From an Affair With Books to a Book Fair

2009-11-04 12:43:07 来自: 海马(糖梨杏仁茶胡辣羊蹄桶子鸡)

From an Affair With Books to a Book Fair
By FRANK McCOURT
Published: Friday, September 19, 1997

It was Tim Costello who told me to get out of his bar and walk a few blocks to where I'd see two lions, and to go in there and get myself a library card. I did what he told me because he was ferocious and I was a timid newcomer to New York in the early 1950's. I climbed the steps between the lions and wandered around the great halls, up one marble staircase and down another, afraid to ask anyone anything.

Up on the third floor, I discovered Paradise: the great reference room with its hundreds of index-card drawers. I asked a librarian if it would be all right to look in the drawers and he said, ''Of course, of course, anything you like.''

He told me I could order a book and pick it up in one of the main reading rooms straight ahead, the north and the south. No, I couldn't take home books from this section but I could go all the way down to the basement and take home books from the circulating library.

The main reading rooms were cathedrals with acres of long, solid, polished tables from the doorway to the genealogy room at the 42d Street end. Great floor fans thrummed against the warmth of the October day, so soothing some readers dozed off and you could see a guard poking and telling them sleeping wasn't allowed in the library.

The lady at the circulation desk smiled and said I could, indeed, get a library card and I could borrow books that very day. I could keep them for a month but if I finished them sooner I could come back for more.

Why was everyone so pleasant? The ladies at the Carnegie Children's Library back in Limerick, Ireland, were a sterner breed. They treated us like barbarians out to destroy their book hoard. They told us to go home and wash our hands, and if we whispered we were hushed and warned.

That day of my first book borrowing, I treated myself to a ride on top of an uptown Fifth Avenue double-decker bus, the same avenue where the city's annual celebration of reading, the New York Is Book Country fair, will be held on Sunday. Surely the world would notice me and my four books on that bus. Nobody did. Nobody paid me a scrap of attention, and I assumed it must be a normal thing to parade around New York loaded down with books. In the hallway of my East 68th Street rooming house, my Swedish landlady stared at the books. ''Oh,'' she said. ''I thought you were Irish.''

''I am.''

''Oh.''

She wanted to know what kind of books I was reading because she was particular about the kind of people she had in her house and wanted no filth. I showed her the books: ''Ben Hur,'' by Lew Wallace; ''The Cardinal,'' by Henry Morton Robinson; ''The Sun Also Rises,'' by Ernest Hemingway; ''The Robe,'' by Lloyd Douglas. She said, ''That's nice.''

After a few weeks, the lady at the 42d Street Library told me if I liked books so much, I should spend a nickel on the subway and visit the most wonderful place in New York: the Fourth Avenue bookstores.

She was right, but it's a cruel thing to do to someone who earns $32 a week working in a hotel and who wants to buy every book he sees. If the 42d Street Library was heaven, then Fourth Avenue was its anteroom. On my days off -- Thursdays and Fridays -- I walked from 68th Street to Astor Place and back. That gave me 10 cents, and with 15 cents more I was able to buy a paperback. I could stroll from bookstore to bookstore, spend hours, sit on stools, on the floor itself -- and no one would bother me. Customers would bargain over prices: owners would declare they had to make a living. Customers would yell, ''If you want to make a living, go sell chickens.'' Owners would yell back they'd had enough: ''Get out. I'm trying to run a bookstore here, not a welfare department.''

''Oh, yeah. Well, you're not the only bookstore around here.'' But, with television and high rents, the Fourth Avenue bookstores began to disappear till only Schulte's was left, a great warehouse of a store in which you could browse for a year and not revisit the same shelf. You could wander over to the Strand, which now has the whole neighborhood to itself, or diagonally across town to the old Barnes & Noble and its fine secondhand book collection, now, sadly, gone.

When I moved to Brooklyn Heights, I discovered the bookstore I would visit nearly every Saturday for over 20 years: Sam Colton's on Montague Street.

Frank McCourt is the author of ''Angela's Ashes,'' which won the 1997 Pulitzer Prize for biography.

2009-11-04 12:43:37 海马 (糖梨杏仁茶胡辣羊蹄桶子鸡)

more room, Sam. What are we going to do -- stock this stuff in the bathroom?''

