The Wandering Library of MirMarnia: A Series
Part Nine: The Library’s Opinions - A Catalogue of Architectural Disapproval
(I’ve decided to use these previously created Procreate oil paintings for the Wandering Library series going forth, so I have more time to write - Chaiga T. Cheska)
Preface
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a sentient building in possession of opinions must be in want of an opportunity to express them. Unfortunately for those who work within such a building, these expressions take the form of relocated furniture, disappearing lavatories, and doors that open onto locations specifically chosen to convey architectural disappointment.
What follows is a catalogue of incidents in which the Wandering Library has expressed its views through structural means. I have attempted to organise these chronologically. The Library has attempted to reorganise my filing system. We are at an impasse.
Mistress Spine has suggested I view this documentation as “character building.” I view it as evidence that I have chosen a peculiar profession.
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Incident One: The Week of the Broom Cupboards
Date: 14th–20th February
Offence: A visiting scholar described a first edition as “a bit shabby, really” within the Library’s hearing.
Library’s Response: Every door in the building, regardless of previous destination, opened exclusively onto broom cupboards for six consecutive days
Documentation:
On Monday morning, I attempted to enter the reading room. The door opened onto a broom cupboard containing three mops and what appeared to be a sulking bucket. I closed the door, waited ten seconds, and tried again. Same cupboard. Different mops.
By Tuesday, we had located seventeen distinct broom cupboards, none of which had existed previously. Some contained cleaning supplies. Others contained nothing but architectural resentment made manifest in the form of empty shelving.
The lavatory situation became dire. Every attempt to access facilities resulted in brooms. Just brooms. Judgmental brooms.
Pip attempted to apologise on the scholar’s behalf. The Library was unmoved. The doors continued opening onto cupboards.
On Wednesday, Pip tried to access the staff room and discovered a broom cupboard that contained a small card reading “Not Accepted.”
By Friday, we had resorted to using the windows. This is not ideal in a building that occasionally relocates to cliffsides.
The scholar returned on Saturday with a formal written apology and a donation to our restoration fund. He read the apology aloud in the main reading room, addressing the building directly. He used words like “exquisite,” “irreplaceable,” and “a treasure of incalculable value.”
By Sunday morning, the doors were functioning normally. The broom cupboards had vanished. We have not seen that scholar since, though he sends annual donations with cards that read “With deepest respect for your collection.”
Pip’s Commentary:
I couldn’t use a lavatory for six days because someone insulted a book. Six. Days. Do you know what that’s like? I had to climb out a window and find a tree, and I am not designed for that kind of outdoor activity.
Bramwell kept saying, “We must maintain dignity,” and I said, “Dignity is not possible when one is climbing out of windows,” and he said, “Nevertheless,” which is Bramwell for “I am suffering but refusing to admit it.”
The worst part was the broom cupboard that had the card. It was so passive-aggressive. The Library didn’t say “Apology not accepted.” It said “Not Accepted,” as if it were rejecting a parcel delivery. Brutal.
When the doors finally worked again, I actually thanked my lavatory. Out loud. Bramwell heard me. He said nothing, but his face said everything.
Incident Two: The Desk Migration Crisis
Date: Ongoing (Currently 127 instances documented)
Offence: Various, ranging from misshelving to “insufficient respect for organisational principles”
Library’s Response: Relocating Bramwell’s desk in six-inch increments
Documentation:
The Library expresses its displeasure with my work through targeted furniture relocation. Specifically, my desk moves. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just six inches. Always to the left.
The first time, I assumed I had misremembered its position. The second time, I measured. The third time, I accepted that my workspace was now mobile.
Without fail, I arrive in the morning, and my desk has moved six inches to the left. If I move it back, it returns to the left position by evening. If I leave it, it remains. This continues until I have corrected whatever infraction prompted the migration.
