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The 61st branch on my library pilgrimage was Pleasant View, which I checked out for the first time in 2009. It was the very last branch east of the Don Valley Parkway that I hadn’t visited up to that point.

As I ambled around Pleasant View, I discovered a medium-sized auditorium and shelves with books in Chinese, French, and Italian.I was especially taken with the open reading areas. There was one in each of the four corners of the building, all with comfy chairs and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Though Pleasant View’s character seemed very pragmatic, it also had a whimsical side. In the Children’s section, five arches that contained animal portraits were separated by flat columns that had been splattered with pink and green paint.

Proceeding from left to right, the first portrait starred a seated deer wearing a sari. Relaxing in a temple grove, the deer held a book in her hooves as she enjoyed a serenade by a woman with a sitar and a man with a drum.Next to the deer was a picture of a rabbit with an enigmatic expression and a pleasingly-draped blanket over one shoulder. The third frame depicted the head and neck of a cheerful giraffe. She wore a patterned red scarf and an unstructured tunic.The fourth animal’s identity was unclear to me; possibly it was a fox, but its whiskers looked feline. Priestly robes bestowed an extra measure of gravitas on the cat-fox.The final animal portrait featured a scholarly bear at work in his study. He wore a robe like an Oxford don and a blue hat in the shape of a Yorkshire pudding.Inspired by the studious bear, I left his host library even more determined to visit the remaining thirty-eight TPL branches!

I knew right away I was going to like the new Cedarbrae Library when a bird man on stilts waved his fuzzy rainbow duster of welcome at me. With a ukulele strapped on his back and wild tufts animating his head, the bird man was giving guests the highest fives of their lives as they approached the entrance.

Energizing the post-renovation party, tabla drums and sitar beats floated down from the second floor. The size of the crowd was impressive but not overwhelming. With 31,500 square feet of room to manoeuvre, the new space was equal to the challenge of accommodating so many eager Cedarbrae returnees. One woman who saw me taking pictures remarked, “It took so long (to reopen) that it had to be the Taj Mahal of libraries. And it is the Taj Mahal of libraries.”

In addition to the vocal praise-givers, I especially liked the patrons who simply flomped down and began to read in the new armchairs, ignoring the speeches, the buffet, and all the hoopla. In my view, these introverts represented the true soul of the ceremony, settling deeper into the shiny upholstery to savour the library they had missed.

The children also lost no time in claiming their rightful place in the fantastic KidsStop area. To step from ordinary carpet onto a floor of rippling blue water was to be transported by riverboat into a magical realm. In this world, you can read inside an elephant, find jungle animals on the wall, follow a path of pebbles and riverbeds, or curl up in a nook to call up a story on the phone.

The children were having a big time trying out the learning games attached to the sides of the riverboat. One of the coolest activities I saw was an illuminated box with a pen that used light instead of ink. I also liked the cushions and soft furniture that called out “Come read a book on me!”

Next to the lively KidsStop was a long banquette situated in front of a huge window overlooking the program room. People kept running over to the window, catching sight of a major food preparation scene in progress, and exclaiming, “It’s food! Let’s go get in line!”

Watching the unfolding buffet operation became a spontaneous spectator sport. A number of kids took to kneeling on the cushioned bench as they observed librarians peeling back yards of aluminum foil to reveal pans of rice and samosas. By five o’clock, the queue stretched from the locked program room door to the middle of the lobby.

When I returned to the area thirty minutes later, only rice and fruit punch were left, and a jolly group of eaters now occupied the new red stage and the tiers leading up to it. The featured afternoon matinée was Sitting and Standing with Heaped Paper Plate.

I wasn’t hungry, so I headed upstairs to avoid the chaos of the program room. It was much quieter on the second level, and all the extra space gave me a peaceful feeling. I was also impressed by the range of multilingual materials: Bengali, Hindi, Persian, Gujurati, Chinese, French, Urdu, Tagalog, Tamil, Polish, and Korean. Gazing at these shelves, the poetry selection for the Poetry is Public is Poetry installation on the sidewalk outside seemed especially apt: “A man packed a country in a suitcase with his shoes and left” (“Exile” by Rosemary Sullivan).

Other treasures of the upper floor included a local history room with the proper archival vibe, three study rooms alive to infinite possibility, and a Teen Zone with a long wavy black sofa already inhabited by conversing teenagers. I was also happy to see a gorgeous lounge and an extensive CD collection.

Comparing this successfully-renovated branch to how it looked when I took my 2003-2004 LINC classes to get their library cards, the place was unrecognizable. Inside and out, the new Cedarbrae Library is one of the best-looking buildings in this corner of Scarborough.

It was dark when I finally left the party. I turned around to take a few last pictures and was dazzled by the light pouring from the library. And when I returned five years later to take photos for an exhibit, the light had remained strong. Indeed, Cedarbrae’s open spirit combined with its tinted windows continue to offer rich creative lenses that delight the artist in us all.

A number of years have passed since I last visited Burrows Hall, but Confucius and the Stone Lions have held steady in my absence. Impervious to the seasons, they serve the Chinese Cultural Centre’s courtyard with distinction.

