Books.org participates in affiliate programs including Bookshop.org and the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program. We may earn a commission from qualifying purchases made through links on this page, at no additional cost to you.
Overview
Inspired by the process of creating a library for his fifteenth-century home near the Loire, in France, Alberto Manguel, the acclaimed writer on books and reading, has taken up the subject of libraries. “Libraries,” he says, “have always seemed to me pleasantly mad places, and for as long as I can remember I’ve been seduced by their labyrinthine logic.” In this personal, deliberately unsystematic, and wide-ranging book, he offers a captivating meditation on the meaning of libraries.
Manguel, a guide of irrepressible enthusiasm, conducts a unique library tour that extends from his childhood bookshelves to the “complete” libraries of the Internet, from Ancient Egypt and Greece to the Arab world, from China and Rome to Google. He ponders the doomed library of Alexandria as well as the personal libraries of Charles Dickens, Jorge Luis Borges, and others. He recounts stories of people who have struggled against tyranny to preserve freedom of thought—the Polish librarian who smuggled books to safety as the Nazis began their destruction of Jewish libraries; the Afghani bookseller who kept his store open through decades of unrest. Oral “memory libraries” kept alive by prisoners, libraries of banned books, the imaginary library of Count Dracula, the library of books never written—Manguel illuminates the mysteries of libraries as no other writer could. With scores of wonderful images throughout, The Library at Night is a fascinating voyage through Manguel’s mind, memory, and vast knowledge of books and civilizations.
Synopsis
Inspired by the process of creating a library for his fifteenth-century home near the Loire, in France, Alberto Manguel, the acclaimed writer on books and reading, has taken up the subject of libraries. “Libraries,” he says, “have always seemed to me pleasantly mad places, and for as long as I can remember I’ve been seduced by their labyrinthine logic.” In this personal, deliberately unsystematic, and wide-ranging book, he offers a captivating meditation on the meaning of libraries.
Manguel, a guide of irrepressible enthusiasm, conducts a unique library tour that extends from his childhood bookshelves to the “complete” libraries of the Internet, from Ancient Egypt and Greece to the Arab world, from China and Rome to Google. He ponders the doomed library of Alexandria as well as the personal libraries of Charles Dickens, Jorge Luis Borges, and others. He recounts stories of people who have struggled against tyranny to preserve freedom of thought—the Polish librarian who smuggled books to safety as the Nazis began their destruction of Jewish libraries; the Afghani bookseller who kept his store open through decades of unrest. Oral “memory libraries” kept alive by prisoners, libraries of banned books, the imaginary library of Count Dracula, the library of books never written—Manguel illuminates the mysteries of libraries as no other writer could. With scores of wonderful images throughout, The Library at Night is a fascinating voyage through Manguel’s mind, memory, and vast knowledge of books and civilizations.
The Barnes & Noble Review
My earliest experiences of interacting with a library were far from galvanic. I remember little besides my mother taking me to the Petworth Library in Washington, D.C., and speckles of her exuberance as she helped me to acquire books. If anything, my most prominent memory of those days, from when I was seven or eight, was of the library as a source of income. During one summer vacation, Mom offered me five dollars to read a book and write a report on it. As her turn to bribery signaled, my parents had some reason to fret that I might not develop into a steadfast reader. But one evening, maybe a year later, my father drove me to the home of his best friend. The room we sat in felt consecrated to books in an altogether more awesome fashion than what I d encountered at the public library.
Editorials
Michael Dirda
The Library at Night—a series of essays on what one might call the Platonic Idea of a library—reveals some of its author's intellectual range and magpie learning. Manguel can cite ancient scholars from Alexandria, tell anecdotes about half-mad bibliomanes…describe the bookshelves in the blind Borges's apartment, analyze the architecture of Florence's Laurentian Library (designed by Michelangelo), outline the various methods for organizing and cataloging books, and discuss the sad history of censorship or the tattered and secret volumes shared by the prisoners in Nazi concentration camps. The man has clearly, as Samuel Johnson might say, turned over half a library to make his new book…a richly enjoyable book, absolutely enthralling for anyone who loves to read and an inspiration for anybody who has ever dreamed of building a library of his or her own.—The Washington Post
Library Journal
This is a book for those who delight in books and libraries. In 15 evocative essays, Manguel (A History of Reading), an Argentine-born writer and editor now living in France, explores the world of words, books, libraries, literature, and imagination. Libraries serve as his focal point as he weaves together quotations, memories, biography, mythology, and illustrations. In the chapter "Libraries as Shape," the reader encounters details of stone masonry, images of a brain-shaped library juxtaposed with the first known floor plan of a monastery library, a history of reading room architecture, and snippets of biographies of Pope Clement and Michelangelo pulled together with wit and provocative insights. In "Libraries as Oblivion," the author explores the notion of books read and forgotten alongside descriptions of libraries lost to war and destruction and readers lost through discrimination and denial of access. This is not standard library history, and its strength lies not in the details but in the connections, in the lyrical web pulling together odd bits into new ways of seeing the universe of books, readers, authors, and libraries. Published originally in Canada in 2006, this U.S. edition deserves a wide readership. Recommended for most libraries and any librarian needing a reminder of the power of connections.
