The Bodleian

We were told to remain silent as we were ushered into the lobby of the centuries-old building out of the cold of the Oxford streets. The two officials presiding over our induction next allowed us to enter a chapel-like area. We Americans sat on either side of the chapel as the British librarians explained the induction process of the Bodleian Library. We had to show proper identification and read aloud and sign an oath.

Our Oxford Study Abroad orientation had already briefed us on the workings of the Bodleian. The huge library had every book published in the United Kingdom, plus countless more. All the books were unable to squeeze onto shelves in the buildings. To solve this problem, the Bodleian extends underground throughout the city of Oxford. Underneath the streets are rooms upon rooms of books, reminiscent of the labyrinth in Eco’s Name of the Rose. Above the surface were several buildings of “reading rooms,” all with bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling.

As Associate (or temporary) students, we were allowed to use the library between the hours of 4 and 10 p.m. In order to use the library, it was necessary to sign an oath. We promised to not to take food, drink, or flame into the library or any books out of the library. All books must be read inside the Bodleian, hence the “reading rooms.” These rules applied not only to us, but to anyone using the library. Our bags were searched on the way in and out of the library. The no drink rule did exclude bottled water, but we were still not permitted to drink it while in the library.

My first experience in the Bodleian began with ordering my books, via the internet, at 11 a.m. Books took approximately four hours to get from the underground rooms to the reading room of my choice. I pictured a small, ninety-year-old British man with thick glasses shuffling through the underground halls going straight to where each of my books was located, dusting them off, and sending them up a vacuum tube to the reading room above.

I waited until 4 p.m. and walked the two miles to the main library. The buildings of the main library were arranged in a square. They were made of stone, and in the cold darkness of the Oxford night, the windows seemed to glow with warmth. It was as if the building was lit by fire, but I knew that that had never been the case. No flame had ever been allowed in the Bodleian. Books burned too easily.

I walked across the inside court to the entrance. I passed tourists on their way back to their hotels after getting the tour. I couldn’t help but feel a little smug as I showed my library card and was admitted upstairs. The guard checked my bag for food and flame. He allowed me to go through.

I then walked up the stone steps, searching for the reading room where I had sent my books. Before finding it, I stumbled upon another room. This one was dark and small. I peeked in and saw pew-like benches facing long desks. On the bookshelves and desks were papers bound like books, but they were much larger than most books I had seen. I later learned that this was the original manuscript room. The room featured the original versions of many great works of literature. Rumor had it that the books were actually chained to the desks. I don’t know if that was fact. The room was too dark and creepy for me. I could practically see the cobwebs and ghosts of past scholars bent over manuscripts at the desks.

Upon finding my reading room, I entered and searched for a place among the rows of desks. The desks here were nothing unusual, just long tables with small walls dividing them into individual work spaces. I retrieved my books from the main desk, hating that I had to verbally ask for them and give away my nationality with my accent. I preferred to think that I blended in with the rest of Oxford until I opened my mouth. I walked gingerly back to the desk I had chosen, trying to make as little noise as possible come from my shoes, which were squeaking after walking through the wet streets to the library. I sat down and noticed a list of commandments printed on the wall separating my space from the one across from mine:

Handling and Caring for Library Material
To ensure that the material you are using remains available to other readers please
--handle library material with clean hands
--remove and replace books on shelves as shown
--close books not in use and never put open books face down
--hold an open book in two hands and never fold the cover back on itself
--rest books on foam supports if they are available
--use bookmarks instead of turning down the corners of the pages
--make notes on paper laid on the surface of the table
--unfold and refold maps and fold-outs carefully--if unsure consult staff
--notify the staff if the book you are using has uncut pages
--remember that writing in or mutilating library material is a punishable offense

They also reprinted the oath we each signed in order to even be allowed in the library:

The Bodleian Declaration:
I hereby undertake not to remove from the library or to mark, deface, or injure in any way any volume, document, or other object belonging to it or in its custody; not to bring into the library or kindle therein any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the library and I promise to obey all rules of the Library.

I was scared to even touch the book after that. My biggest fear was knocking one of the books to the ground. When I briefly took one of my hands away from the book, I half expected book police to run up blowing silent whistles (because silence is absolutely necessary) and tell me that I was being charged with improper book handling. Then I’d have to be put on reader probation and only be allowed to read in the scary room with the books chained to the walls and an ancient librarian watching my every move.

I did not go back to the main reading room again. I discovered the Radcliffe Camera. The Camera was a round building situated south of the main library. Inside the doors, like at the main library, my bag would be checked, but then I would go down the spiral staircase to the lower reading room. The reading room, like the building itself, was round. In the center were computers, printers, and card catalogues. And all around the walls were books, with shelves jutting out to the center of the room as well, dividing the circle into sections, kind of like pie slices. In each section were two or three long tables, with desk lamps at every seat. The desks did not have the Bodleian commandments like the desks at the main library. They did have slips of paper with blanks for my name, book title, and my desk number. Whenever I removed a book from a shelf, I was to put the slip of paper in its place, in case another student needed the book, or maybe it was evidence in the event that the book was not returned to its proper location.

The shelves of this reading room also reached to the ceiling and ladders were provided for reaching higher books. I only used a ladder once, since they would creak and groan whenever they were moved or climbed. The other students would turn and glare as I carefully, yet unsuccessfully, tried to maneuver the apparatus without making a sound. I always suspected they knew I was an American just because I could not silently move the ladder.

After making all the note cards necessary (writing with the card on the desk, not bearing down on the book, of course), I would leave the reading room. My bag would get searched and I would walk out into the cold Oxford streets, passing other students on their way into the warmth of the library walls. I knew at that point I was one of them—just another Oxford student on my way to finish my paper before tutorials the next day.