When I walked into the one-room library to west of the courtyard, I was pleased to see the dragon tapestry that I remembered from a previous visit. Presiding over the multilingual collection on the south wall, the sheer size and ferocity of the creature impressed me.

With his bold eyebrows, serpentine goatee, and four fangs, the Burrows Hall dragon commanded respect.

The ceiling in the dragon’s section of the library was much higher than the other half of the room, and I loved how the high north-facing windows revealed a blue Scarborough sky. With architecture that accentuated a view like this, it came as no surprise when I later learned that Burrows Hall had won an Ontario Library Association Building Award in 1999.

Turning my focus from the ceiling to the floor, I also admired the carpet with its abstract cinnamon rolls in a sea of lentils. (Or could they be bulls-eye targets embedded in lite-brite?)

On the other side of the branch, two besotted toy mandrills sat on a shelf in the Children’s Section. With eyes only for each other, they were oblivious to the nearby Reading Hut and the Saturday afternoon crowd.

On the day of my visit, Burrows Hall was so hopping busy that I had to orbit the room a couple of times before I could find space at a table. Then I settled down to take pictures of books from the multilingual collection, which included Chinese, Hindi, French, Tamil, and Urdu.

The temporary challenge of finding a seat did not detract from the pleasure of visiting Burrows Hall. In fact, experiencing such a fully engaged facility made me enjoy it all the more. With Confucius’ statue only a few steps away, it seemed fitting that Burrows Hall had attracted patrons who preferred to spend their Saturday learning at a library instead of reclining on their sofas in front of a TV.

On a research visit to Northern District Library in 2009, I was struck by the serious atmosphere of this branch, how its vast main floor reminded me of a university library. To wander among its extensive shelves took a pleasingly long time, and an hour had passed before I realized I’d better wrap up my notes and fetch some food for dinner.

Idly glancing up, I noticed grid patterns on the ceiling that resembled an upside-down waffle. The flat lights were the waffle’s indentations, and the beams which framed the light-grids were the square raised ridges.

As I walked under the pale waffle, I passed leather couches near the entrance and headed over to the large Children’s Area in the southeast corner. Reading benches were placed near the tall windows, creating ready perches for when the call to read struck. An inclusive display of books was propped on top of a non-fiction shelf: Goddesses, Heroes and Shamans, Sikhism, and Many Ways: How Families Practice Their Beliefs and Religions.

A striking feature of the children’s section was a functional art piece entitled Appleapes. Composed of wood, it contained a row of coat pegs integrated into the body of a mama ape who was clutching red apples in the digits of each lower limb. Above the maternal primate were four babies hanging from the red wooden border overhead. They shared their parent’s love of apples, happily clasping the fruit in their hands.

As I meandered through the rest of the library, I marveled at the size of the foreign language collections: French, Serbian, Chinese, and Estonian. ESL and Literacy materials abounded, and a North Toronto Local History Section was available for researchers.

My last stop was the Skylight Gallery. Located upstairs, it consisted of a semi-circular stretch of wall that curved underneath an uplifting window to the sky. After a moment of relishing the quiet space bathed in natural light, I trotted back down the stairs and emerged into the afternoon bustle of Yonge and Eglinton.

In the two and a half years between my first and second blog post about Northern District, a renovation occurred and I added camera skills to my blogging toolkit. (Furthermore, after a recent visit to take pictures for an upcoming photography exhibit, I edited the 2012 photos and added new ones for good measure.)

In 2012, the main differences I noticed were a glass-walled program room (where my friend Ellen and I led a Culture Days program in 2011), luxurious new study booths in the teens section, a snacking zone, and three beautifully contemplative study rooms.

Two other important changes were the shifting of the children’s section into a different corner of the library (minus the Appleapes) and the creation of a spacious reading area in its place.

I liked the way the new reading room seemed to thrust the readers into the heart of Yonge and Eglinton — all the city dynamism without the noise!

The final difference between the 2009 and 2012 versions of the library was the presence of a striking art display by Afsaneh Shafai in the upstairs skylight gallery.

Northern District Library, it’s been a pleasure to witness your evolution. Keep bringing the scholarly energy, support for the arts, and willingness to change!

A number of years passed between my first sojourn to Highland Creek and later visits, but I did not forget the distinctive ceiling that resembled an unfolded sauna. Thanks to the the ceiling’s skylight and the generous number of high windows, Highland Creek was as radiant with natural light as ever.

Not far from the skylight, four lucky readers had settled in the same number of armchairs in front of the hearth. Two coffee tables were piled high with the remains of fireside browsing material: magazines, craft books, and a photo digest of Prince William and Kate Middleton. Later I added to the stack after I photographed two books from Highland Creek’s small multilingual collection.

Closer to the entrance, a glamorous dragon called Desdemona batted her lashes at incoming library patrons. I liked the she-dragon’s sparkly green scarf and the way it complemented her hide-tone. With purple talons matching the shade of her ears, wings and back-plates, Desdemona was the best-accessorized dragon I have ever seen.

From a high shelf in the Children’s Section, the dragon’s tail received the solar benefit of south-facing windows, something that a reptile in a cold climate must appreciate.