—Jan Blodgett
Globe and Mail
“In a good book, certain passages stand out because they are well written. In a great book, nothing stands out because nothing can. The Library at Night is one of those great books.”—The Globe and MailChicago Tribune
"Alberto Manguel . . . the Argentine-born author and bibliophile celebrates books as brothers, as crucial companions for a lifetime."—Julia Keller, Chicago Tribune
— Julia Keller
The Buffalo News
"[A] deliciously rich and lavishly illustrated book of books. . . . [A] magical book."—Jeff Simon, The Buffalo News (Editor''s Choice)
— Jeff Simon
BookForum
"Manguel has assembled thumbnail biographies, entertaining anecdotes, close readings, and photographic documentation into a kind of commonplace book stitched together by his amiable prose. . . . The Library at Night . . . communicates the joy and the solace of being yourself a reader."—Brian Sholis, BookForum
— Brian Sholis
New York Sun
"In The Library at Night, Alberto Manguel . . . lovingly explores the nooks and crannies of this enchanted domain. To call Mr. Manguel a ''bookman'' would be the grossest of understatements. He lives and breathes books."—Eric Ormsby, New York Sun
— Eric Ormsby
Washington Post Book World
"Alberto Manguel has brought out a richly enjoyable book, absolutely enthralling for anyone who loves to read and an inspiration for anybody who has ever dreamed of building a library of his or her own."—Michael Dirda, Washington Post Book World
— Michael Dirda
Wilson Quarterly
"The success of The Library at Night is the product of a mind made by reading, and the realization of its own essential argument: The library is a mirror in which we find ourselves and our world reflecting and interpenetrating."—Matthew Battles, Wilson Quarterly
— Matthew Battles
The Observer
"Books jump out of their jackets when Manguel opens them and dance in delight as they make contact with his ingenious, voluminous brain. He is not the keeper of a silent cemetery, but a master of bibliographical revels."—Peter Conrad, The Observer
— Peter Conrad
New Orleans Times-Picayune
"To read this book is to be invited into a world in which books are both, luxury and necessity, destiny and serendipity, to experience that sweet moment when the world falls away and we are left along with the words on the page."—Susan Larson, New Orleans Times-Picayune
— Susan Larson
Miami Herald
"A vivaciously erudite justification for society''s inexorable efforts to collect, order and store information. . . . Book lovers will luxuriate in these earnest and impressively researched pages."—Christine Thomas, Miami Herald
— Christine Thomas
The Atlantic.com
". . . a pleasure—especially at this time of . . . internet related uncertainty for libraries. For those . . . who are distressed by the amnesia of the Web, this book is . . . an excellent example of how to rejuvenate the past and continue its conversations."—Ben Carlson, The Atlantic.com
— Ben Carlson
New York Review of Books
“A bold undertaking . . . meditative, questing, and essayistic. . . . Manguel takes the broad sweep that his subject demands. He is a humane and judicious commentator whose wide reading is matched—something not always the case—by broad sympathies. . . .The Library at Night remains a remarkable book—remarkable above all for its openness to the possibilities that books hold out, and for the passion with which it tries to instill the same attitude in its readers.”--John Gross, New York Review of Books
— John Gross
Papers of the Biliographical Society of America
"Like Montaigne''s essays and Borges''s fables, Manguel''s ruminations on libraries are inviting, discursive, learned, playul, and imaginative."--Michael J. Ryan, Papers of the Biliographical Society of America
— Michael J. Ryan
Allen Kurzweil
"In my personal library of imaginary places, and more specifically on the bookcases near my desk, I maintain a shelf reserved for brilliant readers. There's rarely any turnover. Borges, Calvino, Benjamin and Zweig (plus a few other steadfast patrons). With Manguel's The Library at Night, that will clearly have to change."—Allen Kurzweil, author of The Grand Complication and A Case of CuriositiesChicago Tribune
"Alberto Manguel . . . the Argentine-born author and bibliophile celebrates books as brothers, as crucial companions for a lifetime."—Julia Keller, Chicago TribuneThe Buffalo News
"[A] deliciously rich and lavishly illustrated book of books. . . . [A] magical book."—Jeff Simon, The Buffalo News (Editor's Choice)BookForum
"Manguel has assembled thumbnail biographies, entertaining anecdotes, close readings, and photographic documentation into a kind of commonplace book stitched together by his amiable prose. . . . The Library at Night . . . communicates the joy and the solace of being yourself a reader."—Brian Sholis, BookForumNew York Sun
