Breakfast in Scarborough

Last night I walked from my house to Liberty Square Shopping Plaza to check out the freshly renovated Kennedy/Eglinton branch. Architects had transformed the seedy bar that used to sit beside the library into an extension housing a computer lab, community room, reading lounge and automated checkout area. More than doubling the space, the expansion and overall renovation has made Kennedy/Eglinton Library almost unrecognizable. What was once a cramped outpost of learning is now a spacious and handsome establishment that has taken Liberty Sqaure to a much better place.

From the polished tiles in the new entryway to the shiny surface of the computer counters, the entire enterprise radiated concern to offer the best facilities available. Complemented by a dark orange and brown colour-scheme, Kennedy/Eglinton had many textured spaces, corners, and rooms. The variety of furniture included armchairs, a study nook with a three-cornered bench, and a wooden window seat in the children’s section.

Patrons of all ages had come out to experience the new library, and almost every table, computer and study area was in use. As I wandered through the rooms, impressed by how alive the place was, I appreciated the linguistic diversity reflected in nearby shelves of materials in Chinese, Tamil, and Hindi. The quietest room in the library that evening was the community room, where an empty silver square smeared with blue and white icing lay on the sink counter.

Overcoming minor cake disappointment, I mentally thanked the Toronto Public Library system for this expanded branch in my neighbourhood. Built in 1988, I feel certain that Kennedy/Eglinton has always been the busy, friendly library I’ve known since 2002. But the building’s transformation has not only improved its looks; it actually makes the area feel better and safer. I used to feel intimidated to walk over to the library at night and drop off books because bar patrons would be perched on the outside window ledges of the library, ignoring signs that said, “Do not sit near the drop box”. I feel relieved that a former tavern tarnished by reports of serious assault is now a place of learning and community sanctuary. Long may its light shine!

In a blog-entry dated October 26, 2007, I wrote that Deer Park was the branch where I received my first Toronto Public Library card a couple of days after we immigrated to Canada in 2002. Since then, I’ve visited Deer Park so frequently that I stopped noticing its distinctive features. Last week I decided to look at it with fresh eyes, as if seeing it for the first time.

The centre of Deer Park Library is a large checkout station surrounded by library sections on all sides. Starting at the south wall and circling the desk counterclockwise, I walked through a sunny reading area with windows overlooking Saint Clair Avenue. On that busy afternoon last Monday, several patrons had drawn chairs right up to the window and propped their feet on the heater covers. A nearby bamboo plant provided calming vibes.

As I passed through aisles of fiction, I rounded the east wall and saw a Local History Collection, something I’d never noticed before. Crouching in front of the shelves, a few titles jumped out at me: Mount Pleasant Cemetery – An Illustrated Guide, Opportunity Road: Yonge Street 1860-1939, and A Short History of the Deer Park Branch Library: 1911-1952 The Store-front Years. The latter was a bound handwritten manuscript by Joan C. Kinsella which described how Deer Park Library was initially nomadic, moving from one rented storefront to another until finally coming to rest at the current building in 1952.

Progressing through the north side of the library, what came into view were rows of non-fiction (including a full ESL collection), DVD’s and videos, reading tables, study carrels, and computer terminals. The west side contained the children’s section, which had a “low wall separating (it) from the main entryway” (“Breakfast in Scarborough” October 2007). My previous post mentioned that I’d once seen an exhausted man asleep on the red reclining chair beside the low wall, but last week the recliner was empty.

A dragon rested on top of one of two long shelves in the kid’s section. What I liked about this dragon was that it appeared to be made by hand. The dragon-crafter had utilized material from old backpacks or raincoats to fashion a fearsome creature with red and purple horns. It was impressive at an adult’s eye-level, so the dragon probably looked even more fierce from a child’s perspective.

The other shelf supported an even quirkier decoration: an oatmeal-coloured woolen castle! The castle complex had a green felt base and some fuzzy trees surrounding it. To the right of the entrance, a yellow-green dragon was sewn to the wall. The portcullis was a quarter of the way down, and the main doors were partly open, the silver ring handles waiting for a servant to pull them shut at sundown.

I couldn’t tell what materials comprised the underlying structure of the castle, but I was really taken by the fact that all the walls and turrets were covered in wool. (Beware invading knights on saddled moths!) One squat turret hosted a wizard in a high window, while a couple of the taller turrets had princesses in them. As an alternative to the crenelated parapets, some of the towers were topped with red roofs in the shape of upside-down cones. The circular courtyard was empty but seemed an ideal venue for a stately feast.

My day brightened by serious library with a knitted castle, I put my notes away and walked to the Saint Clair subway station.

In a post dated September 16, 2007, I wrote a brief line about Brookbanks Library, “a quiet branch near a karate school in North York”. I figured a more in-depth description was past due, so I paid a second visit to Brookbanks last Tuesday.