Highland Creek’s multipurpose room contained some interesting wall art that referenced the previous summer’s reading program, Destination Jungle. Thank goodness nobody had torn down the art at summer’s end, for I would have missed the opportunity to see the denim-clad monkey, fluffy cuttlefish, and the melancholy frog.

Highland Creek, thank you for the opportunity to bask in the presence of your skylight, hearth, and bright mural!

Similar to Dawes Road and Thorncliffe branches, Flemingdon Park Library holds its ground in the shadow of multiple sets of high-rise apartments. Located just south of the Don Mills and Eglinton Avenue intersection, the branch shares its quarters with a pool and community centre.

On arrival at Flemingdon Park, I went to the sunny reading room first. An elderly patron was reading a newspaper in her first language aided by a magnifying glass, and silence reigned among the wooden tables.

After some quality quiet time in the reading room, the skylight near the lobby drew me back into the main section of the library. With my head tilted back towards the light, I noticed the mural that hung beneath a triangle of glass. I liked the central Canadian flag and cheerful panels, each containing an individual picture.

The heart shape composed of nestling face-crescents captured the beauty of Toronto’s multiculturalism, and I liked how the library showed tangible support for diversity with its resources in French, Chinese, Gujarati, Hindi, Persian, Russian, Spanish, Tagalog, Tamil, and Urdu.

In addition to the faces in the heart, a portrait of E. T. also appeared in the mural, causing me to wonder if it might have been painted in 1982, the year the Spielberg movie came out. This would make historical sense, as Flemingdon Park branch opened in 1981.

Even though the library wasn’t as slick and shiny as some of the more recently renovated branches, it displayed a lot of heart. The Children’s section was unadorned but functional, and it was obvious that residents of Flemingdon Park relied on the library for important services that many could not otherwise afford, such as newspaper subscriptions, Internet connection, and MAP passes. (On my most recent visit, more than a dozen patrons had lined up long before the Saturday opening time of nine a.m. in order to secure popular MAP passes. One woman had even brought her camp stool to perch on).

Indeed, though Flemingdon Park’s may lack conventional glamour, it still serves as a place where readers can meet a moon-fish, hipster bears, and Persian heroes under one sunny roof!

Wanting to gain a sense of the exterior of Leaside Library before it opened for the morning, I began to circle the perimeter. However, an ancient boulder soon stopped me in my tracks. According to a nearby sign, this “Precambrian erratic was slowly transported to the Leaside area by a glacier more than 10,000 years ago.” I loved the rock’s dignified presence, which was like a grandfather elephant resting after centuries of geological movement. When I looked more closely at the cracks and patterns on the erratic, I found one that looked like a giraffe.

Next, I trotted along a boot-made trail in the snow and took in Leaside Tennis Club and Traces Mane Park before ducking into the warm library. (In addition, on my most recent visit in 2015, I encountered an equine creature made of sticks who stood its ground on the north side of the building).

As I was getting my bearings in the lobby, a group of preschool kids trooped through the door in a jolly burst of noise and colourful hats. Their teachers ushered them into the program room to the right of the entrance, where a sliding door created a separate space for the duration of the program.

About an hour later, I noted the expansive south window that suffused the place with pure winter light. I also liked the clever storage area for flat cushions in primary colours. (When I was in Brownies in the States, we called them “sit-upons” but I’m not sure if they’re called that in Canada).

The rest of Leaside’s interior was pleasingly rectangular. I loved the high windows on three sides, especially in the places where dark tree branches held steady behind the panes. Most of the space was open plan, with the Children’s Room demarcated by a portal that contained display cabinets on either side. A bank of computers formed most of the outer barrier of the kids’ zone, with a gap serving as a second entrance.

Guarding the cabinet-entrance was a non-threatening Yeti, and on the other side of the barrier was a deer in a long stocking cap. I was very taken by one of the display books, The Cow Who Clucked, for I support a cow’s right to cluck instead of moo if she so chooses.

As I continued my self-guided tour, I found the French collection and some window seats. A patron was contentedly seated on one of them with her laptop. She had set her galoshes carefully to one side and was typing in her stocking feet.

The north window bank also had its fans, as did the local history room near the checkout desk. When I explored the Leaside Room, I discovered a signed copy of Horton Hatches the Egg by Dr. Seuss and a framed example of Mayoral bling with lots of gold maple leaves clasped together.

Refreshed by sunlight and shadows, I left Leaside with a spirit of gratitude for its distinctive boulder, contented Yeti, friendly staff, and classy decor.

Located at the northernmost reaches of Woodside Square Mall, Woodside Square Library’s sleekness immediately captured my attention. The exterior wall was covered in silver metal and contained windows looking into this one-room branch.

With its silver compactness, the library resembled the ultimate hipster submarine. And like a beatnik café, in San Francisco, this educational joint was jumping! The room was packed with parents reading to their children, kids sitting on the floor with their picture books, each computer busy, some elderly men nodding over Chinese newspapers, and teenagers hunkered down over their math textbooks and calculators.

As I wandered around Woodside Square in a loosely counter-clockwise manner, I admired its groovy flair. Some of the windows on the east side of the north wall contained dark amber panes, creating an artistic effect that was only slightly marred by the mundane view of a Food Basics parking lot.