Last month’s infractions included:
Day 1–3: Misshelving “The Art of Asking Questions” (Philosophy, not Interrogation)
Day 4–7: Speaking disrespectfully about the Autocurator during its silent treatment period
Day 8: Suggesting that books might be “overreacting” to Pip’s biscuit incident
Day 9–11: Attempting to implement a “logical” filing system that contradicted the Library’s preferences
Day 12: Referring to the building as “architecturally stubborn” within its hearing
The longest migration lasted nineteen days. By the end, my desk was positioned in the corridor. I worked there for three days before admitting defeat and apologising. The desk returned to the staff room overnight.
Mistress Spine says this is “feedback.” I say this is furniture-based harassment. The Library responded by moving her chair three inches to the right. She has not commented on my situation since.
Pip’s Commentary:
Bramwell’s desk travels, and it’s hilarious. Last week, I came in, and his desk was practically in the hallway, and he was just sitting there working like this was normal, and I said, “Bramwell, your desk is in the hallway,” and he said, “I’m aware, thank you, Pip” in a tone that suggested I should stop talking.
The best part is watching him measure it every morning with his ruler. He has a system. He records the position in a notebook. He’s created a graph of desk migration patterns. The graph looks like someone’s heartbeat, but sideways.
I asked if he’d considered just apologising immediately when he does something wrong, and he said, “That would be allowing the building to dictate terms,” and I said, “The building literally dictates terms, Bramwell, it’s a sentient library,” and he went very quiet and measured his desk again.
Yesterday, his desk was in the correct position, and he looked so relieved, and I said, “What did you do?” and he said, “I properly filed a book about humility,” and honestly, that’s perfect.
Incident Three: The Lavatory Expresses Itself
Date: Multiple occasions, catalogued with increasing resignation
Offence: Existence of Pip Thimble (apparently)
Library’s Response: Lavatory relocates to inconvenient and/or impossible locations
Documentation:
The lavatory moves. For everyone, occasionally. For Pip, constantly.
Standard lavatory locations include:
Staff room, door clearly marked
Second floor, eastern corridor
Ground floor, western wing
Pip’s lavatory locations have included:
Dame Pellifrax’s cottage (three miles away)
A cliff edge (safety hazard)
The Restricted Section (access requires two keys)
Yesterday (temporarily inadvisable)
Inside a broom cupboard (adding insult to literal injury)
The roof (requiring a ladder, which we do not own)
A meadow in the Frostborne territories (we were not stationed there)
Wednesday (again, temporally problematic)
I asked Mistress Spine why the lavatory specifically torments Pip. She said, “The building has standards. Pip does not meet them.” When I pointed out this seemed harsh, she added, “The lavatory disagrees.”
Pip has developed a strategy of asking for permission before using facilities. He stands before the door and says, “May I please use the lavatory? I promise I haven’t done anything terrible recently.”
The door’s response determines the location. If it opens onto an actual lavatory, Pip has been forgiven for recent infractions. If it opens onto a cliff, he needs to reflect on his choices.
This is apparently normal now.
Pip’s Commentary:
The lavatory hates me specifically, and I don’t know why.
Well. I know partially why. There was the biscuit incident. And the time I accidentally insulted Section Seven. And when I called “The Definitive Truth About Everything” pompous. And possibly also the chicken situation. And definitely the colour-coded disaster, though that wasn’t entirely my fault.
But still. I’ve apologised for all of those things, and the lavatory is still irritated with me.
Yesterday I needed to use the facilities, and the door opened onto a meadow. Just. A meadow. Grass and flowers and sky, and I said, “This is NOT a lavatory,” and closed the door and tried again, and it opened onto Wednesday, which doesn’t even make sense as a location.
Bramwell says I should “maintain better standards of behaviour,” and then the lavatory will “maintain better standards of accessibility,” and I think that’s victim-blaming. I am a victim of architectural prejudice.
I now say “please” and “thank you” to a door before using the facilities, and Bramwell witnessed this and said nothing, but I saw his face, and it said, “This is what your life has become, Pip, and I cannot help you.”
The lavatory heard me thank it yesterday and opened onto an actual lavatory, and I almost cried with relief.
Politeness to doors is not optional. It is survival.
