The image in the header of this blog made me think of it: the library in Mompox, Colombia.
Books buckling under heat and humidity, page edges shearing off, dusting the shelves.
Francisco couldn’t fathom why there wasn’t a single Gabo book in the collection.
I was stuck on:
- the fact they order books only once every year or so.
- the sadness I felt that no books were being preserved.
- the curiosity I felt about the librarians’ work.
What did they do all day?
What are they doing now?