I also liked the wooden wrap-around bench that jutted from the west side of the north wall, providing unstructured seating under another row of windows. And a corner seat tucked between two shelves was another example of clever usage of a limited amount of space.

The children’s area sheltered in the friendly presence of a lozenge-shaped window that overlooked the mall corridor. Seven staggered windows — stacked in bars of yellow and orange — competed with a circular green desk to see who could be the most colourful.

Although Woodside didn’t have an extensive a collection of multilingual books, it did offer materials in Chinese, Gujurati, Hindi, French, and Tamil. The romance section seemed disproportionately ample for the size of the branch, but why complain when you could enjoy being Seduced for the Inheritance or scandalized by Texas-sized Secrets?

Almost as big as a Texas-sized secret was my surprise at finding a DVD about the history of the Kansas City Chiefs. Growing up in the Kansas City area, most of my acquaintances had an opinion about the Chiefs or the very least a red Chiefs T-shirt. When I was a teenager, I worked in the cafeteria at the college where the team used to train over the summer. (I still remember how much steak the athletes consumed!) Several decades later and one country north of the border, here was a slice of home in a thin plastic box. Amazing!

Still marvelling over the unexpected Chiefs DVD, I walked over to the automatic check-out machine. As my selection was processed, I enjoyed looking at the red firecracker decorations that celebrated Chinese New Year for 2009. Welcome, Ox! Lanterns with red tassels dangled from the ceiling, adding a festive vibe to the room.

The last feature of Woodside Square I admired was a sturdy returns slot that was set deep into the wall. I wished I had a thick book to return so I could hear it make a satisfying thunk in its receptacle.

Though I had nothing to return, I left Woodside Square with New Year gifts of colour, memory, and architectural beauty!

On an afternoon in 2009, I took the number seven 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 castle with timbered window-frames and a lovely fat turret. (This site is also famous for appearing in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World).

Later, I learned that the official term for Wychwood Library’s architectural style is “Tudor-Collegiate” and that a $50,000 grant from the Carnegie Corporation of New York funded the creation of Wychwood and two other identical branches (High Park and Beaches). Designed by Eden Smith, Wychwood was completed in 1915 and opened to the public on April 15, 1916. (Please see Margaret Penman’s A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983 pages 25-26 for further Wychwood history).

As a twenty-first century visitor, I admired how the attractive wood and stone exterior of Wychwood branch matched the decor of the interior. For example, the glossy checkout desk on the ground floor was made from dark wood, and the east wall in the children’s room contained one of two original stone fireplaces.

In the children’s section, the austerity of the empty hearth was offset by bright red recliners that rested underneath two plush sunflowers hanging from a sign. The orange centres of the flowers had smiley faces stitched on the felt, and multi-coloured petals radiated cheer in red, yellow, and green.

Further animating the space were large papier mâché fish with scales of yellow and blue who were swimming next to a model vessel with 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 porcine Triceratops.

Smiling at the idea of dinosaurs as farm guests, I headed back towards the main stairs, briefly popping inside the large round turret, where I found a program room with carpeted steps for seating.

As each narrow step took me closer to the upper level, the extent of overhead immensity gradually became revealed, making me catch my breath in surprise. Who knew a high timbered ceiling could be so exciting?

The wooden ceiling, dark wood, muted lamps, and stone fireplace (identical in structure and position to the one downstairs) reminded me of the Monks’ Dormitory at Durham Cathedral where I used to read poetry and academic texts during my junior year abroad in 1989.

After gawking at Wychwood’s ceiling, I walked through the upper half of the turret (above the program room) which had a curved balcony wrapped round it. Next to some bamboo stalks in a large pot was the French section. The ESL collection was also substantial, as were the fiction and reference offerings.

Only one area remained to be explored: a third-floor perch that had been constructed under the west eave. Taking up roughly a quarter of the space afforded by the hall’s ceiling, it contained one big study table and a few individual carrels.

This cozy platform gave the sense of being in a tree-house, and I felt at peace just resting at the wide table, taking a few notes for this blog post. Thank you, Wychwood Library, for providing so many levels to explore and for your rich connections to history, education, and film!

Located next to The Flower Emporium at Parkway Mall, Maryvale Library shares a lot in common with its mall-library cousin, Eglinton Square. Both branches opened in the 80’s (1987 and 1983 respectively), occupy one room, and refuse put on airs. Marvyale even has the same wooden letters spelling “CHILDREN’S” on the wall as Eglinton Square does, although the Cat in the Hat inhabits the letter “C” instead of a monkey.

When I visited Maryvale in 2012, I noticed a fold-out series of Peter Sis illustrations of Sleep Safe Little Whale by Miriam Schlein on a high shelf near the irreverent Cat. A wide variety of sleeping animals appeared in the paper panorama, but I found the panda bear mother and her cub in a hollow tree especially endearing.

Another nearby shelf provided a platform for a white mama rabbit with a baby stitched to her arms. The older rabbit wore a pink ruffled apron trimmed with a floral pattern, and the inside of her ears were lined with same floral cloth. The pair appeared to be party-bound, for they both had festive bows sewn to their upper foreheads.

Throughout the library, a certain randomness to the decorations prevailed. Wooden birds faced Lord of the Rings posters on the other side of the room. I saw a Renoir print, some aging travel posters, and an odd paper-craft item (a square within a square with a dangling tail) over the check-out desk. Clutching the registration sign overhead was a superhero toy with a cape.

