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Washington, DC: The Library of Congress

Alternative Title: All about the time I almost moved into the basement of a National Monument.

Before I went to Washington, D.C. I joked with a few friends about finding a persuadable security guard at the Library of Congress who would let me move into the basement.  Reader, I found him.  Solomon an enormous, muscley, hulk of a man with a killer toothpaste-commercial smile and a deep, contagious laugh.  And he promised that if I smiled at him on occasion he would let me sleep amongst the stacks of books.  Admittedly, I think at some point my virtue would be on the line, but it is a small price to pay to live here:

From the outside, I think the Library of Congress is one of the most beautiful buildings on the Mall.  On the inside it is absolutely breathtaking.  Sure there are marble columns and gorgeous paintings and sculptures and inlaid mosaics.  But it’s the books that I am in-love with.  I think I spent about 6 or 7 hours wandering around, ogling the rooms and rooms of books.  They have a Gutenberg Bible, as well as The Giant Bible of Mainz, just hanging out in the lobby.   Respectively, that is the first book printed in the Western world and the last of the great, handwritten Bible’s of Europe.  There they are, side-by-side, looking imposing and gorgeous and breathtaking.  Of course, in 90% of the Library of Congress there is no photography allowed, and due to the reverent nature of the items on display (see: bibles, Magna Carta, Bill of Rights, etc) I decided not to be my usual naughty self and take pictures anyway.  Besides, I wanted to stay on good terms with Solomon to ensure my place in the basement.

Any reader who has been here for longer than 10 minutes is well aware that I have a bit of a book-addiction problem (as well as a shoe-addiction problem.  And a Nutella-addiction problem).  So it should not be any kind of surprise to know that my visit to the Library of Congress was, by far, the highlight of my trip. The original Library of Congress was donated by Thomas Jefferson, from his personal collection of books, some 6,000 strong.  (Note: I would LOVE to have 6,000 books in my personal library.  I’m sitting at about 700 right now–I have a spreadsheet, don’t judge–and my apartment is absolutely bursting.)  During the War of 1812 when the British sacked and burned Washington those dastardly redcoats burned the building housing the Library of Congress.  They burned it!  Half of Jefferson’s carefully curated collection went up in flames. At this point in the video-presentation about the beginnings of the Library of Congress I actually gasped and may (or may not) have cursed the bloody English.  I know I know; it was a war and they were under orders from a (tyrant) king and we’re on good terms now thanks in large part to the Beatles and Kate Moss.  But in my world, book burning is tantamount to genocide and ethnic cleansing.  The Library of Alexandria was destroyed by Roman invaders and frankly, despite their pasta and Vespa’s and chic fashion, I’ve never forgiven them. /book rant.

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It has only been in the last fifteen years that the library has made a concerted, dedicated effort to reclaim copies of those books that were lost.  So far they have acquired through purchase and donation, about 4,800 volumes and in one, marbled wing there is a room dedicated to Jefferson’s originally donated library.  There is this enormously tall, circular bookcase made out of plexiglass that winds into itself.  You can walk through it like a little maze and gorge yourself on Jefferson’s collection.  He had his own organizing system, which is complicated and logical and, frankly, kind of brilliant. He divided books into three dozen different types and topics, and then arranged them by size.  By size.  This brilliant mind arranged his books by size.  I suddenly feel much better about the fact that my books are arranged by color (again, don’t judge). I spent almost an hour slowly perusing these shelves, making notes of philosophers I should become more acquainted with, like Cicero, for example, and smiling to myself when I came across his section of Shakespearean plays.  I really think that Jefferson and I would have been great friends.

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A few hours later, and after a little harmless flirting with Solomon (and also going through the proper channels) I got myself down into the “reading room” of the Library of Congress.  The bookshelves are miles long and several stories high.  There are balconies and walkways and arches and domes and more books than you can even imagine.  I wandered around for a long time, running my finger along the edge of the shelves and just smelling the old-book smell.  I wish I had something to research because I mostly walked around aimlessly, wandering from one section to another.

Many hours later, I emerged from the Library of Congress on a biblio-contact high and desperate for something to eat.  I bid goodbye to Solomon, who still insisted he’d found a nice warm corner for me to live, and promised to return.

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