There was a toilet, hidden behind Sam's treasured collection of anarchist, radical, union literature. You could browse here but you knew somehow that if you bought any book from this area, you might break Sam's heart, and that he wouldn't let the book go without long discussion.

It was in Sam's store I first met Yonk Kling: artist, art restorer, bon vivant. There was Yonk over in the fiction section laughing over a P. G. Wodehouse ''Ukridge'' story. Only those who know and love Wodehouse will understand what it's like to encounter a fellow Wodehouse-lover. Only a Wodehouse line could describe our meeting: I fell on Yonk's neck with a glad cry. We chanted a litany of characters: Bertie Wooster, Jeeves, Ukridge, Rosie M. Banks, Pongo Twistleton.

Sam shook his head. He had no time for little comedies about the English upper classes and there was no use trying to explain that Wodehouse paved the way for the likes of Evelyn Waugh and Aldous Huxley. Yonk said the only thing to do at a time like this was to go for a beer, and we might as well take a train to the Village so he could drop in on his uncle.

After our beer at a new place, the Lion's Head, we made our way to Greenwich Street, where Yonk's uncle, Joe Kling, had his bookstore. Joe looked like a character out of an old newspaper movie: green eye shade, purple bands holding up his shirt-sleeves. He lived at the back of the store, where he had a metal cot, a toilet, a sink, a small refrigerator. Every Sunday, Joe traveled to Yonk's apartment on Montague Street for a bath and a Sunday dinner.

When we walked into the store, Joe was telling a customer: ''No, I don't have Agatha Christie. I sell books, not entertainment. That woman's books wouldn't challenge the mentality of a Jersey City politician.''

The customer stormed out and Yonk nudged me, ''Ask him if he has any Wodehouse.''

Joe glared at him. ''What are you saying, Yonkel?''

I fell into Yonk's trap. ''Mr. Kling, do you have any P. G. Wodehouse?''

Froth suddenly speckled Joe's lips. ''What? What? Wodehouse? Friend of yours, Yonkel? He'd better be a friend of yours or I'm throwing him out.''

Yonk said I was his friend and, furthermore, I liked George Moore. It must have hurt Joe's face to smile, but he did and all you could see was rows of brown tooth root. He pointed to a collection of Moore. What would you like, friend of Yonkel?

I took a chance at one of the Moore books, ''Confessions of a Young Man.'' Joe showed the teeth again and Yonk whispered, ''You have a friend.''

Introducing Edward Dahlberg to Joe Kling was a mistake. I often went on Saturday book walks with Dahlberg, and I was sure the two would have a lot in common: hatred of paperbacks, distaste for popular literature, distrust of anything written after 1899. I knew, also, that Kling admired Dahlberg.

They shook hands and immediately Dahlberg, lupine, began to prowl the shelves, pouncing straightway on a Loeb library Juvenal. He wanted to know the price.

''For you, Dahlberg, $4.''

''What? Four dollars? In thrall to pelf, you would take the bread from the mouth of a penniless author?''

Joe glared from under his green eyeshade. I pitied him. It was rare that anyone got the better of Dahlberg.

''Bread in your mouth, Dahlberg? Looks to me like you have a few loaves around your gut.''

Dahlberg threw the book on the floor and joined the legions of those who had stormed out of Joe Kling's bookstore.

I followed him through the streets, listening to his rant, the insults directed at me for knowing cutpurses and caitiffs, and how dare I lead him into such dens of ordure.

Along Second Avenue, he changed his tune.

''There,'' he said, ''is the funeral home from which my poor mother was taken to be interred in a vile graveyard in Queens. My poor mother.''

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Then he stepped into ordure of the canine variety and, as he stood with a dripping suede shoe, he shook his fist and asked the world, ''How can letters flourish in a commonwealth where pederasts are allowed to parade their poodles to dung on the pavements?''

He said a true friend would unlace his shoe, remove it, find a way to clean it. I told him to scrape it on the edge of the pavement: that's what all New Yorkers do.

He raged at me, told me I was a whisky Celt, barely literate, a reader of piffle, that I knew naught of friendship.

They're all gone now: Tim Costello, Sam Colton, Yonk and Joe Kling, Edward Dahlberg. I still go to the 42d Street Library where I can find peace in the main reading room south. I avoided the north room: it's filled with machines.