Despite my lukewarm response to Maryvale’s 2012 decor, I don’t mean imply that the value of a library lies in its appearance. After all, Maryvale branch is a friendly, well-stocked facility that offers materials in Chinese, Greek, French, Arabic, Tagalog, Tamil, and Hindi. It just seems unfair that some branches have received more investment in their image than others. For example, why does Beaches Library have a a timbered ceiling and a window seat overlooking Kew Gardens while Bridlewood Library* has a rocket made of construction paper?

A simplistic formula such as “wealthy neighbourhood = elegant library” cannot fully explain the imbalance, for some of the most lovely branches — Riverdale, Kennedy/Eglinton, Malvern, Cedarbrae — reside in deprived areas. My wish for less showy libraries like Maryvale is for them to be models of beauty in a wasteland of suburban malls.

*(Note: Bridlewood’s paper rocket is no more! See this post for Bridlewood’s newer look. Moreover, the Mama Rabbit, wooden birds, and the posters are no longer at Maryvale; nor are there any objects dangling from signs above the check-out desk. On my 2015 visit, I was impressed by the new laptop counter that had been installed by the windows).

Inside Eglinton Square Mall is a food court. Inside that food court is a Manchu Wok. And beside Manchu Wok is a library!

A no-frills branch in one square room, Eglinton Square Library is my frequent go-to destination to pick up holds (second only to Kennedy/Eglinton). This library is almost always very crowded, even at six pm on a weeknight. Patrons often need to stake their claims on various study-territories, spreading out their papers widely to ensure sufficient personal space.

Located a few steamy shelves to the west of the study tables, the Romance collection looms large in this modestly-proportioned branch. Spoiled for choice, readers can consider titles such as Beast of Desire, Perfectly Saucy, and Dirty Harriet Rides Again.

Not far from the south wall, Tagalog, Chinese, Tamil, and French materials constitute the bulk of Eglinton Square’s multilingual section, with a spirited shout out from Hindu videos. (Greek, Gujarati, and Korean used to be available at this branch, but the collections have now moved elsewhere in the TPL system).

On the north side of the room, three sets of low shelves arranged in a boxy “U” shape create an alcove for the Children’s section. The most prominent decoration is a set of chunky wooden letters spelling “Children’s” attached to the wall. A wooden monkey sits in the lower curve of the capital “C”.

On a recent visit to Eglinton Square, I noticed a striking display on the table near the entrance. It contained books that celebrated Islamic art, culture, and history as well as leaflets showcasing the Aga Khan museum (for which MAP passes can be obtained at the circulation desk). The display exemplified what I like best about Eglinton Square Library: its accessibility, diversity and ability to respond to community needs.

At the turn of the twentieth-century, City Architect Robert McCallum designed Yorkville Library (1907) in a Classical Beaux Arts style. One hundred and nine years later, TPL’s oldest branch still upholds McCallum’s vision of classical symmetry. Dignified stone lions, interior columns, square room-sections, and tasteful lemon walls work in harmony to create a timeless sense of peace and stability.

On a visit to Yorkville several years back, I studied a historical display in the vestibule that informed me that the branch was “the first of four libraries built with a $350,000 Carnegie grant.” Learning this fact, I felt grateful that Carnegie’s investment had not only served at least six generations of readers but also funded such artistic details as the exquisitely-lettered letter box, brass knocker, and decorative floor tiles.

Settling myself into a chair at a broad wooden table, I surveyed the facility as a whole. 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 lobby’s historical display, when Yorkville branch was constructed, this area was considered the northern part of Toronto. Some trace of that quieter time and place seemed to remain in the library, the legacy of a slower, less harshly-lit era. It was a welcome respite from honking cars, gadget-addled pedestrians, and insistent storefronts.

To get better acquainted with the library’s offerings, I walked over to the checkout area (noting the high lozenge-shaped lamps like the ones at Wychwood) and veered left. Next to the DVD section was a selection from Yorkville’s LGBTQ+ 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.

Crossing the section of the building where a newer addition had been joined to the 1906 structure, I found the children’s section (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, Vaclav Havel, and Neil Simon among others.

As I reversed directions to exit, I paused to admire a cloth ship hanging from the ceiling in the children’s 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.

As I sailed out the door in a historical reverie, I reflected on what a treat it was to experience a library so venerable and vibrant at the same time.

From 1921 to 1977, Main Street Library was known as Eastern Branch. Even though it opened the same year as Dufferin/Saint Clair and three years before Gerrard/Ashdale, Main Street no longer resembles its 1920’s cohorts from the outside.

A well-intentioned renovation in 1977 added a glass and red metal entrance that in my view contradicts the original vision of Chief Librarian George Locke (1870-1937). Locke had aimed for “English domestic architecture” (A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, p. 26), but post-renovation Main Street misses that target. For example, ivy-covered English cottages do not often utilize Lego-like red triangles for lintels.

Playful angles and arches in the front lobby compensated for what it lacked in historical character. I appreciated the many interesting corners on the first floor, such as the light-filled reading lounge visible through an arch, as well as the 1928 south extension with its powder blue walls.

