K. C. Summers: Summers and I’d like to welcome you here to the National Book Festival. I’m the travel editor of the "Washington Post," and I’m especially happy to be here today because the "Post" is the charter spon



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quindlen
K.C. Summers:

-- Summers and I’d like to welcome you here to the National Book Festival. I’m the travel editor of the “Washington Post,” and I’m especially happy to be here today because the “Post” is the charter sponsor of the festival, and we’ve been looking forward to this day for weeks. If you love books, it just doesn’t get any better than this.


Now you might be wondering why they asked the travel editor to introduce Anna Quindlen. She, of course, is well known for her bestselling novels, including “Black and Blue” and “Blessings,” and for her ”New York Times” column, for which she won the Pulitzer Prize in 1992, and for her collections of essays and for her “Newsweek” commentary.
Well, it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds because I’m happy to report that Anna Quindlen has recently joined the ranks of the world’s travel writers. Her new book is actually a travel memoir. It’s called “Imagine London: A Tour of the World’s Greatest Fictional City,” and it’s just out from the National Geographic Directions series. And I was thrilled to come across a copy of it this summer just before a trip to London, so naturally I devoured it. And of course it was wonderful.
You know when you read somebody and you just sort of get the feeling right away that you and the author are kindred spirits? That’s the way I -- and I’m sure many readers -- feel about Anna Quindlen, especially after reading her “London” book, with its references to the haunts of Dickens and Jane Austen and Arthur Conan Doyle and P.D. James and Virginia Woolf. You know, it just quickly became obvious that we’ve read all the same books, and we love all the same writers, and of course anyone who grew up reading these authors is a confirmed anglophile. And when you read her book you’ll see what I mean. It’s really a love letter to London, and those evocative places like Hyde Park and Victoria Station and SoHo and Baker Street. It’s about traveling to a city through books and then traveling there for real and seeing how the reality lives up to the expectations.
So I’m hoping that now that Anna Quindlen has gotten the travel bug that she’ll produce a lot more such travel memoirs. Maybe she’ll tip us off this morning as to where her next book will be set.
So now I am happy to present Anna Quindlen.
[applause]
Anna Quindlen:

Good morning. The next time someone tries to feed me that line about how Americans don’t read anymore, I am going to have a mental picture in my mind’s eye of this beautiful morning and all the people flocking to this area of Washington.