But the librarians are still helpful and pleasant, and the books are still on the shelves, and you can't ask for much more.

Book Country, Cover to Cover

Readings, lectures, performances and an auction are among the events to be offered over the next three days during the 19th New York Is Book Country festival.

''Literary Voices, Legendary Places'' is the theme of the festival's centerpiece, the annual New York Is Book Country fair, which takes place on Sunday, along Fifth Avenue from 48th to 57th Streets in Manhattan. Literary material from more than 160 booksellers, from major publishers to small presses, will be available from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M., weather permitting; the fair, which is free, may be canceled if it rains heavily. (Information in the event of a cancellation: (212) 207-7242.)

Free maps of the booth sites will be available at an information booth set up on the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 52d Street; more than 120 authors will be making appearances at the various booths. A stage featuring storytelling, readings, radio plays and music will be set up on 53d Street east of Fifth Avenue. Material of interest to children will be all along the avenue.

Today at 6 P.M., an auction of items ranging from trips to Paris and London to meetings with writers and designers will be held at the sculpture garden, 590 Madison Avenue, at 57th Street. It is sponsored by The New York Observer. Tickets are $75 and benefit the Children's Services Division of the New York Public Library and New York Is Book Country. Reservations: (212) 755-2400, Ext. 242 or (212) 564-6367.

Two social events with literary ties are planned on Sunday in Manhattan, beginning with a breakfast at 9 A.M. for adults and children featuring authors and illustrators of children's books, at the Princeton Club, 15 West 43d Street, second floor. Among those taking part are Floyd Cooper, Paula Danziger, Russell Reedman, Rudy Guttierrez and Sheila Hamanaka. The event is sponsored by the Books for Kids Foundation. Admission is $30; $20 for children. Reservations required: (212) 252-9168.

At noon, a brunch sponsored by New York Is Book Country and The New York Times will take place at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, Park Avenue at 50th Street. Scheduled to appear are the writers Caleb Carr, James Ellroy, Anita Hill and Kurt Vonnegut. The brunch is sold out.

A block-by-block guide to the booths at Sunday's Fifth Avenue fair follows. ''General interest'' refers to a section that does not have a unifying theme. Green balloons will mark those booths selling merchandise, while yellow balloons will indicate those booths that have only displays.

48TH TO 50TH STREET:

West Side: General interest. East Side: General interest.

49TH TO 50TH STREET:

West Side: General interest, storytelling. East Side: General interest.

50TH TO 51ST STREET:

West Side: General interest, storytelling.

51st to 52d STREET:

West Side: General interest; The New York Times Crossword Puzzle, with Will Shortz. East Side: General interest, storytelling.

52d STREET:

Between Madison Avenue and Avenue of the Americas: Antiquarian Row with old and rare books.

52D TO 53D STREET:

West Side: New York is Book Country information booth. East Side: The arts.

53D TO 54TH STREET:

West Side: General interest, audio books. East Side: General interest.

54TH TO 55TH STREET:

West Side: General interest.

East Side: Black studies.

55TH TO 56TH STREET:

West Side: Jewish interest. East Side: New York City interest.

56TH TO 57TH STREET:

West Side: Art books, mysteries. East Side: General interest.

From Storytelling to Film Screenings

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A variety of book-related activities, including film screenings and readings, are planned at museums and libraries around the city this weekend in conjunction with the New York Is Book Country fair, which is to be held on Sunday. Unless otherwise noted, events are free; programs are subject to change. Here is a sampling of events.

Today

POETRY FORUM, Deutsches Haus, 42 Washington Mews, off University Place, Greenwich Village. Featuring the poets Mary Karr, William Matthews, Pearl London, Nicholas Christopher, Billy Collins, Cornelius Eady, David Johnson, Joan Larkin, Grace Shulman, Perry Meisel and others. 7 P.M. Sponsored by Posman Books. Information: (212) 533-2665.

READING, Kingsbridge Regional Library, 280 West 231st Street, the Bronx. Featuring Elizabeth Ehrlich, author of ''Miriam's Kitchen.'' 1:30 P.M. Information: (718) 548-5656.

PANEL DISCUSSION, The New School for Social Research, 66 West 12th Street, Greenwich Village. ''Is Serious Criticism Possible in a Mass Culture?'' will be discussed by book critics from The Washington Post, The Boston Globe and The Los Angeles Times. 6:30 P.M. Sponsored by the National Book Critics Circle. Information: (212) 463-6778.