"In The Library at Night, Alberto Manguel . . . lovingly explores the nooks and crannies of this enchanted domain. To call Mr. Manguel a 'bookman' would be the grossest of understatements. He lives and breathes books."—Eric Ormsby, New York SunWashington Post Book World
"Alberto Manguel has brought out a richly enjoyable book, absolutely enthralling for anyone who loves to read and an inspiration for anybody who has ever dreamed of building a library of his or her own."—Michael Dirda, Washington Post Book WorldWilson Quarterly
"The success of The Library at Night is the product of a mind made by reading, and the realization of its own essential argument: The library is a mirror in which we find ourselves and our world reflecting and interpenetrating."—Matthew Battles, Wilson QuarterlyThe Observer
"Books jump out of their jackets when Manguel opens them and dance in delight as they make contact with his ingenious, voluminous brain. He is not the keeper of a silent cemetery, but a master of bibliographical revels."—Peter Conrad, The ObserverNew Orleans Times-Picayune
"To read this book is to be invited into a world in which books are both, luxury and necessity, destiny and serendipity, to experience that sweet moment when the world falls away and we are left along with the words on the page."—Susan Larson, New Orleans Times-PicayuneMiami Herald
"A vivaciously erudite justification for society's inexorable efforts to collect, order and store information. . . . Book lovers will luxuriate in these earnest and impressively researched pages."—Christine Thomas, Miami HeraldThe Atlantic.com
". . . a pleasure—especially at this time of . . . internet related uncertainty for libraries. For those . . . who are distressed by the amnesia of the Web, this book is . . . an excellent example of how to rejuvenate the past and continue its conversations."—Ben Carlson, The Atlantic.comNew York Review of Books
“A bold undertaking . . . meditative, questing, and essayistic. . . . Manguel takes the broad sweep that his subject demands. He is a humane and judicious commentator whose wide reading is matched—something not always the case—by broad sympathies. . . .The Library at Night remains a remarkable book—remarkable above all for its openness to the possibilities that books hold out, and for the passion with which it tries to instill the same attitude in its readers.”--John Gross, New York Review of BooksPapers of the Biliographical Society of America
"Like Montaigne's essays and Borges's fables, Manguel's ruminations on libraries are inviting, discursive, learned, playul, and imaginative."--Michael J. Ryan, Papers of the Biliographical Society of AmericaThe Barnes & Noble Review
My earliest experiences of interacting with a library were far from galvanic. I remember little besides my mother taking me to the Petworth Library in Washington, D.C., and speckles of her exuberance as she helped me to acquire books. If anything, my most prominent memory of those days, from when I was seven or eight, was of the library as a source of income. During one summer vacation, Mom offered me five dollars to read a book and write a report on it. As her turn to bribery signaled, my parents had some reason to fret that I might not develop into a steadfast reader. But one evening, maybe a year later, my father drove me to the home of his best friend. The room we sat in felt consecrated to books in an altogether more awesome fashion than what I'd encountered at the public library.Kenneth's bookcases dwarfed me. They also spanned the full length of a wall; however, what caused my mind to reel was that there were books -- mostly science fiction and fantasy -- on top of, and in front of others. Tickled to see us gawk at his assembly, Kenneth related that sometimes he'd start a book or buy one, then later realize that he'd read it or owned it. The overflow of the contents, and Kenneth's personal connection toward his library, stirred my self-regard and altered my worldview. This experience, one might hypothesize, inducted me into a truth that's crucial to Alberto Manguel's impassioned, wide-ranging book The Library at Night. That is, we should be cautious in representing libraries as static, essentially alike places, which are differentiated solely by the makeup and arrangement of their contents.
While The Library at Night glosses the development of library culture from antiquity to the present, its outlook is more contemplative than historical. Loosed from the barriers of chronological presentation, the book's aim is to thicken our awareness of the scores of ways that these reservoirs of the mind may be experienced. Exercising the focus of a naturalist in the wild, Manguel is receptive to how something as ordinary as the time of day one repairs to a library can guide one's encounter therein. Hence, the title of the book is not plainly decorative.
