The Librarianist by Patrick DeWitt
Friday, June 30, 2023 at 8:46AM 
Published by Ecco on July 4, 2023
Sometimes I finish a book and think, “I’m glad I read that.” On multiple occasions while reading The Librarianist, I thought, “I’m glad I’m reading this.” I didn’t need to wait for the end to know I was having a good time.
The Librarianist takes the reader on a journey through Bob Comet’s small and unremarkable life. Except that no life is unremarkable, even one as ordinary and seemingly uneventful as Bob’s. There’s always something that sets us apart from each other. That, I think, is the novel’s point. But the book also reminds us that “part of aging, at least for many of us, was to see how misshapen and imperfect our stories had to be. The passage of time bends us, it folds us up, and eventually, it tucks us right into the ground.” Only as we near the end of our time do we gain the perspective to appreciate the unique strangeness of the life we lived.
Bob begins the novel in 2006 as a librarian in Portland. He’s happy living a life in which he is surrounded by books that substitute for friends. He’s never done well with friends. His only adult friend ran off with his wife. Maybe his life hasn’t been so uneventful after all.
When Patrick DeWitt takes us a few decades into Bob’s past, we learn that Bob’s friend Ethan lived across the street from the library. Ethan was charming and handsome and a bit of a rogue. He met Bob when he ducked into the library to avoid someone lurking in his apartment who wanted to do him harm.
Bob also met Connie in the library when the head librarian banished her father from the premises. Connie was direct where Bob was shy. Connie was funny where Bob was reserved. Connie and Ethan met on the bus when they were both coming to see Bob. Bob loved them both but, for obvious reasons, regretted that his life brought them together.
So now Bob has the library and not much else. One day, Bob encounters a woman who is staring into space and helps her back to the senior center from which she has wandered. This leads Bob to a stint as a senior volunteer, although what Bob has to offer is unclear. The residents don’t seem interested in his lectures on Russian literature. Still, he becomes a fixture; his silent presence adds something of value. The volunteer work eventually connects Bob with his past in a surprising way.
When DeWitt takes another detour into Bob’s backstory, we learn that Bob’s past was more adventurous than his present might suggest. In 1945, Bob ran away from home. He latched onto two women while hiding in their train compartment. Ida and June were traveling thespians who performed for ever smaller crowds. Their dancing dogs were likely the highlight of their shows. They decided that Bob could be their drummer until something better came along.
Ida and June are quirky and given to witty observations, the kind of characters who are perfect for an offbeat comedy. If only people spoke in the formalities and circularities of Ida and June (neither pays much attention to what the other says about anything, except to disagree), the world would be a more entertaining place.
Bob ended up in a town that is the epicenter of a riot, but people in the town don’t take much of anything seriously, including the rioters. The townspeople all tend to be philosophical, including a sheriff who responds to the observation “everyone goes his own way in this world” with “you’ve got yourself a morbid point of view.” Few perspectives that Bob encounters are morbid; people generally seem happy to be part of the town’s life, even when that life doesn’t make much sense.
Most of the novel’s characters are happy enough, although sometimes in a melancholy way. Bob and Connie have thought about each other over the years, but life moves on. That too is the point of the story. We wonder about the things that did and did not happen in our lives, but the life we lived is the one we need to appreciate.
Every bit of this gentle story is delightful and surprising. Most of the novel maintains a tone of low-key amusement, but every now and then the subdued humor gives way to belly laughter. DeWitt reminds us that thriller heroes and dramatic moments don’t dominate the real world, even if they dominate fiction. Viewed properly, the small moments are just as satisfying.
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