Breakfast in Scarborough

If you like your libraries playfully Gothic and radiating imagination, then Lillian H. Smith is definitely the branch for you! When you pass between the wingéd lion and the griffin, it’s like stepping into a book illustration which has come to life.

Gargoyles on the exterior set the tone for the Lillian H. Smith experience. In keeping with the library’s history as a child-centered institution, the wall-creatures are striking yet non-threatening images of owls and a sheep. (Ms. Smith was a pioneering force in TPL’s history as the “first head of children’s services, 1912-1952″ and “the first trained children’s librarian in the British Empire” as noted by Margaret Penman’s A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, page 30).

Admittedly, the griffin’s beak has a certain in-your-face attitude, but its fierce nature helps it protect baby foxes and owls. A griffins’ traditional role has been to defend treasure from marauders, which is something you don’t do with a cheesy grin.

Equally protective, the lion sculpture is a shelter for a salamander and a small primate.

To honour the two stone beasts sculpted by Ludzer Vendermolen (creator of Wordsworth the owl for Beaches Library), someone had carefully placed a nut between the central talons of their powerful feet. Not to diminish the nutritional power of the nut, but it seems a mighty dainty snack for a lion and a griffin. Offering some beef hotdogs from a nearby cart might work better.

When I entered the well-guarded library, four circular tiers soared above me in a rising barrel pattern. Enjoying the atrium despite some slight vertigo, I walked up to the fourth floor, which was home to the extraordinary Osborne Collection of Early Children’s Books. It only took a few minutes of wandering around the collection to realize that I would need to devote a special blog post to it, for I was overwhelmed by so much rich material. I’d also like to give The Merril Collection of Science Fiction, Speculation, and Fantasy its own post, too.

Dropping down to the second floor (the Merril Collection and a computer lab occupy the third), I found a densely-populated library space. Every single table was spoken for, and inquisitive patrons crowded round the information desk with questions for the staff.

One of the most coveted spots was this sunny expanse of laptop-friendly table surface beside a south-facing window. For inspiration, the CN Tower beckoned as well as a lovely garden in the library’s “back yard” below. I liked the feeling of simultaneously floating above the city yet remaining grounded near the super-busy intersection of College and Spadina.

The second floor contained a Chinese and French collection as well as an ingenious patron who had figured out a way to turn a library table into a cinema. Here’s how he did it. First, he laid a large rectangular man-bag on the table. Then he stacked eight DVD cases on top of that. Finally, he placed a portable DVD player at the summit of this tower, donned some headphones, and away he went.

After admiring the man’s mobile movie theatre, I trotted down to the main level’s west wing. Two puffy armchairs waited for their next readers in front of a large window overlooking College Street. Further into the room was a whimsical reading area that paid homage to the library’s roots as the Boys and Girls House at 40 Saint George Street (1922-1963).

And nestled in the southwest corner was the Children’s Literature Resource and the M. G. Bagshaw Collection.

Here, patrons can research items such as the best children’s book illustrations of 2006 or carefully turn the fragile pages of antiquated books like this one I picked out for its gilt flag.

I also admired these two pictures in the Bagshaw Room, Franz Cizek‘s “Herta Zuckerman, Aged 14 Years” and Ilse Breit’s picture of a girl beset by geese. (Breit was one of Cizek’s students). Both pieces hail from the Austrian art nouveau movement of the 1920′s and 1930′s.

On the other side of the main level, a relaxed-to-slouching Cat in the Hat was neighbour to a copper-coloured satin dragon. Both creatures were secured to the ceiling by clear plastic filaments.

Fittingly, the dragon seemed to be pointing in the direction of the door leading to the mysterious Gothic basement level, the remaining part of the library to be explored.

Actually, it wasn’t the satin dragon but Sarah the helpful branch head who showed me the downstairs area. (Sometimes I try too hard to be literary). Before Sarah returned to her work, she pointed out the fabulous echo feature in the circular courtyard. If you stand right in the middle and make a noise, it bounces back vastly increased in volume and distortion.

Holy Harry Potter! The magical literary universe of the basement is Alice in Wonderland meets fairy-tale castle meets LED sconces of poetic doom. I love it when interior decoration frees itself from the shackles of being sensible! And I love the fact that Lillian H. Smith is a place where the imagination is nourished.

Sarah had told me that walking up the steps gave her a sense of anticipation, and I could totally relate to that. If only all staircases were so evocative! After all, stairways are about transitions, portals, ascent and descent. Shouldn’t they have torches to celebrate their mystery?

The contrast between dream-like basement and sunlit Huron Community Garden was slightly disorienting, but the garden was a wonderful place to end my tour of Lillian H. Smith. Natural beauty, knowledge, and creativity go hand in hand, griffin talon in talon.

This entry was posted on Friday, October 7th, 2011 at 9:29 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.