To Give Library A Hug. Part 1
A graduate student ventures into an old Lviv building looking for a story for her digital storytelling class. And ends up finding more than a library.
“Come on in! Do you want a library card?” She asks, rushing me inside. It’s December, and I’m climbing flights of stairs dragging my photo gear, school bag, and my thick winter jacket, all loaded onto me. This building is nestled in a quiet corner of the street almost in the center of the city, the second I step into its hallway the time stops. It smells like a real library would, a little musty. The stairs are steep and creaky, with the surprisingly comfortable grip of the banisters. I really don’t belong here.
The librarian, Mrs. Svitlana, a small woman in her fifties, ushers us in, plops her witchy glasses on her nose, and fishes a thick wad of library slips from her desk. I guess I am getting a library card. She chats about the weather and whether we found the library okay, asks about my school and work and excitedly agrees to do the interview. “Before we sit and chat,” she says, “let me show you around.”
She is one of the few people in this library who can see. This quite special library is affiliated with the Lviv Society for the Blind.
We start our tour from the “Literary Room” — aka “living room,” the reading hall where patrons can sit with their books before checking them out. It also doubles as Mrs. Svitlana’s office. A few newish chairs, tables, and lots of shelves decorated with layers and layers of knick-knacks. Later I’ll see patrons pushing tables together for “the crafts club” — the shelves adorned with some of their creations. It’s hard to believe that this delicate beadwork, jewelry, knitted doilies and scarves are actually created by people with low vision.
The room spills into an adjacent hall. “It’s our museum,” Mrs. Svitlana explains, her eyes flickering mischievously. This is her domain, and every bizarre-looking thing I’m holding in my hands is familiar and known to her. Some of the objects are pretty obvious, like typewriters and clocks, but others leave me puzzled. The museum is dedicated to assistive tools for people with low or no vision. Clocks, typing machines, recorders, but also something simpler, like a talking thermometer, liquid level indicator, kitchen scales, spoons and forks with Braille measurements. An entire slice of often overlooked history of technology is packed into this room. Mrs. Svitlana generously answers my every “What is this?” and “Why is that?” This is her life. Later I’ll learn that she has first-hand experience using similar tools in her home too.
Mrs. Svitlana’s frame is wrapped in layers and layers of cozy sweaters. The rooms are chilly, and some of the patrons leave their coats on. Small heaters warm up “the living room,” but the second we step into the hallway, I regret I didn’t follow their suit.
The walls of the hallway, which connects “the living room” and a tiny kitchenette, are covered in art. Infinite lines and dots, dots and lines, muted colors of simple forms. All of them belong to the meticulous brush of the local artist, who generously donated his paintings to be displayed at the library. I’ll meet him, and talk to him, and there will be other visits and conversations, but much, much later. At that moment, everything I know prompts me to keep my mouth shut and listen, listen, listen to the story of the library Mrs. Svitlana tells me.
“This is our studio,” she says lovingly. The doors she opens for me creak into something the word “cave” would be most fit to describe. Dark and moody, but also excitingly glistening with equipment indicators. This is a more familiar domain for me. A small studio microphone, a dingy but sturdy audio compressor, teensy audio mixer. I’m introduced to the audio engineer, Mykhailo. He works there for a couple of hours each week, helping produce the audiobooks for the patrons.
Not every blind person knows Braille. This is something I’m catching myself to be surprised at. Children learn Braille in school, but for someone who has lost vision later in life, the type is as much as learning a new language. So some people rely on audio technology to help them get by, and audiobooks are in high demand.
“Which audiobooks do people request most often?” I ask sheepishly, hoping to find a deep insight into the titles that help people through life's perils. I expect something classic and profound, like most of the party answers to the question “Which book would you take with you to a desert island?” The answer I get makes me smile: cookbooks.
A few weeks later, I’ll meet a young girl. She will come to the library with her dad. Excited about a new book she wanted to check out, she will want to read take it home, all of it, at once. But it was too heavy for her to carry. One medium-sized book typed in Braille takes several volumes. Big, thick, heavy volumes you need a sturdy bag for if you want to check a book out of the library. Mrs. Svitlana helped the dad pack the book into two plastic bags. He loaded them in the trunk of their car and offered me a ride. When I opened a book that evening, I couldn’t help but remember the thickness of Braille-typed pages. Did that girl enjoy her book, I wonder?
A couple of years after my first meeting with Mrs. Svitlana, I would graduate and leave Lviv. Several more will ground me in New York. I will no longer need glasses for my myopia, and my love for books will crystallize in the profession. Mrs. Svitlana and I will continue sending Christmas greetings to each other on Christmas, and I would eventually send a care package to the library, but not much more than that. With the start of the full-scale russian invasion of Ukraine, the library would transform into a support center for people with low to no vision. Mrs. Svitlana will have her hours reduced. Due to power shortages and freezing temperatures in the library in the winter of 2022/2023, her work computer will give up. In the summer of 2023, she is no longer able to check out audiobooks for her patrons. Production has stopped too.
“To Give Library A Hug” is a fundraiser that aims to help Lviv Library for the Blind with their immediate needs: a computer, USB drives for audiobooks, etc. I also want to support Mrs. Svitlana’s work and thank her with a small monetary grant. If you wish to contribute, here’s the link to give this library a little hug. Thank you so very much for reading this story.