The main floor also yielded a large central room and a north wing devoted to adult non-fiction (also painted powder blue). With so many windows and open spaces, the inside appeared much bigger than I had expected.

Despite my initial disappointment with the tacked-on modern  entrance, the upper level restored my image of Main Street as a heritage branch. The wooden ceiling even smelled pleasantly old!

After spending a few moments gazing at Main Street’s delightful attic, I could sense its historical kinship to Gerrard/Ashdale branch. Two 1920’s attics, beautifully connected!

The south wing of Main Street’s attic featured exposed brick walls, long wooden tables, and dignified window frames, giving this home for children’s books and the juvenile French collection a scholarly yet comfortable atmosphere.

Warming the bricks of the east wall was a quilt stitched in honour of Toronto’s 1984 Sesquicentennial, the same occasion that inspired the quilt at Beaches Library. Without the thematic flow between each section that characterized the Beaches tapestry, the one at Main Street lent itself to individual panel study.I especially liked the quilt blocks that contained a mule pulling a Canada Bread cart, zany leaves, and Fire Station #17.

As I was studying the textile art, one attentive mom was listening to her child read a counting book while another prompted a young reader to respond to an illustration, “Is that a squirrel? Is she painting with her tail?” The latter parent was sitting in the north wing, which had armchairs in front of dormer windows and some steps leading to a reading nook under the west eave.

It made me happy to see 21st-century families gather around books under the slanted beams of an early 20th-century attic. After all, the learning that happens inside the library is more important than the shape of its front door. I think George Locke would be proud to know that Eastern Branch is still fulfilling its purpose ninety-four years after it opened!

Harmonizing with the friendly round shape of the roof, the interior of S. Walter Stewart branch projects a pleasing openness. Near the checkout desk, circular shelves of videos and DVD’s echo the wheel shape of a skylight above. Wooden beams in a radial pattern support the translucent dome, and a blue band featuring the four compass points in gold encircles the area below the dome. (With such a classic setting, dancers at a Jane Austen costume ball could glide about with ease under the skylight so long as they minded the re-shelving carts).

Along the periphery of the main floor are large open study stalls with wide desks between the brick partitions. Readers can gaze through expansive windows to the lawns and bungalows beyond. Fanning out behind the desks, tall and steady shelves of books in Chinese, Greek, Macedonian, and Serbian join rows of fiction, non-fiction, and reference books.

The basement level seems equally engaging. A blue linoleum floor cosmically graced with moons, stars, and planets leads the way to vending machines, a large auditorium, and a lively KidsStop complete with a giant red and silver rocket.

The KidsStop room also has three original Barbara Reid plasticine illustrations that she made for Read Me a Book (2003). A giant copy of this book is attached to the wall, and as I flipped through it, I recalled the other Reid pieces on display at Parliament Street and Oakwood Village Libraries.

From inside to outside, I love this library’s architectural commitment to circles and arcs. The central atrium, shelving patterns, reading lounge, curved window bench in the Teens’ section, downstairs auditorium, and even the carpet design celebrate the circle and semi-circle. These eternal shapes make visiting S. Walter Stewart an artistic as well as educational experience!

Like the pigeon above, I have always found Riverdale Library’s solid red-brick structure a restful place to perch.

On my first visit, I appreciated the heavy wooden doors that opened to the spaciousness of the lobby, inviting patrons to breathe freely. A soaring white ceiling, skylight, columns, and wide aisles all worked together to create a sense of freedom and possibility.

I felt my spirits revive when I gazed at the skylight of this Georgian Revival edifice, prompting me to send a silent message of thanks skyward to Andrew Carnegie. As recorded in A Century of Service: Toronto Public Library 1883-1983, Carnegie provided the initial funding for this library and three others in 1903 (Penman, p. 16). Ultimately, he would finance ten TPL branches.

My instinctive window-seat antennae led me to the northeast side of the library, where I found a wide curving bench. This lovely piece of reading furniture was an integral part of the children’s area, which also boasted a double-sided hearth and a Children’s Program Room with a matching window seat on the west wall.

When I went inside the program room, I found a puppet theatre and a leafless tree with a sign that read “Riverdale Tree: Do Not Move.” Five years later, the note had been removed and the tree positioned in a new location. Not only had it travelled, but it was now gussied up with leaves, a salamander, and bedazzled fruit.

Back in the main section of the children’s wing, I noticed a pirate ship on top of a central shelf and Paddington Bear high overhead, secured to his chair-swing with massive quantities of packing tape.

The central section of Riverdale contained a corner reserved for teens to flop on some pink and yellow cushions, a computer bay, and magazine racks. Along the curved west wall, rows of tall shelves fanned out in a radial pattern.

Following the curve to the southwest corner, I saw a sign which said “Quiet Community Room.” I opened the door and discovered that it wasn’t quiet at all. About ten women were sitting at various tables with big thermoses and some snacks. When a couple of them gave me half-smiles of “Do we know you? What are you doing here?”, I realized that I was disturbing the morning study break of an ESL class. I apologized and retreated.

