At night, here in the library, the ghosts have voices.
If every library is in some sense a reflection of its readers, it is also an image of that which we are not, and cannot be.
The telling of stories creates the real world.
The starting point is a question.
But at night, when the library lamps are lit, the outside world disappears and nothing but the space of books remains in existence.
In the dark, with the windows lit and the rows of books glittering, the library is a closed space, a universe of self-serving rules that pretend to replace or translate those of the shapeless universe beyond.