Alizah Salario

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“Posterity lies in the written word.”

These are the words of Judith Crist, famed film critic, media personality, and most recently, my personal & professional style professor. Her criticism is biting albeit accurate, and its no wonder she managed to make her way in the old boy’s club that defined journalism when she came of age.

In class yesterday, she told us that at this stage in the game, people tend to feel like a) any talent for writing they may or may not have had is all but lost or b) they wonder how they got away with writing the way they did for so long. I identify with both. Changing perceptions and the development of a more critical eye inevitably lead to a harsher view ones own work. Actualizing talent (an amorphous notion to begin with) feels like traveling to a distant horizon, forever out of reach: you know it exists, but you also know you will never reach it.

I suppose this is good thing: when you’ve achieved one goal, its precisely NOT the time to rest on your laurels.

Judith likely won’t read this, since she doesn’t much concern herself with what goes on in ‘outer space.’  I don’t blame her, really. After all, posterity lies in the written word, and the ones  you can hold onto, too.

Patience and Fortitude flank the entrance. The noble stone lions on either side of the main branch of the New York Public Library sit proudly at their stations like gatekeepers of a vast fortune. They were nicknamed by Mayor LaGuardia during the Great Depression for values he felt all New Yorkers should possess. The lions’ monikers seem more fitting than Leo Astor and Leo Lenox, their original names and the library’s founders. After all, one needs divine patience and mental fortitude to learn all that lies within the pages the lions protect.

The library’s presence is palpable. It sprawls down Fifth Avenue from 40^th Street to 42^nd Street as though space in New York were not a luxury but an entitlement. The library took eight years to build beginning in 1902, and it’s no wonder: its façade resembles that of a Greek temple and its body extends horizontally in long outstretched arms that hug the sidewalk. The intricately sculpted cornices and columns appear all the more elegant juxtaposed against carts of Nuts 4 Nuts and cookie cutter office buildings across the street. Made entirely of marble and stone, this National Historic Landmark is more than just a place where books are stored. It is an oasis of solitude in an unforgiving city.

So climb up the steps. Linger beneath the portico. Enter through the majestic arched doorway. Enjoy the stillness. The books here are borrowed. The building, however, is an unexpected gift bestowed on its patrons.

Whispering comes naturally, for the place is breathtaking. It has the meditative quality of a Buddhist monastery and the sanctity of a cathedral. It resembles a palatial home more than a public space, and the imagination easily conjures images of secret passageways accessed through moving bookcases and underground labyrinths. The initial sights and sounds don’t do justice to the magnificent entryway. Mozart would sound more resonant beneath the vaulted ceilings than the shutter clicks of tourists’ cameras. A distinguished doorman would seem more fitting than the uptight security guards checking bags.

Ascend the winding marble staircase and revel in sophistication. Walk through the second floor landing, past the mural of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments, beneath the ceiling covered with images from the Sistine Chapel, and enter the Rose Reading Room. Stare in awe at the two stories of books surrounding the basketball court-sized room. The spartan hardback spines display titles in stark white letters. These books do not give much away by their covers but speak volumes in their simplicity. Explore the second floor and lean over the balcony railing that belongs on the terrace of an Italian villa, not  a city library. Bask in the sunlight shining through high windows that reveal the boxy midsection of city skyscrapers.

Peruse the shelves – all 75 miles of them in total – and pick a book. Find a spot at one of the long wooden tables and sink into a well-crafted chair. Adjust the book beneath the solid brass lamp affixed to the table, take a moment to glance at the opulent chandelier above, and begin. Read. Now the building is complete.

The library building contains much more than books. Its walls have absorbed moments of grand revelation and silent epiphanies. Its rooms are consecrated with the noble pursuit of knowledge and the search for answers in troves of text.

Perhaps this is what Astor, Lenox, and their early benefactor Samuel J. Tilden had in mind when they dedicated their fortunes to the establishment of a free library and reading room for the public good. Perhaps they predicted that giving average citizens access to an extraordinary library would inspire them to be better readers and better people, and to cultivate the patience and fortitude they would surely need down the road.

So between paragraphs, marvel at the chandeliers forming silhouettes of upside down wedding cakes. Study the patterns in the gilded trim surrounding the clouds painted on the ceiling and examine the detailed relief sculptures of cherubs above. Enjoy the power that comes with newfound knowledge, then feel small and insignificant amid the countless books and be humbled. For no matter how many volumes the eyes devour, the New York Public Library will always have many pages left unturned.