To support the class and other learners, a strong ESL collection was only a few strides away from the classroom. There was also a small Vietnamese holding and a much larger one that offered Chinese fiction, non-fiction, DVD’s, and more. On my 2015 visit, I enjoyed the lobby display in honour of Chinese New Year, especially the colourful card, book covers, and flowers.

From the multilingual bookcases against the south wall, I moved further into the interior and sat down between two high shelves. With my head resting just below a wooden windowsill, I surveyed the materials available in my temporary domain: French dictionaries, self-help books, SAT preparation texts, mathematics books, and fashion guides. I inhabited my bookish retreat for several minutes, leafing through some sale magazines and pausing to admire how vast the overhead space appeared from floor-level.

After getting to my feet, I returned to the window seat to experience it in more depth. I took off my shoes, nestled against the wall where it formed a right angle with the seat, and rested my left arm on the upper ledge. It was the perfect place to write in my journal.I felt very fortunate to inhabit a quiet corner of this beautiful old library, enjoying the trees outside as well as the rumble of passing streetcars on Broadview Avenue. I also felt connected to the lucky Torontonians of the early 20th century who welcomed Riverdale Library into their city and their hearts.

The opening of Toronto Public Library‘s 100th branch is reason enough for excitement, but Scarborough Civic Centre raises the pitch even higher with its visionary beauty, innovation, and attention to detail.

From the basil leaves embedded in playful towers to the 3-D printer, reading garden, and green roof, TPL’s newest library provides an outstanding community facility for the McCowan and Ellesmere neighbourhood. After only nine days in service, it already feels comfortably familiar; not a trace of plastic-on-the-best-sofa starchiness in sight.

Playing hooky with a purpose, I took a day off work to spend some time at Scarborough Civic Centre branch. After taking pictures for an hour and a half, I sat down at an epic table in the grand hall to better experience the character of the place. The sounds of happy kids in the KidsStop early literacy centre, keyboard tappings, and the voices of staff and patrons filled the space.

From where I was sitting, three sets of giant wooden hurdles met overhead. I liked the way the supporting beams tilted inward to support the overhead beam that joined them. With strength drawn from cooperative leaning, the structure’s airy openness was enabled by sturdy rustic supports containing the whole.

The building’s simplicity combined with details such as visible bolts served to create a secure framework to shelter readers and promote imaginative engagement with the decor.

The architects’ choice to use wooden instead of metal beams warmed the atmosphere and connected me to the greenery of the reading garden, the maple leaves in the pink tower, and memories of Camp Oakledge in Warsaw, Missouri.

The seeds, beans, and flowers embedded in the KidsStop towers glowed with poetry in the sunny southeast corner of Scarborough Civic Centre.

As a resident of Scarborough, I am more than proud to call this extraordinary library my new neighbour. Scarborough Civic Centre, thank you very much for your vision, poetry, and generosity!

If you thirst for open space, artistic beauty, and sunlight on wooden beams, Morningside Library is the branch for you.

At first sight, its sun-filled interior resembled a rectangular barn turned art studio, and I felt calm and purposeful as I walked from the entrance into the thick of the shelves. Even though the entire library was limited to a single story, I found so many objects, images, and angles to photograph that I had to scold myself, “Catherine, how will a picture of a leaflet stand, a glass bowl full of blue and silver ornaments, or a fox in a mural push your narrative forward?”

Despite the inner reprimand to take fewer photos, I still rejoiced in visual details such as snow in the skylight, a miniature Christmas tree on the checkout desk, and a Victorian village made out of illustrated cardboard. As Rumi said, “There is ecstasy in paying attention.”

After looking at the library’s collection of ye olde churches, houses, hotels, and stores, I wandered over to a generously wide window seat to the right of the check out area. It seemed the ideal spot to “read, imagine, dream, (and) escape,” which the large mural on the west wall invited me to do.

Completed in 2009, this vibrant wall painting was the result of a collaboration between Rob Matejka and seven youth artists. I liked how the knight was brandishing a brown book with TPL on the cover and proudly sporting TPL’s blue and white (as seen on signs and library cards). When I studied this champion of literacy, my thoughts turned to 2011 city politics: “Just let Rob Ford joust with this righteous advocate for tax dollars well-spent! Confronted by the equestrian’s upraised book, our mayor might tremble in his cost-cutting, gravy-stomping boots.”

In addition to the stirring mural, Morningside branch boasted a wealth of artwork: photographs, watercolours, and oils. Two of my favourites were Adam Hussain’s tall bird and Evette Forde’s abstract piece.

Not only was Morningside art-friendly, but the ceiling, windows, and window seats were artistically pleasing. Even the long wooden table attached to the north wall was lovely in my sight. On the day of my first visit, every spot was taken — a row of laptops glinting in the sun.

I did not initially resonate with the giant wooden oval that hovered mid-ceiling. Likely it was designed to highlight the Children’s area below and its carpet: stripes of brick red, green, blue, and an orange block.

Nevertheless, I am beholden to the wooden feature, for it led me to the lively book covers shown below: kittens playing tennis under a Tamil title, an Urdu-English tale about fortunate corn, and a French story about a grandfather’s maple syrup business. Outside the purview of the elevated oval, the Adult multilingual section had Tamil materials and Hindi DVD’s but nothing in French or Urdu.