Incident Four: The Heating Takes a Position
Date: 2nd–9th March
Offence: Bramwell suggested the building might be “slightly overcomplicated” during a conversation about architectural efficiency
Library’s Response: Selective climate control
Documentation:
For one week, the heating functioned perfectly for everyone except me.
Mistress Spine’s office: comfortable 18 degrees Celsius.
Pip’s desk: comfortable 18 degrees.
Reading rooms: comfortable 18 degrees.
My desk: 4 degrees.
I wore three jumpers. I wore a coat. I wore gloves whilst cataloguing. Pip asked if I was ill. I said, “No, merely frozen as punishment for architectural criticism.”
The radiator beside my desk was demonstrably hot. I could feel warmth emanating from it. The warmth stopped approximately six inches from my person, forming what I can only describe as a bubble of cold that followed me around the staff room.
When I stood near Pip’s desk, I was warm. When I returned to my own, I was immediately cold again. The cold was targeted. The cold was personal.
I attempted to work from other locations. The cold followed me. I sat in the reading room. The temperature dropped to freezing within a three-foot radius of my chair. Other patrons moved away. One asked if I was “some sort of ice elemental.” I said, “No, merely unpopular with the heating system.”
On day six, I apologised to the building. Aloud. In the main reading room. I acknowledged that the Library’s architecture was not overcomplicated but rather “magnificently complex” and “a marvel of adaptive design.”
The heating returned to normal within the hour.
I am no longer offering opinions on architectural efficiency.
Pip’s Commentary:
Bramwell was so cold. Like, visibly shivering cold. Like “I can see my breath indoors”, cold. And he refused to apologise for three days, saying, “The building is being unreasonable.”
I said, “Bramwell, you’re freezing,” and he said, “I’m maintaining principles,” and I said, “Your principles won’t keep you warm,” and he said, “Nevertheless,” which is Bramwell for “I am suffering but too stubborn to stop.”
By day four, he was wearing so many layers that he looked like a very educated snowman, and I laughed, and he gave me a look that could freeze water (which was ironic, given the circumstances), and I stopped laughing, but only on the outside.
When he finally apologised, it was the most grudging apology I have ever heard. He said, “The Library’s architecture is... adequate. Fine. More than adequate. Magnificently complex. There. Happy now?”
And I swear the radiator made a satisfied noise, and immediately Bramwell said: “Oh, thank god I can feel my fingers again.”
He apologised to a radiator and the radiator forgave him. This building is considerably better at resolving disputes than most people I know.
Incident Five: The Autocurator Expresses Collective Frustration
Date: 15th April
Offence: Pip organised an entire shelf by colour again (he learned nothing)
Library’s Response: Every piece of loose paper in the building formed itself into a whirlwind and pursued Pip for forty minutes
Documentation:
Despite previous incidents, Pip decided that the Natural Sciences section would “look prettier” if organised by book colour rather than subject matter. He completed approximately one shelf before the Autocurator intervened.
Every loose paper, index card, and bookmark in the building rose into the air simultaneously. They formed what can only be described as a paper tornado targeting Pip’s location.
The whirlwind followed him through three rooms, two corridors, and one brief excursion into a broom cupboard (where he hid for approximately eight minutes before realising the papers could follow him there too).
The papers did not harm him. They simply pursued him. Accusatorially. With considerable rustling.
Finally, Pip stood in the middle of the main reading room and announced, loudly, “I’M SORRY, I WON’T ORGANISE BY COLOUR AGAIN! I UNDERSTAND THAT BOOKS SHOULD BE FILED BY SUBJECT!”
The papers settled immediately. They returned to their original locations with perfect accuracy. One index card drifted down and landed on Pip’s head. On it was written: “See that you remember this time.”
Pip kept the index card. He has it pinned to his desk as a reminder. It serves as both a warning and memorabilia.
Pip’s Commentary:
PAPER ATTACKED ME.
PAPER. JUST. PAPER. But there was SO MUCH of it, and it was SO ANGRY, and it FOLLOWED ME and made ACCUSING RUSTLING SOUNDS.
