1854

Aha! What a curiously cozy little library I have stumbled upon! I quietly congratulate myself as I make my way to a lumpy bean bag and crack open a dazzling picture book. 3-D fishes pop out and swim around my spectacles. I chuckle and set the book aside, now committed to finding books to feed my scientific and literary appetite. As I tip toe to the scholarly periodicals, I take a moment to gaze at the lush courtyard through the crystal-clear bay window. It is exploding with vegetation and flowering in ostentatious glory--pinks, oranges, yellows, reds! How charming--I say, how very charming.

A wall of books stretches as far as mine eye can see, stacking 7 or 8 tiers high. Gleaming ladders slide to and fro and crawl up the wall with a low rumble, being pushed by an invisible force. For a moment I am hypnotized, but before I have time to ponder the queer source of the ladders' movement, I find myself twenty feet down the row, on the second tier, holding a promising book--on justice and peace.


Delighted, I glide to the circulation counter where I am greeted by an adorably decrepit spinster. She peers at me through tiny glasses, which she adjusts before checking out the book. It is due on the 4738190234856th.

"I say," says I, "Where might the exit be?" Glancing about, there are towering shelves on every wall with no break for a door.

The tiny woman twitters and says quite pointedly, "Dear, this is a library located in hell. You may not leave, but you may sit anywhere you like!"

All sense of worth drains from the book in my hands as I ponder the irony of the situation.