Fashions in Books

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 707, 5 July 1929, Page 9

Fashions in Books

Modes and Moods at City Library JUST as there are fashions in dress, so are there fashions in hooks. „ Headers at the Auckland Public Library enjoy the pass- ; ing phases of popular fancy in choosing then- literature and. unconsciously, are as ready to respond to a change as are the devotees of the latest Parisian sartorial modes.

A short while ago the spiritualistic investigator was abroad, and there was an almost insatiable demand for books upon spiritualism and anything suggesting the survival of man. Today the fashion has changed. Modern drama has leapt into popularity, particularly among young women, and promises to provide a field of study for some time ahead. Has anyone troubled to stand inside the lending department at the Auckland Public Library and observe the type of persons and the type of book they read? Probably not. There is a middle-aged woman meandering uncertainly around the attendant’s desk. She appears to have no particular purpose. But appearances are deceptive. She is a “koverer” —a person who, intent upon securing the latest and most popular book in the building, whatever its character, hovers around the desk snd watches the books returned by subscribers, pouncing upon them for her own requirements. Only new books will satisfy her. She has read everything else among the 20,000 odd volumes on that floor, she says, and must have the latest book in. WOMEN SEEK PLAYS Perhaps the most fascinating study at the library is among the women. Literary tastes are undergoing changes, which, though not immediately perceptible, are recorded clearly in the minds of the observant librarians, and in these changes women are playing the greatest part. Modern drama is sought by the young womens—playable drama of a good type. The motive, traceable in many instances to the myriads of small dramatic clubs and the spread of know-ledge through organised lectures, may be any one of self-satisfac-tion at playing a part, a thirst for knowledge, or a simple love of the drama itself. It is notable, however, that on the day after a certain play has been read at lecture there is created in the library a steady demand for copies. Among young matrons there are two distinct types of reader. One regards marriage as a period of mental relaxation, and rocks the cradle with one hand while with the other hand she holds a copy of the latest pretty fiction romance. The other matron views the married state as a field of

opportunity for intellectual development, and her library excursions are made with the idea of satisfying her appetite for mental stimulus. b>he takes her reading seriously and sellects her books with care among essays, fine literature and perhaps some good fiction. Who would think that G. B. Shaw s Woman’s Guide to Socialism” would find a ready circulation among the women of Auckland? Yet this volume, in spite of its solidity ot tone and the seriousness of its message, is never idle on the shelves. It is hardly in the building more than a few minutes before another woman becomes intelligent about Socialism and consults this noted author. Many of the older women have a steady eye to the distant future, and find solace in the religious section. Ministers of the Gospel are just now displaying an extraordinary penchant for natural history and astronomy. Works upon sociology, too, are in moderate request in Auckland. MEN AND THRILLERS The average man likes a thriller. But a great percentage of the men readers in the public library are of the business man type, and books of travel, biography and useful content appear uppermost on their calendar of requirements. Popular novels of the better class, too, are always circulating freely. General literature nevel falls away in the people’s favour. The non-con-troversialist reads it for its literary merit and for his general edification; the partisan reads to absorb the view point expressed. Then there is Auckland’s school of young poets—modest certainly, but a community which daily absorbs more and more of the works of contemporary poets.

And so the procession goes on. The old library joke of the dear-old-soul woman who asks the librarian for a book, the name of which she cannot remember —it was about a man and a girl; they fell in love, you know —is not an infrequent occurrence. There is another community of library habitues. Men, collarless and with broken footwear, are among the keenest selectors of literature, and choose their reading among a surprisingly intellectual range. Poverty, it is clear has not dulled their desire for good books.