It was very kind to be told that I’ve written a travel memoir, because I’m not entirely sure that’s what I’ve written at all. Luckily, National Geographic gave me incredible freedom. In fact, that’s become my gift over recent years. I’ve had one spade of freedom after another. When I was an op-ed page columnist at the “New York Times,” people would ask me all the time who told me what to write about and who vetted my column before it went into the paper. The answer was that no one ever told me what to write about or more important, what not to write about. And my column was vetted only by the copyeditor so that the top editors of the “New York Times” saw my column only once it appeared in the paper. I had absolute freedom. Ditto at “Newsweek,” where the executive editor edits my column on a Friday night, but has never once suggestion that I’ve gone too far or not far enough, that this probably wasn’t an issue that they needed to see on the back page of the magazine or that I needed to think again.
Occasionally he will say to me, “This fourth paragraph isn’t as sharp as it needs to be.” And because he’s a really, really smart editor and because I have increasingly become a relatively smart writer, I usually do what he says. National Geographic came to me and said, “Write about any place in the world,” and they’ve had some most distinguished writers do so: Gary Wills, W.S. Merwin. And I thought and I thought and I thought again, and I wound up writing about reading.
This is nominally a book about London. It’s called “Imagine London,” but the truth of the matter is, that just as when the Library of Contemporary Thought came to me ten years ago and said, “Write a short book about something you’re passionate about,” and I produce a book called “How Reading Changed My Life,” this is really a book about reading. It’s a book about a little girl who couldn’t stop, who learned how to read when she was four or five and settled in with books for the long-haul, a little girl whose greatest memories of her childhood are sitting in a big club chair in her parents living room with, as they say, her nose stuck in the book.
As I said last night at the National Geographic Society, my most enduring memory of my childhood is reading that book and having my mother standing in the doorway. And she’s always saying the same thing. She’s always saying, “It’s a beautiful day outside.”
[laughter]
There could have been a hurricane, and my mother would be saying, “It’s a beautiful day outside,” because she didn’t quite understand how she wound up with this changling child who would rather be with the book than in any place or with any person. That’s how I learned to know and love London.
If you are an indefatigable reader, as I was and still am, London is really the center of the universe. I mean, there are other cities in other great books and there are tons and tons of American novels, but they tend to be diffuse, from California as seen by John Steinbeck to New York as seen by Edith Wharton, Florida through the eyes of the wonderful Carl Haaisan or Studs Terkel bringing us some voices of Chicago. But if you are reading the classics over and over again, if you’re reading Defoe, if you’re reading Charles Dickens, if you’re reading John Mortimer, if you’re reading mystery novels, really good ones, even if you’re reading terrific modern literature, Martin Amis, Kingsley Amis, Zadie Smith, Monica Ali, London is the place that you wind up going back to again and again.
The odd thing is that by the time I was in my twenties actually, I felt like I knew London like the back of my hand. Unfortunately, I’d never been there. And I’d never been there in my thirties, and I’d never been there in my forties, until I was 45 and I was asked to go to the U.K. to promote a U.K. addition of my novel, “One True Thing.”
I mulled and mulled and mulled when I was writing this book why it would be that a woman would fall in love with a place from afar and then not go there. And I realized that part of it was that I was afraid of disappointment, that I was afraid that I’d met this absolutely wonderful, rich, colorful, engaging London in books and that when I got to London, it would be something less. Luckily, as most of you who’ve been there know, it was something more. Something more on top of all those other things so that you can walk through London and see the London of Dickens and see the London of Thackery, and see the London of Henry James, and yet see the modern London at the same time. It’s a little bit like looking at a film tree and seeing all of those rings, one on top of the other, that really tell you almost the true history of time, just a wonderful experience.
It was particularly wonderful working on this book because I had my research assistant, another inveterate and indefatigable reader and another writer, my eldest son Quindlen Krovatin, who went through all of my old books finding the operative passages about London, who marked them and then slipped in some of his own. I was not a particularly big Joseph Conrad fan until Quinn beat me into submission.
And then the two of us went off together and walked so many of those paths and talked about books, over and over and over again. There’s a little bit of a psychological cul-de-sac in this book about that because I was very distressed when my sons got into their teenage years, particularly my eldest son, to think about the Oedipal theory and think that as a requirement of becoming adult, they were going to be required to break with me in the most conspicuous way, at least if Freud was right. And so I decided to transmute my mother-son relationship with Quinn into a writer-writer relationship. And luckily we never had to make that break and, in fact, deepened and -- I think -- had our relationship mature particularly when we were in London together talking about books. And, of course, when you are talking about books, you are never just talking about books. You’re always talking about life.
We had so much fun and writing this book, I must say, this book and “How Reading Changed My Life” were the greatest labors of love I’ve ever had. They didn’t feel difficult at all. They just felt like so much fun.
So I wanted to read to you today one of the passages where I sort of was having a really good time in the book. It’s near the end.
“Not so long ago there was a billboard at the Hogarth roundabout on the way to the airport that had some parents in the area in a swivet. It read ‘Roger More’ and was an advertisement for a brand of condoms. Most Americans probably thought it was a misprint and that someone had inexplicably left out the second ‘o’ in the last name of the British actor who once played James Bond.

“That's because the term ‘Roger’ is nothing but a name in the United States while in England it's a slang expression for having sex. Condoms, however, are not also known as rubbers as they are in America. Rubbers are the things we call erasers.