READING, Riverdale Branch Library, 5540 Mosholu Avenue, the Bronx. Featuring Bel Kaufman, author of ''Up the Down Staircase.'' 1:30 P.M. Information: (718) 549-1212.

POETRY SLAM, Tower Books, 383 Lafayette Street, Greenwich Village. An open-mike poetry contest. Sign-up, 6 P.M.; slam, 7 P.M. Information: (212) 228-5100.

STORYTELLING, National Museum of the American Indian, 1 Bowling Green, lower Manhattan. Featuring stories about Indian tribes told by museum staff members. 2 P.M. Also tomorrow and Sunday, same time. Information: (212) 514-3799.

Tomorrow

READING, A Different Light Bookstore, 151 West 19th Street, Chelsea. Featuring Laurie Stone, author of ''Close to the Bone: Memoirs of Hurt, Rage and Desire.'' 7 P.M. Information: (212) 989-4850.

''THE LONGEST BOOK,'' American Craft Museum, 40 West 53d Street, Manhattan. Participants will write and draw, creating a book the length of 53d Street, with the help of Pamela White, an illustrator. 11 A.M. Information: (212) 956-3535.

READING, Epiphany Branch Library, 228 East 23d Street, Manhattan. Featuring Judith Rossner, author of ''Perfidia.'' 2 P.M. Information: (212) 679-2645.

READING, Used Book Cafe at Housing Works, 126 Crosby Street, lower Manhattan. Featuring the writers Gary Indiana, M. G. Lord, Greg Tate, Ann Douglas and Dale Peck, who will read from the works of authors who influenced them. 5 P.M. Sponsored by The Voice Literary Supplement. Information: (212) 475-3333.

AUTHOR TALK AND SLIDE SHOW, Lower East Side Tenement Museum, 66 Allen Street. Featuring Ruth Limmer, author of ''Six Heritage Tours of the Lower East Side: A Walking Guide.'' 12:30 P.M. Information: (212) 431-0233.

SMALL PRESS BOOK FAIR, Small Press Center, 20 West 44th Street, Manhattan. Featuring more than 250 exhibits and a reading of Hemingway's works by George Plimpton at 1:30 P.M. Fair hours: 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. Also Sunday, 10 A.M. to 4 P.M. Information: (212) 764-7021.

READING CLUB, Staten Island Institute of Arts and Sciences, 75 Stuyvesant Place, St. George. Members will discuss their own writing or pieces by others. 2:30 P.M. Admission: $5; free for Institute members. Information: (718) 727-1135.

Sunday

THIRD WORLD PRESS 30TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION, Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, 515 Malcolm X Boulevard, at 135th Street, Harlem. Featuring a panel discussion with the writers Amiri Baraka, Derrick Bell, John Henrick Clarke, Haki R. Madhubuti and others. 4 P.M. Information: (212) 491-2040.

Drawings (Zohar Lazar)(pgs. E33 & E46)

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2009-11-04 12:45:02 海马 (糖梨杏仁茶胡辣羊蹄桶子鸡)

【原创翻译】从嗜书到书市 [ 元亨利 ] 于:2009-10-31 14:40:06
这是纽约时报1997年的一篇文章，链接出处当时到美不久，还在学英语，但仍然被这篇吸引住了，作者Frank McCOURT拿过普利策奖，代表作是Angela's Ashes,今年7月去的世。
当时这些都不知道，只是读了以后很有那种读中国文人笔记的感觉，发觉英文和中文原来也可相通，天下文人也都是一个味啊。
一直保留着1997年的那份剪报，总想翻译过来，看看在中文里是不是还能留有那种感觉。
原标题是From an Affair With Books to a Book Fair，想来想去，暂且翻成《从嗜书到书市》吧
先放在这，有时间再修改。
以下是译文
----------------------------------------
从嗜书到书市

