off with a strict zero-tolerance policy on overdue books. That four year old crying in the corner because every other child in the class brought back their picture book and he didn’t? Tough, he doesn’t get another one. Of course, such intentions get the corners chipped off them after the first few weeks. To do otherwise would probably be inhuman. There is always the very real risk that the child you are denying further library books to is the one in greatest need of them. So I am fairly confident that most good librarians quietly write off a proportion of their stock as unrecoverable.
Teaching staff, being busy and distracted people, are often the very ones to undermine the policies they advocate. This week I had to reschedule several classes as a colleague was unavailable to take them. In each case, despite emails and visits to remind them, either the teachers or the parents seemed baffled by the change and slightly put out that they’d been expected to return their books on a different day. So we had classes of 30 where only four children were technically allowed to have a book over half term. It begs the question of why they are coming into the library in the first place. So I caved, and allowed them a second book.
Eventually, unless you have superhuman patience, you will make it clear that you are really rather cross with a persistent non-returner. At this point one of two things might happen. If the child is smallish, and the library in an open area, they will start nervously and surreptitiously replacing books on shelves when you aren’t around. The presence of a large, expensive box marked BOOK RETURNS will do nothing to alleviate this problem. There will be an escalation of reminders over the next few weeks, culminating in tears, indignant protests from parents, and quite possibly the child’s permanent reluctance to come anywhere near the library in future.
But the alternative is perhaps even more depressing and time-consuming. It tends to happen with older kids who don’t actually like reading very much. The appeal of the library for them lies in its potential as the arena for a power struggle. The time you once imagined spending introducing Philip Pullman or Frank Cotterell Boyce to their next fans will probably go instead on repeating, ad nauseam, that you know perfectly well the book you have just been presented with by said child, claiming, “Look, Miss, it’s me book, I’m bringing it back, now can I have another one?” is the one you saw them pick up off the table two minutes ago. An outburst of indignation will follow, as it always does. Eventually they will escalate the situation by returning library books stolen from other borrowers. They will relish the thought of blameless Perfect Peters suffering from your cruel and heartless overdue notices, as just revenge for your unreasonable insistence that they return their own. Such characters are more interested in wearing you down that learning about the basics of database management.
In an ideal world, every school would have a full-time librarian and there would be time to do all the fun bits of the job as well as the administration. Or you could even have different people to do each bit. There are some people who excel at the nit-picking, plastic covering and label-sticking. They’re doing a great job. I should know, I used to be one of them myself. Sometimes I think nostalgically of those days.
Then some completely unexpected, lovely thing will happen and it will all seem worth the effort again.