“I actually know a good bit of this. I have long taken a great satisfaction in the fact that I speak English, real English. Not the tongue Americans speak. I have virtually no facility with languages -- My schoolgirl French just barely enables me to get laundry sent out or a sweater purchased and paid for in Paris. But as a young reader, little by little, I began to assemble a vocabulary that were no relationship to that used by the average American child. I am proud to say that I scarcely ever used it in conversation although occasionally I would try to use Englishisms in my writing and my teachers would underline an exclamation like ‘Bollocks!’ or the description of someone as ‘daft.’ And write in the margin, “What are you trying to say here?” (One old nun, I remember, once wrote, ‘You can read Dickens without trying to be Dickens.; As if being Dickens was even possible.
“It was a useful bit of self-education because all of my translation had to be done from context. What precisely were elevenses, and how do they differ from tea? How is tea different from high tea, if at all? What were O levels and how did one attain a first at Oxford or Cambridge? If fags were cigarettes and piss was drunk, what did vulgar Brits call it when they had to urinate and wanted to mock homosexuals? A nice piece of fish – plaice, usually, which seemed to be flounder -- was lovely. A day in the country was brilliant. Bonk men having sex, too, and knickers were underpants; before I tumbled to this, I was constantly perplexed by the state in which various English heroines found themselves in the bedroom, as though they were ready to play golf before bed.
“Americans don't use Englishisms much, although from time to time, you do pass an American bar actually named, ‘Ye Old English Pub.’ This extends to other products and services; recently an American catalog company featured Portobello coat, Carnaby boots and a Savile tee shirt, the last particularly puzzling given the legendary tailoring of Savile Row suits. What could a Savile tee shirt possibly look like? Lapels? Hand sown seams and darts?
“Of course the problem with appropriating the English language from books rather than overheard life, was much of it was antiquated. Or, perhaps in some cases, invented. When Waugh describes how his madcap partygoers ‘all got into two taxicabs and drove across Berkeley Square -- which looked less than Arlenish in the rain,’ is he using a common piece of slang, one that came and went with the Charleston, or one he simply invented? In Georgette Heyer's popular Regency novels, there is a really lovely piece of slang: People are always warning their friends ‘not to make a cake out of yourself,’ which obviously means not to behave foolishly. But it's a piece of slang that is apparently as dead and buried as George III; no contemporary English man or woman I've asked had ever heard of it, except for one pleasant professor who had a passing familiarity of antiquated language. (On the other hand, ‘he's a bit wet,’ English for, ‘he's kind of a geek,; is alive and well and is a luring turn of phrase as I've ever encountered in real life. “
“During all those years of reading ‘A Christmas Carol,’ we were never entirely sure what was meant when Fezziwig, in the midst of a dance in which he and his wife were ‘top couple,’ were set with great admiration to have ‘cut.’ In fact the word itself is in quotations, as though in even in Dickens’s time it was too slangy to stand alone. Since the description continues, ‘cut so deafly that he appeared to wink with his legs,’ the five of us have decided that what Fezziwig does is what we call a split.
“But until recently we had no idea why the boy Scrooge asks to buy the prize turkey for the Cratchit family after his spiritual resurrection replies, ‘Walk-ER!’ Even on my English trips, I got no more than a puzzled look. (‘That sounds very much like one of those cockney phrases Americans insert in a film,” one English editor said dryly.) My son and I were therefore enormously chuffed to discover in the Ackroyd book about London that the word was a piece of street slang that ‘lasted three or four months only’ at the beginning of the nineteenth century and therefore was probably a remnant of Dickens boyhood. ‘It was used by young woman to deter an admirer, by young boys mocking a drunk, or to anyone impeding the way,’ Ackroyd writes. Mystery solved. (And another wonderful turn of phrase added: ‘What a shocking bad hat!’ contemporaneous with Walk-ER and aimed at anyone of really singular appearance.)
“Not only is this no longer the language of London, but English is in some ways no longer the language of London. One study showed that more than three hundred languages are now spoken in the city’s schools, from Bengali, Punjabi and Urdu to Cantonese and Jamaican patois. (‘Babelians,’ Zadie Smith calls them in her novel of the new immigrant London, ‘White Teeth.’) And American slang in usage has become such a consistent presence, not only because of visitors but because of exported rap music in sitcoms, that the lines between argots are relatively porous. While once we were warned to ask for the bill, not the check, and to order a sweet, not dessert, almost no wait staff in a London restaurant looks twice if you ask the American way.
“This does not work both ways, however; one English visitor told of the general hilarity that ensued when she ordered pasta in a New York restaurant, pasta being pronounced in England in a way that more or less rhymes with ‘master.’ Nevertheless, there are certain times when the English treat their American cousins like subverbal idiots; perhaps the concierge did not realize he was leaning slightly forward and raising his voice appreciably when he told me about the theater tickets he’d acquired for us. ‘They are located in the stalls. Stalls. What you call the or-che-stra.’ It was all I could do not to reply. ‘I know what the stalls are. I’ve read Trollope and Ngaio Marsh!’
“On the other hand, the poor man had probably had its own language trials, judging by the performance one night in Piccadilly Circus by a group of drunken American men in Union Jack tee shirts who were having what they considered an uproarious conversation that seem to consist entirely of the expressions ‘cheerio’ and ‘bloody.’ Of course, one of them also felt moved to quote from “Wayne’s World’ about Piccadilly Circus, ‘What a explicative deleted circus! Where are all the tigers and clowns?’”
[applause]
I must say I ought to thank “National Geographic” for giving me the opportunity to work on this book. Although unlike some of my contemporaries who waxed poetic about places where they took a very what seem like a relatively relaxing trip, by the time that we finished going through all the books, mapping out all the locals, figuring out exactly where Soames and Irene Forsyte have lived in the “Forsyte Saga,” figuring out exactly where Sherlock Holmes would have been on Baker Street. And by the way it’s a great disappointment, it’s just big office building. And working our way through the Dickens house and all the Dickens locals where we found on the south bank of town, I finally turned to Quin and said, “Well, son, we’re working for minimum wage now.”
I’d love to take questions from you all today. I hope you’ll be kind. My worst question and answer period was in Cody’s Books in Berkeley, California, the People’s Republic of Berkeley, California. When they were so rough on me that afterwards -- it’s the only town in America where I feel like a moderate.
[laughter]
They were so rough on me that afterwards I said to my media escort, “Kathy, have they ever been that mean to anyone you've brought to Cody's before?” And she said, “They were almost that mean to G. Gordon Liddy.”
[laughter]
And she said to me, “Did you learn anything from this experience?” And I said, “Yes, I now believe Patty Hearst’s entire story.”
[laughter]
So just be nicer to me than you'd be to G. Gordon Liddy. Apparently there's a microphone right here. And Charlie Gibson will be vetting your questions before you can ask them.

