I got beeped on the way out of the library. BEEP! Like that. J’ai un livre d’une autre bibliotheque (I have a book from another library), I said to the lady. She passed it ‘round the sensors and I narrowly escaped arrest.
The people that work at the library are generally bilingual, but not so the individual books. I haven’t done any actual statistical analysis but my rough visual estimate tells me that about 30% of the books on the shelf are English. But they are all mixed up together (apart from fiction that is. The fiction sections are clearly marked romans français and romans anglais – the absurdity of marking the English section in French having occurred to no one).
Fiction aside, the books sit peacefully side by side. They don’t argue. The French books don’t try to separate from the English books and the English books don’t complain about having French “shoved down their throats.” Nobody insists that French books be bigger than English books. Nobody accuses the English books of not being “Quebecois.” Nobody at the checkout tells me that I have “too many English books.” The language police do not come here.
It’s the big downtown library I’m talking about. The library in Côte Saint Luc is about 90% English; the one in Ville Saint Laurent may be 60% French. Unlike the laws of this province, the book collections at our libraries reflect the linguistic needs of the communities they serve.
And so at la Grande Bibliotheque, as the central provincially operated downtown library is called, I approach the desk with a book to renew. “C’est pour renouveler” I say, hoping she won’t ask me to repeat it. She says the inevitable “pardon?” and my eyes must say “don’t make me say it again!” because she immediately follows with “pour renouveler?” and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Oui, si c’est possible…”
And I’m all set… until the sensor goes off….
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