Would you, could you read books on trains?

My friend John has been here for over fifteen years so I reckoned if anyone would know it would be him.
-Why, I asked him, do people in Madrid put covers on their books?
I’d noticed on the metro that a lot of the readers wrap covers on their books, usually pages from newspapers (not the brown paper my dad used for my school reading books).
-That’s a throwback from the days of Franco, he told me, when you didn’t want other people to know what you were reading.
I thought:
-Franco’s been dead for a long time. What are people wanting to hide now?
Looking at the books on the metro without newspaper covers, I’d say a lot of Ken Follett. Not only do the book shops have his novels, you can also buy them in the quioscos (where you buy your newspapers, DVDs and models of the world’s taxis, “This week: Albania”) and they are even given away free by Spain’s equivalent of The Guardian newspaper. Which is a lot more than The Guardian would do. The books I see being read have titles such as The Thief of Donkeys, The House of Carrots and The Holy Sisterhood of Socks. I exaggerate but, as my observations on the metro tell me, not by much.

What people are clearly not reading are the books that they are told to read by Metro de Madrid. Under the title Libros a la Calle (Books to the Street) most carriages have stuck by the doors an illustrated poster with an excerpt from the chapter of a book. Where the text ends in an ellipsis there is a strap line encouraging us to search for the book and read it in its entirety. These admonitions vary. It might be Leer nos hace libres. Y mas felices (Reading make us free. And happier) or Si quieres conocer, pregúntale a los libros (If you want to know, ask books). The posters with poetry always end with Ni un día sin poesia (Not a day without poetry). Looking at what they do read it is clear that the people of Madrid, at least those who use the metro, don’t want to be free, happy or ask a book a question and it is very possible that months go by without even a hint of poetry.

This state of affairs, at the very least, is unnecessary. One of the many reasons for living in Madrid is that the metro system has its own library system. Even better, they do not call the libraries “branches”, instead they are called “modules”. I would have preferred “pod” myself but I imagine we will have to wait until the 22nd century before every bus stop has its book pod. There are eleven of these modules and they go under the name of Bibliometro. They are self-contained, sealed, I have to use the word “pod”, pods that stand on the stations’ platforms, curved and asymmetrical in the modern fashion, staffed by two Biblionauts (I’ve made that word up), usually women, and they are open Monday to Friday from 1.30 to 8.00. You can take out one book at a time (consult the computer screen on the outside of the module because you cannot browse as the books are kept inside under the watchful eyes of the Biblionauts). Everything about them says “speed”, “efficiency” and, of course, “books”. They even have their own logo, a B on its side, two trains head-on in each of the semicircles.

I decided that it was time to play my part to get more books to the street. I would apply for my library card and read the books I had seen on the posters. I decided to go to my “surface” library staffed largely by Elois (I’ve made that up to but I suppose you saw it coming) here in the barrio. With my reader’s card I would be able to take out books from there and from the realms of the Morlocks (Oh God, there’s a whole novel here where youthful and innocent Eloi librarians in bikinis are eaten by subterranean Morlock librarians who are then burnt alive). What can I tell you about my experiences so far? To begin with, it is pleasing and reassuring to note that public libraries in Spain are as much a refuge for the timid, the socially inept, people who are “special” and those that are quite clearly insane as they are in Britain. I’m talking here about the staff and the public. It’s possible that libraries here have an even more important role in this respect. Given the level of noise and physical contact in any public space in Spain, libraries give their staff an environment where they can be free of the compulsion to curl up into a ball, rock back and forth while making soothing animal noises. As for the books, I do have some slight criticisms. The book I took out on the writer Miguel Unamuno had no details (date of acquisition, cataloguing information etc.) on the back of the title page nor did it have the book number stamped on page 21. Some pages had been stamped with the libraries’ stamp of the Communidad de Madrid but apparently at random and after page 43 the person charged with this task had simply given up. Most serious of all, not only was the book cover not stuck with sellotape there was no clear plastic cover on it. I’m happy to say that the book I borrowed that same day from the Bibliometro in Nuevos Ministerios, La lluvia amarilla (The Yellow Rain) by Julio Llamazares, had a stout cover on it and was clearly identified with a very fetching sticker. However, once again, it was let down by a lack of cataloguing details. Those of you accustomed to the rigours of the British public libraries’ cataloguing protocols will share my disappointment. The rest of you will not give a monkey’s.

I have to add that I have also been disappointed by the reaction of my fellow Madrileños. Basically, there hasn’t been one. However, it is early days yet and I’m sure I can expect a letter of thanks from the President of the Communidad any day. At the very least, a cheery wave from the driver of the next metro train I go on and a jolly:
-Hoy un día mas bueno y acuerdate, ¡ni un día sin poesia!
(Turned out nice again and remember, not a day without poetry!)