Our LIBR 200 lesson on librarian stereotypes has been among
the most thought-provoking so far (which is saying a lot, given how much material
we have covered already)—and it has made me rethink how this profession appears
in popular culture or gets viewed by society as a whole. Ever since childhood,
it seems, I had been acquainted with the stereotype of the “old maid librarian,”
as mentioned by Debbie Hansen in her lecture, and the no-nonsense “enforcer”
touched on by Ellen Greenblatt.
But I will always remember how my earliest impressions of
librarians were as the silent guardians to vast collections of books. They worked
behind the scenes at a public library, pointing those who either needed help or
had no idea how to use a library in the right direction. In that light, I
suppose they seemed like a type of technical support—or as if they simply “came
with” a library and embodied all the knowledge contained therein. For there was
no doubt in my mind that librarians were wise or knew a great deal. In my
imagination, they would have been the ones the main character of a story came
to for hard-to-find information or sage advice in locating some mystical object
or unraveling a mystery.
In hindsight, a lot of movies did enforced this image while
I was growing up. For instance, the film Matilda
(and the children’s story that it came from) featured a young girl named
Matilda who managed to fulfil her love of reading—and empower herself in many
other ways—by visiting the public library. The librarian, an older woman in
sharp-framed glasses notices the child coming in day after day and finally
gives her a library card. After that, she disappears while Matilda continues to
grow intellectually in-between implied visits to the library. She no longer needs to be there for the storyline to
work.
Even in children’s cartoons like Peanuts, where the characters did spend time using a library, the
emphasis was more on books and the facilities. And if anyone spoke above a
whisper or grew too loud, librarians were the silent and invisible force that kicked
them (like Snoopy) out of the building. Other cartoons such as Rugrats did have library episodes where
the young cast of characters tended to get introduced to the world-opening
wonders of their public library. Yet then the adults would have to fill out
tons of paperwork for the library card, while the librarian herself (usually
always a woman in these cases) would stare them down like a vulture—searching for
the smallest flaw on which to call them out. Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends even had an episode where a
young boy has an overdue book and has to dodge an array of ninja-like
librarians who are out to get him (as if he were a criminal) to slip it into
the return slot—neglecting to realize that he would have to deal with the
librarians anyway.
Such cartoons tended to use librarians for humor or comedic
effect. And while I didn’t think much of that at the time, it was clear these
shows perpetuated the overall cultural stereotypes against librarians and
warned me as a child not to cross them in any way.
As an adult, I have come to know better—that librarians are
highly educated information professionals who fight for intellectual freedom
and truly want to help their patrons in every possible way. Still, I regret to
say there are few stories I have read (despite being an ardent bibliophile) or
heard where the main character is a librarian and performs in that role
throughout the tale. The lists for these books on the Canvas website were
helpful, but it still stands.
One example is Geraldine Brooks’ People of the Book, where the rare book expert and conservator
Hanna Heath gets the offer to help save the Sarajevo
Haggadah—a religious text passed from one person to the next during a
period when illuminated bibles had been banned. Using clues found in the book’s
gutter, and at different points in the text, Hanna manages to piece together
the journey this text must have made over the last few centuries. This
information helps to form the basis for the rest of the story, which veers
between a historical novel and a romance. Yet Hannah as a rare book expert gets
the assignment due to her background in helping to preserve illuminated
manuscripts and goes on a long journey as a result. Although, Hannah even goes
so far as say she was far more used to the quiet comfort of her scientific lab
to such an active or dangerous environment at one point, implying that her line
of work is pretty reclusive. So while Brooks does go out of his way to portray
the rare book expert as delighting in her work, and some of the process
involved, it becomes the launching point used for an adventure that he suggests
wouldn’t have been available to someone in that profession.
This perspective is interesting, especially when combined
with the thought of an “information professional.”
In fact, I have read quite a wide selection of stories and
watched several movies with main characters who would fall into the information
professional category. They may not work in libraries or assist patrons within
a library setting, yet in many ways their interaction with resources (often
books) and use of vast knowledge to help people overcome difficulties or make a
variety of contributions places them in this role.
One example is Walter Moers’ The 13 ½ Lives of Captain Bluebear. In this novel, the title
character relates one long wild yarn about many of the different places he had visited
or seen during his life. From his first memory as a baby set adrift in an acorn
shell on the high seas, to entertaining ghastly goblins with crying displays,
to tramping over a desert made of dried brown sugar, he covers a lot of ground
while searching for the perfect place to settle. Each location has a problem or
issue that provides a social commentary in some way, but Bluebear is able to
overcome them all with the help of a mental encyclopedia inserted into his head
by a seven-brained professor who studies dark matter called Professor
Nightingale (and yes, this story is as wacky and complicated as it sounds).
So Bluebear especially is the “walking encyclopedia”
sometimes attributed to librarians, and using this knowledge he is able to help
those he meets along the way and get out of more than one tough scrape. There
is also a point, closer to the end of the novel, where he participates in an
event in Atlantis (before it disappears off the earth; though this time it
doesn’t sink beneath the waves) known as the “Duel of Lies.” The event is
actually an oral storytelling gladiator-style competition, more or less, and the
participants spend all their time preparing for it by reading books or learning
the subtle fact of creating fictions (which he wins, by the way).
By the end of the novel, Bluebear retires to a forest where
he becomes a teacher, researcher, and boasts an archive of literature. He writes
stories about his adventures and is a guide to whom everyone in the surrounding
community comes when in need.
With this said, Bluebear is essentially a librarian in the
sense of his education (both from his worldly experiences and knowledge of literature)
and the role he performs in helping those he meets. Yet “information
professional” might be the term used to describe him best in this capacity
because of all the stereotypes connected with the librarian profession—whereas,
saying he is an “information professional” makes him sound more active and up
to speed on the latest developments.
With this said, the implication I have begun to notice again
and again is that “librarians” tend to get stereotyped as slower, quieter, and
older individuals (unless they lead a double life as mentioned by Greenblatt).
But an “information professional” is a term without the same stereotyped
connected to it, and almost gives the impression of a tech-savvy or adventurous
person.
Of course, I believe this impression is gradually changing.
There is hope that librarians and this job title might have begun to shrug off
those stereotypes in popular media.
For example, my chosen fan community is My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic—and the main character in this
series is a librarian. Twilight Sparkle lived (up until the season 4 finale) in
a library and acted as the librarian for the town. But she also became an
authority, resource, and guide for all the residents. And when trouble struck,
she leaps into action with magic and knowledge at the ready.
With any luck, this might signal a change in how people view
librarians as a whole—regardless of whether or not they are also “information
professionals.”
