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icarus-suraki:
varkarrus:
winterwombat:
When magic starts to return to the modern world, barely anyone notices. It doesn’t look anything like what we imagine. People don’t suddenly start developing magic powers, casting spells, or turning into elves and dwarves. In fact, people don’t really change at all, not at first. It turns out that the magic isn’t even here for us. It’s here for what we’ve built.
The change is slow, and subtle, and strange, as the magic works its way into our institutions. You mail letters to dead relatives, and the post office starts delivering their replies. Late-night bus routes stop at places never seen on any atlas. Libraries suddenly include subterranean archives where you can look anything you’ve ever forgotten, from the names of your favorite childhood books to the precise flavor of your first-ever chocolate chip cookie.
The people working at these places take the changes in stride. The letters from the dead just show up every morning, sorted and stamped and ready for delivery, so why not carry them? Bus drivers follow the maps they’re given without trouble, and learn to accept even small gold coins as more than adequate fare. Electricians get used to seeing warding symbols in circuit diagrams, while clerks at the DMV find a stack of forms for registering ghostly steeds as personal vehicles, and sigh in relief at finally having that particular bureaucratic headache solved. The firefighters are shocked the first time they see a giant of living water burst out from a hydrant, but after it rescues several of them from a burning building, they decide not to ask questions. They tell their stories to others, though, and soon word of the changes is spreading.
There’s no single moment of realization where everyone discovers that magic is real; the knowledge just creeps into day to day life a bit at a time, and society adapts. Cyber-safety programs teach people to never accept a file from the electric fairies without sharing one in return, and to never accept their Terms and Conditions without searching for the subsection on Souls, Forfeiture Thereof. Students leave offerings of coffee and boxed wine to petition the School Spirit for lower tuition or exam deferrals. Nurses learn the hours when Death stalks the hospital hallways, and keep bedside vigils in the children’s ward. They bring board games and cards for when the reaper is feeling playful, and well-worn baseball bats for when he isn’t.
There are problems, of course, like the vicious monsters of blood and fire spawned from age-old hate groups, or infestations of the writing many-mouthed worms that literally feed on governmental corruption, but really, they were already there before the change. Magic only elaborates on what we’ve made, good or ill, manifesting the latent modern mythology underpinning our society. It doesn’t offer solutions to all of life’s problem, but for a few hurting people, guarded by the concrete arms of a neighborhood come to life to protect its community, or flying away on wings of copper wire and fiber-optic cable, it’s exactly the change they needed.
#good grief the mental image of a nurse socking death in the face in order to protect a little kid is the most metal thing ever
So let’s talk about the libraries and librarians, because I see they got missed up there. The librarians realized that something was going on immediately because they got it from both sides.
First, of course, there’s the vast subterranean archives themselves, which suddenly appear–complete with a door. And thank goodness these things are cataloged already because there’s ways to catalog or accession a chocolate bar or a pair of shoes or a box of crackers or a video or a photograph, but the smell of someone’s preschool is another thing entirely (not that the AACR wouldn’t figure a way to do it, but this saves some time).
The thing is that these subterranean archives have really good climate control and plenty of space. So many libraries just kind of annex the space for their rarest and most fragile materials, which frees up space for more and other things. It’s a win-win. And as it turns out, thanks to national and then international cross-checking, they’re also all connected. So, yes, you can go to your hometown in Ohio to look up exactly what every street looked like in 1978 but you can also look that same information up in the New York Public Library. No need for off-site repositories or backups here. Win-win-win.
Second, of course, are the people who start coming into the libraries asking for things like a picture of an ancestor’s grave from 1620. No, not a current picture, a picture from 1620. Or for the records for the taste of Ecto-Cooler from 1989. Or the complete memories of their grandparents’ wedding–both perspectives, please. Or for that preschool smell, sure. And when you start getting questions like this, you realize you’ve got to start providing answers.
The cataloging system is idiosyncratic. To say the least. But it works. And no one can really figure out how to change it, even if they could. Like, this thing is more complex than GPO cataloging and, infuriating to the more formal among the members of ALA and other library organizations, it works best when you go at it intuitively. So you need this picture of a grave from 1620–you can go at it from pictures, graves, or your own family. The librarian knows it’s there, but it’s going to take some looking through the stacks to put your hands on it. And you will find it. It’s just not as efficient as looking up an exact call number. It’s less structured and more intuitive. It also requires logging into a separate OPAC to look things up. It’s just a whole other system and–hang on, does anyone here know how to read Sumerian? Because that’s what this record is written in and we really need it. It requires developing new skills, which is always a good thing. Collaboration with local experts becomes absolutely necessary and completely delightful.
And sometimes, late in the evening, just before the library closes, the whole building gets cold and the lights flicker and the librarians give each other a knowing look because that always means that someone got into a particular part of the closed stacks down there. But some of them roll their eyes because the same thing would happen at other libraries for the same reasons–and that was back before the new archives opened. Either way, it’s going to be a Whole Thing pretty soon.
