Last Tuesday afternoon I took the number 7 bus from Bathurst Station to visit my 63rd Toronto Public Library. As I walked down Bathurst from the Saint Clair West intersection, I caught sight of a sensible-looking castle with timbered window-frames and a lovely fat turret. (This site is also famous as part of the setting for Scott Pilgrim vs. the World).
I later learned that the official term for Wychwood Library’s architectural style is “Tudor-Collegiate.” Almost a hundred years ago, a fifty-thousand dollar grant from the Carnegie Corporation of New York supported the realization of Wychwood, the first of two other identical branches (High Park and Beaches) to be built in Toronto. Designed by Eden Smith, Wychwood Library was completed in 1915 and opened to the public on April 15, 1916. (To put the date in a personal context, my late grandmother Raine would have been five years old in 1916, although she would have never heard of Wychwood Library in far-off Memphis, Missouri).
As a twenty-first century visitor, I found the wood and stone exterior of Wychwood branch to be pleasingly consistent with the look of the interior. The checkout desk on the ground floor featured glossy dark wood and the east wall contained an enormous cream-coloured stone fireplace.
The austerity of the empty hearth was offset by red recliners as well as two plush sunflowers hanging from a nearby sign that said “Picture Books.” The orange felt centres of the flowers had smiley faces stitched on them, and multi-coloured petals radiated cheer in red, yellow, and green.
Two large papier-mache fish adorned with yellow, blue, and green scales further animated the space, as did a model of a tall ship with a wooden vessel and russet sails. I also enjoyed local artist John Clapp‘s fanciful “Dinosaur Farm” on the south wall, which depicted chickens running around a friendly T-Rex and some spotted porcine Triceratop creatures.
Smiling at the thought of a dancing dinosaur, I headed back towards the front desk. Along the way, I popped inside the large round turret, where I found a program room with carpeted steps for seating.
When I walked up the narrow steps to the next level, my first look at the vast openness overhead was literally breathtaking. Who knew a high timbered ceiling could be so exciting? Four ceiling fans turned unobtrusively in the Tudor-Collegiate barn of the upper floor and stationary lamps on long stems dangled like elegant upside-down lollipops (the kind that crunch like sweet-tarts instead of the circular swirly variety).
The wood ceiling and the stone fireplace (identical in structure and position to the one downstairs) reminded me of the ancient monks’ dormitory at Durham Cathedral where I used to read poetry and academic texts during my junior year abroad in 1989. Also, the mullioned windows, dark wood, and muted lamps were similar to another Carnegie library in Glasgow, Missouri that I visited in 1994.
After I stopped gaping at Wychwood’s ceiling, I walked through the upper half of the turret (above the program room) which had a curved balcony that wrapped around it. Next to a large bunch of bamboo in a pot was the French section. The ESL collection was also substantial, as were the fiction and reference offerings.
There was one remaining area to be explored, a third floor perch which had been constructed under the west eave. It took up roughly a quarter of the space afforded by the hall’s luxuriously high ceiling. Containing one big study table and a few individual carrels, this cozy platform gave me the feeling of being in a tree-house.
Sitting at the table facing east provided a rich opportunity to observe the scene below. A librarian sat behind a three-sided desk absorbed in bookish tasks and a group of patrons took advantage of the free internet service at a cluster of computers. I felt at peace just resting at the wide table, taking a few notes for this blog post.