是提姆卡斯代罗告诉我，出了他的酒吧，走几个街区我就可以看到两个狮子，走进去就可以弄到一张借书证。我只能按他说的那么做，因为他很凶而我则是五十年代初到纽约的怯生生的新人。我从狮子中间的台阶爬上去，在那些大厅里转来转去，上了一层大理石楼梯，又下了一层，不敢问任何人任何事。
上到三层楼，我发现了天堂：巨大的参考阅览室。阅览室里到处是装满目录卡片的抽屉。我问一位图书管理员，是不是可以翻看一下这些抽屉，他说，“当然，当然，随便看。”
他告诉我可以要一本书，然后直着走，到南北向的主阅览室里的一间去取。不行，我不能把这里的书带回家。但是我可以一直走到地下室，到流通部去借书回家看。
主阅览室都是象天主教堂那样的大厅，里面是一条条的结实抛光的大桌子，从门口一直排到42街尾的谱系室。大落地风扇嗡嗡的驱赶着十月天的热气，那种安谧的氛围使得一些读者打起了磕睡，你可以看到一位保安上前捅他们一下，告诉他们图书馆里不允许睡觉。
流通柜台的女士微笑着对我说，是的，我可以办一张借书证，当天就可以借书。借期是一个月。如果不到一个月就看完了，可以来再借。
为什么每个人都那么亲切？在爱尔兰，里麦利克的卡内基儿童图书馆的女士们可是一群很严肃的人。他们对待我们的态度就好象我们是一帮来破坏她们图书的野蛮人。她们让我们回家洗手，即使我们小声耳语也会被她们训斥警告。
借第一本书的那一天，我款待了自己一下，坐在上城方向第五大道双层巴士的上面。就是在这条大道，这个周日将举行纽约市的年度读书节-《纽约是书城》书市。整个世界肯定都会注意到在巴士上的我和我的四本书。没人注意，没人对我多看一眼。我想，一个人抱着一堆书在纽约游荡一定是件很寻常的事。在我东 64街的住所的门厅里，我的瑞典籍女房东盯着书看，她说，“噢，我还以为你是爱尔兰人呢。”
“我是爱尔兰人。”
“噢!"
她想知道我都看些什么书，因为她对住她房子的客人很挑剔，不想有不体面的房客。我把书拿给她看，洛华乐士写的《宾虚传》，亨利毛顿罗宾逊写的《大主教》，海明威写的《太阳照常升起》，劳埃德道格拉斯写的《袍子》。她说，“挺好。”
几个星期以后，42街图书馆的女士告诉我，即然我那么喜欢书，我应该化个五分钱坐地铁，去看看纽约最棒的地方：第四大道的书店。
她说得对，但对一个在旅馆干活，一周只挣32美元还想见书就买的人，这也是件残酷的事。假如说42街图书馆是天堂，那么第四大道就是天堂的门厅。在我的休息日，周四周五，我从68街到爱斯特广场走个来回，就省了10美分，再加个15分，就可以买本平装书了。我可以从书店逛到书店，化上几小时，坐在凳子上或干脆就坐在地板上，没人会来打扰我。顾客会讨价还价：店主则宣称他们也得活啊。顾客就嚷嚷，“你要活，去卖鸡呀。”店主也嚷嚷着说他们受够了，“ 出去！我是开书店的，可不是社会福利局的。”
“喔，行。好吧，你这又不是唯一的书店。”但是，随着电视的来临及高房租，第四大道的书店一家家的少下去，直到只剩下舒尔特书店一家。舒尔特书店是个仓库式的巨大书店，你就是在里面转一年也不会转到同一个书架。你也可以镀到思卷得书店，现在整个街道都是她的了，或横穿市区到老的庞氏诺贝尔书店和她的二手书分部，可惜现在都没了。
搬到布鲁克林高地后，我发现了蒙大格街的山姆考尔顿书店，这是我几乎每周六都去，去了二十多年的书店。
山姆坐在柜台后面的高凳上，一边抽着烟斗，一边俯视着这个我所见过堆的最拥挤的书店。当顾客进来卖书，山姆的妻子西尔维亚就会眼睛向上翻，好相是说，“没地方了，山姆，该怎么办啊--把这些东西塞到浴室里去？”
厕所前面堆的是山姆的珍爱的收藏：无政府主义，极端主义和工会方面的书。这些书你可以翻看，但你会有种感觉，假如你从这买任何一本书，都会让山姆伤心，他不会在出手前不跟你讨论一番你买的书。