Tucked unobtrusively behind a shopping plaza, the modest building (built in 1968) contained an auditorium on the lower level, a main level, and a raised platform near the back of the main level that occupied about a quarter of the interior space (similar in design to Mimico Centennial). Connecting the main floor with the upper platform was a short flight of steps and a ramp in the shape of a backwards letter “L”.

Books and DVD’s in Farsi, French, Chinese, Hindi, Spanish, and Romanian caught my eye on the south wall, just to the right of the entrance. Presumably in response to a shift in local demographics, a couple of posted notices advised that the Russian collection had been moved to Fairview Library, as had the Tamil collection (which could also be accessed at Maryvale branch).

As I rounded the northeast corner of the main floor, I came upon agreeable window seats along the north wall. They were plush, gently purple, and low to the ground. A matching set, though upholstered in green, were in the fiction and teen section, located on the raised level. Young patrons reading on the floor and lounging on green cushions gave the library a homey, comfortable atmosphere. I liked how nobody was shooing them in the direction of more conventional surfaces like tables and chairs.

I took the ramp back down to the main level, which gave me the opportunity to check out an elaborate mural that stretched across a third of the north wall and most of the west wall. The centerpiece of the work was a large tree trunk from which grew copious foliage spreading in two directions. The more I looked into the leaves, the more I discovered: the yellow hat of Curious George’s guardian, a trio of capital A’s and B’s, a green monster claw grabbing a purple book, a yellow rabbit, mangos, parrots, a sign that warned of “Snoozing Grues!”, birds with no middles (only legs, beaks, and spectacles), a second descending monster foot (white with pink talons), blue bears, and a Famous Tails collection that included thin tails, fat tails, and striped tails in assorted colours.

The last set of window seats of the day (blue this time) were flush against the south wall in the children’s section. A huge white bear, taller than many of the aspiring readers in his jurisdiction, hosted a number of other stuffed animals on his person. Three bunnies — Bugs, a generic rabbit in calico, and one in a camouflage jumpsuit — rested on the bear’s lap while a turtle and small bear occupied his right leg. A large Curious George doll sat to the big bear’s left and rested a friendly hand on his shoulder. A marketing-savvy librarian had propped a copy of Knut the Baby Polar Bear just below George’s hand.

Taking a final glance around Brookbanks Library, I noticed a fuzzy piranha in green and blue near my left foot. Although its many teeth were made of felt and I wasn’t wearing sandals, I decided it was an excellent time to catch an express bus on York Mills Road.

When I first started blogging about the Toronto Public Library branches, my notes were fairly cursory. Now that I’m deeper into the project (74 branches deeper), I’d like to flesh out those earlier posts into fuller descriptions. In fact, this very post will fill in the details of a previously-visited library, Yorkville, where dignified stone lions guard the front steps.

I learned from a historical display near Yorkville’s vestibule that the building was completed in 1906, making it “Toronto Public Library’s oldest library.” Yorkville was “the first of four libraries built with a $350,000 Carnegie grant . . . in 1903″. City Architect Robert McCallum designed the 1906 library in a “Classical Beaux Arts” style, and I think he made a great choice to go classical. Once I’d made it past the lions, solid interior columns, reassuring square room-sections, and tasteful lemon walls all worked together to create a timeless sense of peace and stability.

As I surveyed the facility from a broad wooden table, it was comforting to feel connected to more than a century of continuous self-education in such a lovely setting. With the front windows revealing a mass of tree leaves, it was easy to imagine away the twenty-first century commercialism of nearby Yonge and Bloor. According to the historical exhibit, when Yorkville branch was constructed, this area was considered the northern part of Toronto. And something of that quieter time and place seemed to remain in the library, the legacy of a slower, less harshly-lit era. I really appreciated the break from honking cars, gadget-addled pedestrians, and insistent storefronts.

To get reacquainted with the library’s offerings, I walked over to the checkout area (noting the high lozenge-shaped lamps like Wychwood’s) and veered left. Next to the DVD section was a portion of Yorkville’s LGBT Special Collection, unique to this branch. On the other side of the room was a substantial French-language section, along with adult fiction and books for teenagers.

Between the first segment of the library and the third (all connected on one level) was the area where I had been sitting. It contained lots of tables, the computers, and a helpful ESL and Adult Literacy collection. The last segment housed the children’s books (including lots of French materials), more shelves of fiction, and a special meeting room that boasted many sets of plays. To take advantage of these textual riches, a play-reading group meets there every Tuesday evening, choosing dramatic works by Eugene O’Neill, Norah Harding, Hanif Kureishi, and Vaclav Havel among others.

As I reversed direction to exit, I paused to admire a cloth ship hanging from the ceiling in the kids’ section. Unlike more prosaic vessels, this ship had a rainbow tail like a kite’s. The tail was pinned to the ceiling in two places, creating a shape like a cursive letter “w” that slanted to the right. Sailing out the door, I reflected on what a treat it was to have visited two Carnegie libraries in as many weeks! Back-to-back nerd delight!