Unfortunately, all the materials are reference materials; they don’t circulate and can’t be checked out. But your library card will grant you access to the new archives. And the librarians would like to digitize what they can of these new collections…
…but that’s a tall order. Maybe in the next fiscal year.
icarus-suraki:
varkarrus:
winterwombat:
When magic starts to return to the modern world, barely anyone notices. It doesn’t look anything like what we imagine. People don’t suddenly start developing magic powers, casting spells, or turning into elves and dwarves. In fact, people don’t really change at all, not at first. It turns out that the magic isn’t even here for us. It’s here for what we’ve built.
The change is slow, and subtle, and strange, as the magic works its way into our institutions. You mail letters to dead relatives, and the post office starts delivering their replies. Late-night bus routes stop at places never seen on any atlas. Libraries suddenly include subterranean archives where you can look anything you’ve ever forgotten, from the names of your favorite childhood books to the precise flavor of your first-ever chocolate chip cookie.
The people working at these places take the changes in stride. The letters from the dead just show up every morning, sorted and stamped and ready for delivery, so why not carry them? Bus drivers follow the maps they’re given without trouble, and learn to accept even small gold coins as more than adequate fare. Electricians get used to seeing warding symbols in circuit diagrams, while clerks at the DMV find a stack of forms for registering ghostly steeds as personal vehicles, and sigh in relief at finally having that particular bureaucratic headache solved. The firefighters are shocked the first time they see a giant of living water burst out from a hydrant, but after it rescues several of them from a burning building, they decide not to ask questions. They tell their stories to others, though, and soon word of the changes is spreading.
There’s no single moment of realization where everyone discovers that magic is real; the knowledge just creeps into day to day life a bit at a time, and society adapts. Cyber-safety programs teach people to never accept a file from the electric fairies without sharing one in return, and to never accept their Terms and Conditions without searching for the subsection on Souls, Forfeiture Thereof. Students leave offerings of coffee and boxed wine to petition the School Spirit for lower tuition or exam deferrals. Nurses learn the hours when Death stalks the hospital hallways, and keep bedside vigils in the children’s ward. They bring board games and cards for when the reaper is feeling playful, and well-worn baseball bats for when he isn’t.
There are problems, of course, like the vicious monsters of blood and fire spawned from age-old hate groups, or infestations of the writing many-mouthed worms that literally feed on governmental corruption, but really, they were already there before the change. Magic only elaborates on what we’ve made, good or ill, manifesting the latent modern mythology underpinning our society. It doesn’t offer solutions to all of life’s problem, but for a few hurting people, guarded by the concrete arms of a neighborhood come to life to protect its community, or flying away on wings of copper wire and fiber-optic cable, it’s exactly the change they needed.
#good grief the mental image of a nurse socking death in the face in order to protect a little kid is the most metal thing ever
So let’s talk about the libraries and librarians, because I see they got missed up there. The librarians realized that something was going on immediately because they got it from both sides.
First, of course, there’s the vast subterranean archives themselves, which suddenly appear–complete with a door. And thank goodness these things are cataloged already because there’s ways to catalog or accession a chocolate bar or a pair of shoes or a box of crackers or a video or a photograph, but the smell of someone’s preschool is another thing entirely (not that the AACR wouldn’t figure a way to do it, but this saves some time).
The thing is that these subterranean archives have really good climate control and plenty of space. So many libraries just kind of annex the space for their rarest and most fragile materials, which frees up space for more and other things. It’s a win-win. And as it turns out, thanks to national and then international cross-checking, they’re also all connected. So, yes, you can go to your hometown in Ohio to look up exactly what every street looked like in 1978 but you can also look that same information up in the New York Public Library. No need for off-site repositories or backups here. Win-win-win.
Second, of course, are the people who start coming into the libraries asking for things like a picture of an ancestor’s grave from 1620. No, not a current picture, a picture from 1620. Or for the records for the taste of Ecto-Cooler from 1989. Or the complete memories of their grandparents’ wedding–both perspectives, please. Or for that preschool smell, sure. And when you start getting questions like this, you realize you’ve got to start providing answers.
The cataloging system is idiosyncratic. To say the least. But it works. And no one can really figure out how to change it, even if they could. Like, this thing is more complex than GPO cataloging and, infuriating to the more formal among the members of ALA and other library organizations, it works best when you go at it intuitively. So you need this picture of a grave from 1620–you can go at it from pictures, graves, or your own family. The librarian knows it’s there, but it’s going to take some looking through the stacks to put your hands on it. And you will find it. It’s just not as efficient as looking up an exact call number. It’s less structured and more intuitive. It also requires logging into a separate OPAC to look things up. It’s just a whole other system and–hang on, does anyone here know how to read Sumerian? Because that’s what this record is written in and we really need it. It requires developing new skills, which is always a good thing. Collaboration with local experts becomes absolutely necessary and completely delightful.
And sometimes, late in the evening, just before the library closes, the whole building gets cold and the lights flicker and the librarians give each other a knowing look because that always means that someone got into a particular part of the closed stacks down there. But some of them roll their eyes because the same thing would happen at other libraries for the same reasons–and that was back before the new archives opened. Either way, it’s going to be a Whole Thing pretty soon.
Unfortunately, all the materials are reference materials; they don’t circulate and can’t be checked out. But your library card will grant you access to the new archives. And the librarians would like to digitize what they can of these new collections…
…but that’s a tall order. Maybe in the next fiscal year.