Female Speaker:

Are you working on a new book of fiction and what is it?

Ann Quindlen:

I'm working on a new novel and right now it's about 200 pages. And I think it's about the difference between appearance and reality and about two sisters, one of whom is quite famous and the other of whom has lived in her wake for many, many years. But you know one of the great things about writing a novel -- and sometimes when you're about half way through, it doesn't feel like there are any great things about writing a novel -- but one of the great things is that you're in it. You're in the world of it. I mean you know exactly what the apartment looks like and what the streets look like and since this book is set in New York, I know what it looks like down to the ground.
So that sometimes you can't see it very clearly. It's why you need a really good editor to come back to you and say, “There's a slump in the middle section, and there's way too much back story in the first 50 pages.” But it's also why you need to spend as much time as you can afterwards meeting readers because frequently they tell you about themes in your books that you've never entirely fastened on. You sort of in the back of your mind knew they were there but they haven't moved to the front of your mind. So I always hesitate to talk about what my books are about because I find out that I find out so much of what they're about when I talk to readers about them afterwards.

Male Speaker:

Who do you consider your biggest influences as a novelist and who do you think are the greatest novelist? Are there any difference between those two things?

Ann Quindlen:



My biggest influence as a novelist was Charles Dickens. He's always been my favorite novelist. Jane Austen is a close second. But I would say in my own inclinations and my own work, I find it more difficult to follow Jane's path of restraint and much easier to try to model myself after someone like Dickens who in many ways is not restrained at all, particularly in terms of the secondary characters.
Maybe it's because I was, well I still am a reporter and a columnist, but that melding of social issues compelling social issues, in an interesting and compelling story, really works for me psychologically and, of course, that's what Dickens always does. But you know there's many great novelists that are in my top pantheon. I mean I love all of Tolstoy’s work. I think “Anna Karenina” and “War and Peace” are both almost perfect. “Middlemarch,” I mean you can't really ever sit down to write a novel unless you’ve studied “Middlemarch” pretty exhaustively.
I love Faulkner. I mean the audacity gives you hope that some day you'll push yourself pass what you thought were your boundaries. I love Edith Wharton. I think Henry James gets all the credit that Edith Wharton ought to. I just find him really emotionally remote in a way that I don't find her. I think “The House of Mirth,” I mean I've read that book so many times. I wrote an introduction to a new edition of it, and you know, obviously I know what's coming, and I still find myself just devastated at the end of that book every time I read it. Among modern novelists, I love Russell Banks. I think he's an extraordinary talent. I so admire and love the work of Alice McDermott.
Now Alice McDermott is sort of the modern Jane Austen equivalent in my mind. I love Don DeLillo. I have mixed emotions, have had probably the whole time that I have been reading, about Phillip Roth, but I think the new novel combines the fierce intelligence that he's always had with an emotional residence that thought he'd lost in the recent years, and I really think, I really think it's first-rate.
There's just so much good stuff. It's just such a joy. I'm one of the four editors of the Book-of-the Month Club, Annie Proulx, Nelson DeMille, Bill Bryson and I. And we each get to pick four or five main selections each year and then write a little endorsement of it. And so in the service of that, I tend to read a lot of first novels, and boy there are days the hair starts to go up on the back of my neck. I'm 50 or 60 pages into something like “A [sic,The] First Desire,” a new first novel by a woman name Nancy Reisman who I never heard anything about and I just think, “Oh this is the real deal. Please don't tell me that nobody publishes good stuff anymore. Don't tell me that it's impossible to get a literary first novel published. This is wonderful.”
So, one of the great things about being a reader is that you realize the infinite possibility of the human head and the human heart. And there's nothing like that to save you from despair.