I tried to HIDE in a broom cupboard, and the papers FOLLOWED ME INTO THE BROOM CUPBOARD, and I had a moment of EXISTENTIAL CRISIS where I thought “This is it. This is how I die. Killed by ANGRY STATIONERY.”
Bramwell WATCHED this happen. He didn’t HELP. He just stood there with his ARMS CROSSED, looking DISAPPOINTED, and when I ran past him screaming, he said “Perhaps this will teach you about proper filing,” which is the LEAST HELPFUL thing anyone has EVER said.
But I LEARNED. I LEARNED SO HARD. I will NEVER organise by colour again. NEVER. The index card on my desk reminds me DAILY. Sometimes it rustles when I walk past, like it’s checking that I remember. I DO remember. I will ALWAYS remember.
(The card says, “See that you remember this time,” which implies there was a PREVIOUS time, and honestly, yes, there was, but I thought I’d get away with it AGAIN, and I was WRONG, and I’ve learned that the Library has a LONG MEMORY and AGGRESSIVE PAPER.)
Concluding Remarks
The Wandering Library is not a passive structure. It has opinions. It expresses them through architectural means ranging from minor inconveniences (desk relocation) to dramatic statements (room relocation) to what can only be described as organised harassment by building materials, as the paper incident thoroughly demonstrated.
After two months of documentation, my conclusions are these: the Library responds to disrespect with unerring precision; apologies must be sincere and specific; architecture is, in fact, perfectly capable of passive aggression; and buildings have considerably longer memories than one might hope. Also, Pip will never learn, though I note the Library has not given up on him. It has not given up on me either. My filing cabinet moved three inches to the left this morning. I have not yet worked out what I did.
I am employed in a sentient, opinionated building, and I am making the best of it. The tea helps. Though I note the teapot has started moving itself closer to me when I appear particularly stressed. I am not certain if this is the Library being helpful or the teapot developing autonomy.
I am not investigating. Some questions are best left unexamined.
Final Notes (Added by Mistress Spine)
Bramwell’s documentation is thorough. The incidents are accurately recorded. I have nothing to add except this: the Library is not being difficult. The Library has standards. We would do well to meet them.
Also, Pip’s desk has started moving six inches to the left. He has not noticed yet. I am curious to see how long this takes.
Additional Notes (Added by Pip Thimble)
MY DESK IS MOVING?!
Bramwell KNEW about this and DIDN’T TELL ME?!
How long has this been HAPPENING?!
(Bramwell just said, “Three weeks.” THREE WEEKS. I’ve been working at a MOBILE DESK for THREE WEEKS and didn’t NOTICE because I thought I was just REMEMBERING ITS POSITION WRONG.)
What did I DO to deserve mobile furniture?!
(Mistress Spine just handed me a list. The list is LONG. The list includes “colour-coding books, repeatedly,” and “leaving biscuits in engineering texts,” and “calling the building ‘a bit much’ within its hearing,” and OH NO I’ve been TERRIBLE and I didn’t even REALISE.)
I’m apologising to my desk. And the building. And possibly also the floor for walking on it wrong.
(Bramwell says you cannot walk on floors wrong. I say clearly you can because my DESK IS MIGRATING.)
Compiled over two months of architectural feedback. The building has read this document. The building has opinions about this document. The building has expressed those opinions by moving the filing cabinet three inches to the left. We are interpreting this as “acceptable but could be improved.” We are not asking for elaboration. The tea remains excellent. The teapot remains suspiciously attentive. We are not questioning our good fortune.
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Author’s Note:
Bramwell submitted this report under the impression that it was for internal archival purposes only. He will be mildly horrified to learn it has been shared publicly. I have decided this is good for him.
If you enjoyed this particular dispatch from the Wandering Library, do pass it along to anyone you feel might benefit from Bramwell’s documentation, Pip’s suffering, or the Library’s entirely reasonable standards. A like goes a long way towards convincing me that Bramwell’s efforts, and the Library’s considerable patience, are appreciated by the wider world.
-Chaiga T. Cheska