Wayne A. Wiegand

Wayne Wiegand is unquestionably the predominant scholar of library history. This contribution documents in the detail only a trained and committed historian can achieve, not only the oppressive conditions under which Black school librarians worked but also how the professional organizations supposed to represent and defend them were completely silent.

The slice of history Wiegand reviews are from 1954 (the year of the Brown decision ending the doctrine of "separate but equal" from Plessy) show more until about 1974. Whatever improvement that time witnessed came solely from the efforts of the Black librarians themselves, and very little from others coming to their defense.

This makes for sober reading, especially as ALA has attempted to rewrite its history to now claim how, for 140 years it has been the "trusted voice...advocating for the profession and the library's role in enhancing learning and ensuring access to information for all." This blatantly false description was recently changed to the only slightly better statement that for almost 150 years, ALA has advocated "for the profession and the library's role in enhancing learning and ensuring access to information for all." Such self congratulations is credible only to the extent that "all" does not include patrons and librarians of color, who ALA literally abandoned during the most tumultuous years of its existence. [I'm a member of ALA, so it pains me to have to say this. But the power of Wiegand's work is that the reader must recognize the failings of the White library establishment at the time, even if it cannot do so itself even today.) show less

Wayne A. Wiegand, former librarian and professor at Florida State University, investigates the history of the American library through the people who used it. Drawing copious quotes from a myriad sources, it's a thorough look at an institution that has sometimes had to navigate between professional rhetoric and community standards, but has been beloved by young and old for providing reading and meeting space. Chronologically from the beginning of social libraries and lending libraries to the show more present, Wiegand explores a lot of topics pertaining to the public library told not from the librarian's point of view, but the public.

I'm a librarian, so I'm a bit biased when I say I love my public library. Part of Our Lives was an illuminating look at the history of the library in the U.S. both showing me how much it's changed (libraries used to reluctantly carry fiction while promoting "best books" and there was a long history of underservice to minorities, immigrants, or other marginalized groups) and how much it's stayed the same (people were complaining it wasn't quiet enough even in the 1800s). The copious quotes illustrating his points about a variety of services sometimes made for dry, slow reading but I did learn a lot and enjoyed having some insight into the history of my profession. His last chapter or two was all that I could speak to from personal experiences, and I liked what he said about censorship and the challenges that libraries have had with the Library Bill of Rights through the ALA and navigating each community's standards of decency. For example: do you keep books in the collection that include a terrible stereotype of someone? How do you handle patrons looking at porn? I was also really surprised at how long it took libraries to carry "series fiction," even a quote from the '90s about someone who couldn't get Nancy Drew - which I found ridiculous, since I was borrowing all those books from the library at that same period and would not be the reader I am today if it weren't for that "lower" fiction that libraries traditionally would not carry or did, but reluctantly because it was the only way to get people in the door. It would have been interesting to read and debate something like this in library school. show less

Wayne Wiegand is without doubt the dean of library history. This work is perhaps the pinnacle of his scholarly craftsmanship. Drawing upon deep archival materials, he tells a story of the emergence of the public library in American society, and the ebb and flow of its influences.

He does not shy away from the less attractive aspects of this history. Despite their contemporary reputation as defenders against censorship, librarians for many years were the first line of censors. They adamantly show more opposed adding fiction titles to their collections, and had little compunction about consigning controversial titles to the "Inferno" that required patrons to go to extraordinary lengths to obtain the book if it were available at all. Nor does he gloss over the history of racial segregation that many libraries employed.

Several earlier reviewers complained about all the detail he provides. Those bits create the depth of the narrative he constructs, without which this would be flatter, and less significant history. show less

Part of Our Lives is a fascinating and passionate treatise on the history, culture and contribution of American public libraries by Wayne A. Wiegand.

With a focus on the perspective of 'library in the life of a user' Wiegand explores the important role libraries play in the life of individuals: as distributors of information and education, as a source of fiction that entertains and enlightens, and as social community spaces, debunking the notion that libraries are, or have ever been, simply show more 'warehouses for books'.

Tracing the evolution of public library services, from Benjamin Franklin's Library Company of Philadelphia established in 1732, through to the 17,219 modern public library systems more than 93 million Americans utilised in 2012, Wiegand draws on official and anecdotal sources to illustrate the value of libraries that statistics don't always reflect.

In addition Wiegand examines issues such as access, censorship, and technology and the sway of factors such as gender, race, class, politics, and religion, that have have shaped, and continue to affect modern library services.

Though primarily a professional text, Part of Our Lives is an accessible read, I'd recommend it to bibliophiles, social historians and anyone who treasures their library card. show less