[applause]

Female Speaker:

Hello. My name is Olivia, and I'm originally from the Philippines. I reside in the state of Virginia. And I have one question for you this morning. What inspired you to become a writer?

Ann Quindlen:

Teachers did.

[applause]

I was quite a good student as a little girl, but I had what the nuns use to call conduct issues. It's deeply ironic to me that the same qualities that got me expelled from convent school are the ones that won me the Pulitzer Prize. What makes for a good girl does not make for a good columnist.


But, from the time I was nine or ten or eleven, I'd write what were called compositions. I'd write a composition or I'd write a poem, very badly I must say, or a book report and teachers would say to me, “This is really good. You're a good writer. You should keep on doing this.” And that's just huge for a kid. I mean to have what, after your parents, is the most significant power figure in your life say to you, “And by the way, you're a writer.” It's almost like you don't have any choice but, but to continue with it. So, more than anything else, I would say that it was a positive reinforcement of teachers that did that for me.

Female Speaker:

And in closing I wanted to say please keep on writing from your heart because that's where it all begins.

Ann Quindlen:

Thank you.

Male Speaker:

I apologize if I haven't kept up with your recent work but with a presidency like this, how can you resist coming back to nonfiction?

Ann Quindlen:

Well I’m writing -- I write the back page column in “Newsweek” every other week. Which is why I was a little nervous about Laura Bush being here this morning. Because I got to tell you, somebody talked about my husband the way I've talked about hers, I wouldn't be nice to her.
I mean I didn't really want to go back to journalism. I was having a great life as a fiction writer, and it was much less nutty than it had been. But the “Newsweek” column I do every other week alternating with George Will as opposed to two a week, which is what I was doing with the “Times.” And I must say I started doing it and then 9/11 happened, and I was never so glad to be back on the horse as I was then.
I was finding writing about this election a little dispiriting until the first debate. And now I think that there's like really serious engagement not only between the two candidates on substantive issues, but among the electorate. I mean the fact that a third again more people watched the first debate than watched the first debate in 2000; it really gives me hope.
And everywhere I go I hear people talking about this and about the issues and about what they care about. And then last night you're watching, and you have all these, I assume, ordinary folks in St. Louis who came up with questions to ask, and they were really smart, educated, aware question. So watching last night gave me hope, too. I just hope that that hope is born out by the numbers that turn out at the polls on November 2.

Male Speaker:

Thank you very much.

[applause]

Female Speaker:

Hi, I'm from Cincinnati. I wanted to tell you thank you for your essays. I look forward to them, and I think they're a breath of fresh air for people like me, and I was going to ask you too if you wanted to make comments on the demeanor of the campaign and your thoughts about the debates.

Ann Quindlen:

Well I did write a column, I guess two weeks ago, called “Mortal Combat: Election Edition” that was about how nasty the campaign was and how it was like a video game, unless you drew blood you hadn't won. And particularly this Swift Boat Veterans stuff was really getting under my skin.


