Oxford's oldest student newspaper

Independent since 1920

A letter to…

I remember first meeting you very clearly. As a nervy, young fresher I was very conscious upon first entering the library that I was entering another kingdom. Your kingdom. As you led me and my classmates on a tour through the labyrinth of musty shelves of ancient books and graffiti-laden desks, it became terrifyingly clear that you were the only person that truly held power in this insane otherworld where hopes of going on a night out at Bridge go to die. Fluent in the Dewey Decimal System, you rattled off the numbers and letters inscribed on the slowly deteriorating spines seemingly uttering some kind of occult devil-speak. You mystified me and terrified me at the same time. Were you born here, in some enclosed corner of the Law section?

I looked you in the eye briefly as you explained the concept of the Returns Box. I’m not sure what I saw. Late for the library induction, and a friend of mine sprinted in through the doors knocking over a stack of recent library acquisitions as he went. The noise was thunderous but this wasn’t the worst part. In his sweatily nervous hand he clutched a paper cup filled to the brim with disgusting vending machine coffee. Drilled into our skulls from the moment we entered her compound was the rule banning food and drink in the library. We knew this was one of the great taboos. My heart leapt in fear, wondering what goddess-like judgment you, the regina bibliothecae, would pass next. Hoping against hope that you would spare him, I watched in terror as he tripped, his foot catching on a roll of carpet, and the coffee in his hand spilled out over the floor.

I knew it was over. For him, and maybe for all of us. You trembled with rage. I thought I could smell brimstone. I vowed to myself that I would never bring myself into your displeasure, no matter what. But oh, how quickly that promise went out of the window! You may have terrified me in freshers’ week but after the experiences I have had here, I know there are fates worse than library fines and meetings with the Dean. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve brought a mug of tea into the library to dull the chronic ache of an essay crisis.I’ve sat proudly at a desk in full view of your office with a muffin from hall disappearing from its grease-paper wrapping into my ravenously hungry mouth. I no longer fear death. You can’t touch me anymore. The library in which you reign supreme is only a small part of a small town in a small country, in a huge, huge world. I saw you leaving the library once, and as you walked out of the door you seemed to shrink and wither. Outside of the labyrinth, you’re as weak as the rest of us, and we all know it. Was all this a bit much? Perhaps. But you’re the expert; you would know 

Check out our other content

Most Popular Articles