Some quiet please: SLC does not provide silent space

by Spencer Woodman '10

Tuesday February 19, 2008

Over winter break at the table of my family’s first dinner together since my brother and I had gone our separate ways to Reed College and Sarah Lawrence, the curiosity of our parents fueled a discussion comparing the academics of our newly attended institutions, which quickly took on an uncomfortably competitive edge. As my brother recalled the nature of Sarah Lawrence’s library from his visit to New York this past fall, Reed’s implicit victory in the unasked-for competition seemed inevitable. “There was so much work I needed to do over the break, but the library was too noisy for me to focus continuously on anything,” he said. “It was exasperating, almost unbelievable.” In SLC’s defense I tried excusing our library as an unfortunate idiosyncrasy of an otherwise serious institution worthy of its pricy tuition. But the fact remained that the Esther Rauschenbush Library would be the scorn of anyone with ADD—like my brother and I—seeking anything beyond a nominal education.

In late October I sent an email expressing my frustration to the library’s staff. They responded assuring me that my email was not the first of its kind and that they were “painfully aware” of the library’s unacceptable state. Rearrangements of study spaces planned for the spring semester would ease the problems, they said, as a greater number of clearly delineated quiet study spaces were to be created.

Yet I returned from winter break to find little improvement. Though SLC now has a legitimate computer lab, the new quiet study space promised by the library staff will be of no use to those with difficulty reading over fully audible conversations; it is, almost amazingly, located in the library’s lobby—the only place in a library where talking is allowed and necessary. Also upon returning, I found the library’s only clearly designated “quiet study area” in an even worse state of dereliction than when I had left: having only one working lamp to throw light onto its already meager set of six desks. Thus, after dusk, when daylight from the library’s windows no longer lends this space its incidental illumination, only one lucky Sarah Lawrence student will have the privilege of fully sanctioned quiet study. This is negligence, pure and simple.

Perhaps the administration takes a laissez-faire approach to the idea of providing their students with viable study space. Maybe they think that strong scholars should beat their learning disabilities and learn to read dense political theory or translated philosophy continuously through fully discernable chatter. I find the bathrooms in Heimbold to be actually quite free from distraction. Maybe this is where they would have me retreat to for long hours of study.

This may, of course, sound like the rant of some melodramatic neurotic, falling into the same category as, say, something you would expect from a retired suburbanite petitioning his neighborhood association for the installation of higher-elevation speed bumps. But I beg to differ. To put it plainly, Sarah Lawrence is one of the most respected and expensive small liberal arts schools in the nation, whose education my parents make a significant financial sacrifice for me to receive. I consider the library one of the primary tools of my education here, as it is where the overwhelming majority of my study time is spent. When people are disrespecting the library—which usually is the case—the quality of my study time is diminished exponentially. Students at all other schools whose libraries I have used understand this, and their libraries are sanctuaries for serious and efficient study; anyone who has studied in NYU or Columbia’s libraries knows that study areas are clearly marked and even whispers in quiet study areas elicit curt reproaches.

It could be argued that it is ultimately up to SLC students to make a more civilized library. This view, though, gives us undergrads too much credit. I believe that it is the administration’s responsibility to provide students with adequate study space. To this end, they must take minor action to create a library that is somewhat comparable to that of our liberal-arts counterparts: (1), refurbish the quiet study mezzanine and clearly mark it as so; (2), while forgetting the farcical quiet study space in the former computer lab’s vacancy, designate a different wing of the library (preferably that of the mezzanine) as quiet, with clear indications of its purpose (will this really hurt anyone?); and (3), though this is a point that this article has yet to make because it is so self-evident, extend the library’s hours. Studies affirm that college students do their most and best work past midnight. The administration has been attentive to the nocturnal habits of our age demographic in providing visual arts people with a 24-hour study space—but academics must pack their books at 1:00 AM (as for the McCracken study area, I will not give it the dignity of a non-parenthetical mention.) Furthermore, the library is open 24 hours in the few weeks preceding conference week. This is a policy that implies—and sees to it—that we are a student body of procrastinators.

Admittedly, I have an overly romantic view of these buildings, filled with the stench of moldy books and asceticism. In much the same way that public parks were seen to represent the greatness of 19th century cities, I have always seen libraries as symbols of the academic distinction of their colleges. While Esther is no Central Park, and probably not even Washington Square in the 80’s, I think its improvement will not be difficult with a modicum of intelligent intuitive.

Or maybe its just sibling rivalry.