I recently attended an “introducing new librarians” kind of event where there were sushi boats and medium-dull beers and anecdotes about all the new hires. My sound-bite was about the first library I ever worked in: the top floor of the house where I was a governess. It was my boss’s private library, catalogued and shelved on highly deranged aesthetic principles.
The project was charming for the first two hours. Then it started to go like this: I had just moved the entire fashion section because the pot lights on a particular shelf case too much shadow on their spines, and then “Hmmm…but no one will see them at all there. No good. Hmmm…Let’s put them up high, but on their side. And let’s face this one out….Oh…no, a vase there, I think.”