就是在山姆的书店我第一次遇上杨克林：艺术家，艺术修复家，美食家。杨克林在小说类那一边看伍德毫斯的《尤克里基》的故事，一边笑。只有了解并爱好伍德毫斯的才能理解遇上一位同样爱好伍德毫斯的人是怎么回事。只有伍德毫斯的一句话才能描写我们的见面：我笑叫着扑在他的脖子上。我们唱出了一串书中的人物：伯蒂乌斯特，基福思，尤克里基，若丝班克司，胖哥推斯特顿。
山姆摇着头，他可没时间欣赏英国上流社会的这类小喜剧；你也没法跟他解释伍德毫斯给埃坞林瓦夫和艾尔德斯赫胥黎这一类作家趟开了大路。杨克林说此时此刻，唯一应做的事是去喝上一瓶啤酒。我们还不如就乘地铁到格林尼治村那边去，他正好可以看看他的叔叔。
在一家新开张的狮头酒吧喝了啤酒后，我们就去了格林尼治街。杨克林的叔叔鸠克林在那开了家书店。鸠看上去像是一部老式报纸电影中的角色：绿色眼罩，紫色橡皮筋箍着衬衫袖子。他住在书店后面，一张行军床，一间厕所，一个洗手池，一个小冰箱就是他的全部家当。每个周日，鸠克林到杨克林在蒙大格街的单元去洗个澡，吃顿晚餐。
我们走进书店时，鸠正对一名顾客说：“不，我没有阿加莎克里斯蒂的书。我卖的是书，不是娱乐。那个女人的书对一个杰西城的政客也没挑战性。”
那个顾客愤愤而去。杨克林捅了捅我，“问问他有没有伍德毫斯。”
鸠瞪着他，“你说啥，杨克儿？”
我钻了杨克林的套，“克林先生，你有没有伍德毫斯的书？”
泡沫忽的一下泛到鸠的嘴唇上。“什么什么？伍德毫斯？你的朋友，杨克儿？要不是你的朋友我非给丫扔出去。”
杨克林说我是他朋友，而且我喜欢乔治莫尔。看鸠那样子，我猜他一微笑脸准会疼，但他还是微笑了，让你看到一排排的棕色的牙根子。他指了指一架子莫尔的书。你想要哪本，杨克儿的朋友？
我试着说了莫尔的一本书，《一个年轻人的惭悔》。鸠又露出了大牙。杨克林耳语到：“你有了个新朋友。”
把爱德华达伯格介绍给鸠克林是个错误。我常在周六跟达伯格散步谈书，所以我相信两人有很多共同点：都恨平装书，不喜欢流行文学，对任何写于1899年后的东西都不信任。我还知道，鸠景仰达伯格。
他们握了手，达伯格马上像个狼似的游走于书架之间，直奔一本劳勃图书馆的朱文纳而去。他问多少钱。
“对你来说，达伯格，四美元。”
“什么，四美元？打抢啊，你这是从一个分文皆无的作家口里夺面包啊。”
鸠在绿眼罩下瞪着双眼。我挺可怜他的，没什么人能占得了达伯格的便宜。
“口里的面包，达伯格？看上去你肚子里还有些货的。”
达伯格把书扔到地上，像其他那些人一样，冲出鸠克林的书店。
我跟着他出来到了街上，听着他的怒吼，都是骂我怎么会认识这类扒手小人，还竟然把他给领到这藏污纳垢之所。
到了第二大道，他变了口气。
他说：“那是一个殡仪馆。我母亲就是从这被拉去葬在皇后区的一个烂坟场里的。我可怜的母亲！”
接着他一脚踏进一堆猫狗的污垢物。踩着一只滴着粪便的皮鞋，他挥拳问世界：“在这样一个行人可以带着他们的小狗在人行道上拉屎阔步的共和国度里，文学如何能繁容啊？！"
他说一个够哥们的朋友应当替他解带去履，想个办法清理它。我告他可以在路牙子上把鞋子刮干净，纽约人都那么干。
他一下就火了，说我是个凯尔特酒鬼，简直就是文盲，只能读些下三栏的东西，不懂丁点个友谊。
他们都走了，提姆卡斯代罗，山姆考尔顿，杨克林和鸠克林，还有爱德华达伯格。我照常去42街的图书馆，在南边的主阅览室里找个安静。北边的阅览室我躲着：全让机器给占满了。
但是管理员们还是那么和蔼可亲，乐于助人，书也都在书架子上，你还能要求什么呢？

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