In the autumn of 2000, Manguel surveyed a wall -- the remnants from a 15th-century barn, which stood sentry on a hill, south of the Loire River in France. It would come to be incorporated into the personal library the Argentinean-born writer would commission to have built on that site. He writes:
The library I had imagined for my books, long before its walls were erected, already reflected the way in which I wished to read. There are readers who enjoy trapping a story within the confines of a tiny enclosure; others for whom a round, vast, public space better allows them to imagine the text stretching out towards far horizons; others still who find pleasure in a maze of rooms through which they can wander, chapter after chapter. I had dreamt of a long, low library where there would always be enough darkness around the pools of light on the desk to suggest that it was night outside, a rectangular space in which the walls would mirror one another and in which I could always feel as if the books on either side were almost at arm's length. I read in a haphazard way, allowing books to associate freely, to suggest links by their mere proximity, to call to one another across the room. The shape I chose for my library encourages my reading habits.
Earlier in the book Manguel notes, "If the library in the morning suggests an echo of the severe and reasonably wishful order of the world, the library at night seems to rejoice in the world's essential, joyful muddle."
For Manguel, the seeds of bibliomania sprouted early. From the age of seven or eight, he took pleasure in rearranging his books according to sets of different principles. One day he might group them by shape, on another by color, language, or subject matter. A salient attribute of The Library at Night's composition is that its brief, personal sketches are hemmed with heaps of erudite chestnuts. For example, he observes that the diarist Samuel Pepys had pedestals made to bring his smaller books into line with the larger ones. And that the French writer Valéry Larbaud had his volumes "bound in different colours according to the language in which they were written... 'His sickroom was a rainbow,' said one of his admirers, 'that allowed his eye and his memory surprises and expected pleasure.' " Manguel's wide range of reference is striking; even those readers who aren't academics or writers will be tempted to consult the book's bibliography.
Now if the author restricted himself to praising the means that people have fussed over their books, and the wondrous vessels they have built for cultural transmission (such as "the largest encyclopedia ever printed: the Qinding Gujin Tushu Jicheng, or Great Illustrated Imperial Encyclopedia of Past and Present Times, of 1726, a gigantic biographical library divided into more than ten thousand sections"), his efforts would likely cut a pallid figure. But this is not the case; The Library at Night is not lost in a professorial cloud that floats solely on its bonhomie.
The book is also cheeky, combative, and politically aware: Manguel mocks those "oafish personalities who demand to be portrayed against the background of a book-lined wall, in the hope that it will grant them a scholarly lustre." He reviles a proponent of microfilming who opined, "The value in intellectual terms, of the proximity of the book to the user has never been satisfactorily established," saying, "There speaks a dolt, someone utterly insensitive, in intellectual or any other terms, to the experience of reading." He devotes similar skeptical energy to the manner in which U.S. presidents and other powerful men have used the founding of libraries to aggrandize themselves, and reflects upon the destruction and founding of libraries for hegemonic purposes.
Intermittently, Manguel's effusions get the best of him. His remark that his books "hold between their covers every story I've ever known and still remember..." appears unlikely. Editing should also have retouched his notice that in Islamic societies, in the Middle Ages, the oral dissemination of a text was often championed "because the text then entered the body through the mind and not merely through the eyes," since, obviously, the mind is as capable of wandering during a lecture as it is while reading a sentence on a page. But the most questionable sections of the book revolve around the use of the Internet.
While Manguel happily acknowledges the Internet's usefulness as a tool for information retrieval, he can be somewhat shrill in his denunciations of it:
By offering electronic users the appearance of a world controlled from their keyboard...multinational companies have ensured that, on the one hand, users will not protest against being turned into consumers, since they are supposedly "in control" of cyberspace; and that, on the other hand, they will be prevented from learning anything profound, whether about themselves, their immediate surroundings or the rest of the world.
While the Internet has allowed businesses to monitor the activities of their customers to a frightening degree, the implication that heavy Internet users are less likely to commit to challenging intellectual works is, perhaps, a bit overstated. Surely, one does not need to distribute a questionnaire to know that the Web has allowed numerous, innately curious people to deepen their engagement with the world. (Consider, for example, the number of hits that The New York Review of Books receives per month in proportion to its number of paid subscribers.)
But Manguel is no technophobe: "Being a cosmopolitan today may mean being eclectic, refusing to exclude one technology for the sake of another." Indeed, if he comes across as a touch strident in his characterization of the Web, it's because he's zealous in his admonition that we be responsible caretakers of our paper-encoded heritage -- a gallant fault if there ever was one. All told, The Library at Night is a fascinating book that makes one yearn for an un-rankled insomnia. --Christopher Byrd
Christopher Byrd is a writer who lives in New York. His reviews have appeared in publications such as The American Prospect, The Believer, Guardian America, The Washington Post, The San Francisco Chronicle, and The Wilson Quarterly.