You know, it was interesting because I write a column, and I get feedback almost instantaneously now via e-mail. And the e-mails kind of dispiriting because it tends to fall hugely into two camps. The camp that says, “You're a moron. Go back where you came from.” And I'm from Philadelphia by the way. Or, “You're a genius, why don't you run for president?” Now the second group is nice, but neither of these groups particularly enlarge human understanding and there's a very small group in the middle that says, “Dear Ms. Quindlen, I really disagree with you about X and here are the reasons why.” And you get to the end and you think, “Okay, that was a really smart cogent argument against my position.”
So I got one of these from someone who said, “You really discount how troubling it is for a large group of veterans from the Vietnam era to remember how John Kerry came back and how he talked about the war and how we really felt like he was giving aid and comfort to the enemy.” And I wrote back to this guy and said, “That was a really sensible not hysterical explication of a very real concern.”
But that morphed into, he didn't deserve his metals, and that morphed into his wounds were self-inflicted. And at that point I thought we are grassy knoll land And that's what happens. It's not enough simply to say, you know, I disagree with him about this. It has to be you know, George Bush is evil. You know as I said in this column as someone who works in words, I'm real hesitant about using the words that take it to the limit pass which there is no other word and evil is one of them.
So the thing about the debates is there was real engagement you know, not on that kind of personal attack level but, but on issues, and I just hope that can continue up to Election Day. We have a record number of people registering this year. But that doesn't always translate into high voter turnout at the polls. I hope that's what we see because people are really engaged.

Female Speaker:

Hello, I was curious how, where it comes from like, you wrote “A Short Guide To A Happy Life” and then to turn around and not in the sequence but to write something well written, mind you, but so painful as “Black and Blue” where, how you can differentiate and write this side and then turn around and write this side. Where that comes from?

Ann Quindlen:

That's a really interesting question because “Black and Blue” and “A Short Guide To A Happy Life” have to be pretty close to opposite ends of the number line. I suppose part of it is because, of course, “Black and Blue” is a novel. It's completely fiction, and I can create this fictional world which is dark and mean and scary and then at the end of the day I can step out of it. But there are elements of the point of “Short Guide” which is of course that when you’ve seen the bad stuff, you realize how great the good stuff is and how life shouldn't be taken for granted. There's elements of that in “Black and Blue” because one of the reasons why Fran Flynn stays for so long is because of the good things in her domestic life. Her husband, when they are good with each other, her home, her sister, her family, of course her son. And even when she finally flees and is living this very, very difficult life on the run, she still has that sense from time to time of how, of how good life can be.
And I think that's it. I mean I do tend to be a kind of an incorrigible optimist but as I say in “A Short Guide To A Happy Life,” that comes out of a life experience in which I watched someone who I loved more than anything in the world, die by inches. And realize that the reason she was hanging on for dear life to her existence even though she was in incredible pain and incredibly depleted, was not because she was hoping if she hung on she could win the Pulitzer or make a big killing in the market or get some promotion. She was hanging on because to sit out in the backyard with the sun in your face is an affirmative good. And, and you know, that's a lesson that I got when I was 19 years old and I have to say it was just an incredible gift to me for the rest of my life in terms of, in terms of how I looked at the world and my place in it. Two minutes left.
Anybody else have a question? Well I do think that one of the things that we all ought to do though, shifting from politics to this event today, is that we should continue to fight this idea that nobody is reading. You know we just recently had a poll and everyone said, “Oh no, it shows the numbers are down.” It was about how many people are reading fiction and one of the things that we know is that men tend disproportionately to read nonfiction and biography rather than fiction. That's why only men are allowed to watch the History Channel.

[laughter]


But when you hear about how many people you know are in book clubs, when you see in new bookstores bringing up along the interstate, and you know in today's”Washington Pos” there was a wonderful piece about being on the Metro and watching people read. You know that there's still a huge capacity to become excited about books and, you know, when you're in a city like London, and you look at all those little blue plaques on the houses that say, “In this house Virginia Wolf lived.” You realize not only that it's been that way for a long time, but that it's growing. That literacy is growing. That access to books is growing. That the feeling that books are important in our schools and then in our life after school is growing.
And to me as a person living in America and a democratic country, that's all to the good because books are really the most important tool of democracy. They make the big lives of demagoguery impossible because when people know stuff they can say, “No sir, you are wrong about that,” you know.
[applause]
And I just, I just would leave you with one really important thought, in a democracy, cutting library budgets is more of a threat than cutting defense budgets.
[applause and cheering]
[end of transcript]



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