"I've never seen so few books in my life!"

Remember that part in Beauty and the Beast when the bookshop owner is all, “Hey, Belle, so you’re basically the only literate person in this town. Instead of concentrating on keeping my business afloat, I’m going to give you this book you like so much that makes up the entirety of your customer loyalty – for free!”? Or how about that unforgettable moment when the Beast tells Belle that his library is all hers? (Best. Present. Ever. I’d totally marry the Beast for a library like that.) Didn’t you kind of get the impression that the French were ridiculously nice and generous with their books?

Well, my friends, Disney lies.

Okay, fine, I’ve been in Paris long enough to know that Parisians don’t stick their heads out of windows and start shouting “Bonjour! Bonjour!” to the passerby on the street come morning. And clearly the corporation that brought us High School Musical tends to tweak reality a little. Alright, tweak reality a lot. But still! You’d think Parisian libraries would be open for more than an average of four hours a day. Or not make you pay to access a halfway decent collection of reading. Or at least allow you to take out books, for goodness' sake.

Yes, that’s right. Excepting the collections of municipal libraries, which have about as many books to choose from as those sad little bookstores at the airport, books are intended for in-library use only. As a student studying in Paris, you have to suck it up and get prepared to copy a lot of notes at the library.

Today I did just that and scurried off to the Bibliothèque Saint-Genevieve in the 5th, notebook and student ID card in hand. When I walked in, I felt a surge of bliss. It looked like the Hogwarts library in the Harry Potter movies! One beady-eyed woman behind the info desk even reminded me of Madam Pince! Was this it? Had I actually found a library in Paris that would work for me as well as the fantastic Miller-Olin-Bixler library trio of Colby?

Um, no.

My excitement dribbled away as I had to wait an hour for them to retrieve the five books I wanted from the upper landing’s bookshelves, off-limits to library patrons. Now, last time I checked, I was still able to climb stairs; and did I just imagine that there was a guy named Dewey who invented a decimal system to make finding books take minutes instead of hours? After a long afternoon painstakingly copying out the most pertinent information I needed, I finally succumbed to exhaustion, returned all my books, and tried to leave. A swipe of my brand-new library card on the turnstile’s sensor, and a button flashed red.

“Are you trying to take a book outside the library?” the beady-eyed librarian hissed at me.

Exhausted and rather frustrated, I managed to convey that no, I was not a book thief (I politely refrained from mentioning that normally taking out books is the point of libraries.) She directed me to another desk, still eyeing me suspiciously. This desk sent me to another one across the way. They sent me back where I came from. Eventually – half an hour later – the three desks were able to figure out that a clerical error had been made and that yes, indeed, I had returned all my books like I’d said. With no small measure of relief, I got through the turnstile, scary-librarian’s eyes on my back as I left. She was probably waiting for me to whip out a priceless original from my pocket and escape hollering with glee.

It was an awful afternoon. And the thing is, I really, really, really love libraries. Libraries, after all, are about broadening your knowledge and your love of literature in a hassle-free way. Which makes me wonder: how on earth do Parisians read with libraries as disorganized and inaccessible as this? No wonder Belle was so excited about the Beast’s book collection.