IT'S NEVER TOTALLY SILENT IN THE FOREST
The 107-square-meter library at the ACFNY is home to literature relating to Austria.
In the idyllic oasis of this special collection you can really let yourself go.
By Dominik Rodak
The native short-eared owl on page 100 of the Handbuch für den Weidmann stares back at me inquiringly, as if to ask what I’m looking for here. I want to say, not looking, just want to see the Qualtinger book; “I’m talking away here and I’m sure you have an appointment somewhere... You have nothing to do? Wonderful... So there’s no pressure... We can talk about all your problems.” I don’t mind. I drift off again. Now with two questioning gazes over my shoulder, I spy a bilingual edition of the last poems of Paul Celan. “Gefaltetes geht jetzt atemberaubend vor sich/Now a folding takes place that takes your breath away.” I jot down the adjacent recipe for traditional Viennese orange cake. The penetrating gaze of the short-eared owl is gone. Ducked down, I am well hidden in a thicket of eighty-four subject areas. I shut the cookbook, turn to prose, and look up to see Über die Alpen by Martin Prinz. A travelogue. Just published, ink still fresh. Equally fragrant is Martina Grill’s Schöne und Notwendige (with descriptions of coffee plants at the head of each chapter). The material further back in the room is less idyllic: War stories, Habsburg marriages, revolutions, and crimes, retold in more than 350 volumes of Austrian history.
Now I take the short-eared owl as an example. Pause, stare, just turn my head. Organize impressions and thoughts.
There are enough literary goods here to last several winters. A haven of tranquility, the loftiest, brightest room, a highlight of every tour of the building. Located in the second largest room of the building after the exhibition space, the library encompasses some 12,100 titles in a wide variety of subject areas. “We made an effort to assemble a collection of books that truly provides an overall view of Austria,” recalls Friederike Zeitlhofer, who worked for the ACFNY (formerly ACI) from 1968 to 2003 and for many years was its librarian. “What was important for the people who came here to read,” she says, “was the fact that they could just step right in and have immediate access to the books.” Often emigrants would come here seeking closer contact to their homeland. Students, professors, and academics from all fields spent days at a time here. Writers researched sources, stage designers combed through illustrated books looking for ideas. Trude Desmond, who headed the library from 2005 to 2010, speaks of a shift in the clientele. “Today,” says Desmond, “the emphasis is mostly on students, especially from the fields of architecture and art. Austrian exhibition catalogues and architect portraits are especially popular. These visitors tend to be happy to have something tangible in front of them. You can’t always trust the Internet.” Non-German speakers can relish another focus of the collection: works by Austrian writers published by Ariadne Press, based in Palo Alto, California, and dedicated to the translation of Austrian literature into American English.
I take a few steps out of the forest of books. The room is flooded with subdued sunlight. “Many visitors have told me that the change in atmosphere from the loud New York streets outside to the tranquil sanctuary inside is beyond comparison,” says Trude Desmond. So here, in my little wooded clearing, I savor the seclusion of Marlene Haushofer’s novel Die Wand. But: “Im Wald ist es nie ganz still. Man glaubt nur, es wäre still, aber immer gibt es eine Menge Geräusche.” (It’s never totally silent in the forest. You just think it’s quiet, but there are always plenty of sounds.) I look up and catch sight of the steel and glass construction of the exterior facade. In here the world is different too. Once again, I become aware of the uniqueness of the building’s design. Is there any literature about it? Definitely. Four impressively weighty books are dedicated solely to the ACFNY. For instance, there is Ernst Bliem’s Austrian Cultural Institute New York: An Architectural Competition, showing all 226 designs submitted to the competition that Raimund Abraham won. Then there is Zwischen Kultur und Charme by Walter Seidl, a well-researched tome delivering a comprehensive overview.
Qualtinger’s book babbles on.“…Jessas, es ist schon zwei Uhr… Leberknödelsuppen wird aus sein.” (“Jesus, it’s already two o’clock. The liver dumpling soup will be gone.”) For today, I’ve satisfied my appetite. It’s early evening. Sunlight shines no more through the glass facade of the sanctuary. Armed with insider knowledge I smile at the native short-eared owl and hop back into the clamorous canyons of Manhattan.
This article originally appeared in the Winter 2010/2011 print edition of transforum magazine.