All in all, Morningside Library’s open spirit of learning was reflected in its books, paintings, and window seats. At a time when the city budget is being debated, attacked and defended, a library like Morningside exemplifies what truly matters: people over politics, books over tax-cuts, and beauty over pettifoggery.

This bookmark celebrates the branch head of Bayview Library, Jerry Lomoro, who spoke with me on the phone before my visit in 2011. The bookmark’s muse kindly took me under his wing when I arrived on site; he offered me tea, gave me a visitor’s badge, and told me about Bayview’s impressive circulation numbers (372,036 in 2010).

While he chatted with me, Jerry tidied up the remains of the Tea and Books event, which had just finished. It had actually been the debut of the group, and more than a dozen patrons, mostly seniors, had gathered in front of the library’s only windows to discuss Writing in the Age of Silence.

The Tea and Books elderly participants represented a traditional demographic in the library’s history.  Jerry said, “Bayview used to be pretty homogeneous, mainly seniors, Jewish or WASPy, but now we have more immigrant families.” He attributed the greater diversity to the construction of nearby condominiums in recent years, which has attracted new Canadian families. “Last summer (2010) we had 80 kids in our reading program.”

The theme of that’s summer reading program was Destination Jungle, and one of the 80 children had illustrated this fun jungle scene with an alligator gliding down a waterfall. Almost a year later, intrepid yet patient giraffes were still awaiting their turn to go down the falls.

I enjoyed the 2011 bookmark contest display, which had yielded the portrait of Jerry above. One child who was more inspired by jungle animals than branch head librarians had drawn this cheerful (yet comparatively risk-adverse) giraffe.

Inspiration was also present in the interactive decor of Bayview’s Children’s Section. Tinted translucent circles that demarcate the north side of the area promote playfulness and creativity. For example, Jerry told me that kids often peer at each other through the circles and play games with them. Library design that engages patrons is not just an abstract concept at Bayview!

I loved how there was a deepening of the space as I walked towards the north wall. Carpeted steps brought me lower, as if the lobby and lounge comprised the deck of a large pool and the steps took me down into the water.

There was even a handrail to help patrons transition into the pool of children’s books at the centre of the branch. And the multi-coloured steps turned the ordinary act of descending stairs into something extraordinary.

Around the corner from the kid’s area was a very pleasing nook. It was the kind of place that made me want to do some homework, any homework. Alas, I didn’t have any, so I had to make do with taking pictures of books. Even though Bayview is small, it has respectable Chinese, Korean, and French collections, so I had plenty of material to choose from.

The image of a garden dance brings this post to a close, but I must not leave without sending a big Thank You to Jerry and the other Bayview Library staff (especially Norm) for making me feel so welcome at this bustling yet restful branch. Each of you deserve a joyful bookmark portrait in your honour!

The first time I visited Cliffcrest Library was back in 2007. When I showed up at Cliffcrest Plaza for a second visit in 2010, I was surprised to see that this storefront branch had scooted over from 2977 Kingston Road to 3017 Kingston Road.

When I saw Cliffcrest’s 2010 incarnation, I regretted having missed the opening celebration in April 2008. Nevertheless, it was worth the wait to witness the transformation of a formerly drab library into a fabulous one!

Sharing my enthusiasm for the renovation, the branch head mentioned that the dramatic improvements had drawn a lot more youth to the facility. Sure enough, the L-shaped banquette in the northeast corner was fully occupied by web-browsing teens in the 3017 Kingston Road location.

In addition to youth patrons on the bench seating, Cliffcrest was populated by Seniors reading newspapers and using the computers in addition to families searching for books and DVD’s. For background music, one child kept crowing “cockle-doodle-doo!” followed by monster growls.

Unfazed by the growls, I enjoyed the cheerful greens and blues as well as the sunniness that filled this one-room branch. With only a parking lot to gaze upon, it was helpful to have decor that symbolized the natural beauties (including a real lakeside cliff!) not far away.

The library was so home-like and comfortable that it was tempting to lounge there for a long time. In fact, I ended up losing a long-term sitting competition with another patron on the banquette pictured above.

It all started with my silent wish to take a picture of the banquette’s entire length. Not intuiting this wish, my bench rival camped out on its east side from 11:30 to 1:00, at which time I had to leave for work. It didn’t feel right to ask her to move, and I was both impressed and exasperated by her sitting power.

Around the corner from the contested banquette was an eclectic collection of stuffed animals. A frog and a puma were having some boundary issues, but the rest of the creatures were sharing the space peacefully. A shark and a bear were getting along just fine, as were a parrot and a three-headed dragon.

Most of Cliffcrest’s open-facing shelving (earning it the title of TPL‘s first “browsing branch”) didn’t contain multilingual material, but its children’s section had a small French collection. I borrowed the book seen below because I liked the exuberant cover art and the opportunity to practice reading in French.

Finally, a few steps away from the children’s section was the program room. It contained funky tiling, a Historical Highlights display, and some nature photography by Ann Brokelman.

Upon arrival at the library few hours earlier, I had expected to find the same tired 1970’s strip-mall facility that I’d seen in 2007. The plaza remains dreary, but it now flaunts a colourful jewel: a rejuvenated Cliffcrest Library!