Sunday 22 July 2012

Why can't a library be more like a bookshop?


One of the things I have found most difficult to get my head around – and certainly difficult to explain to other people – is the difference between classification and shelfmark. 

Classification is a representation of the subject (or subjects) of an item.
The shelfmark is the item’s address within the library – and tells you where to find it. 

Very often, because we usually shelve in classified order, the shelfmark is a classification number or has a classification number as one of its elements (along with a filing suffix, for example), which is where the confusion starts to creep in.  It isn’t helped by a tendency to refer to “main” and “added” classification, with the classification which is included in the shelfmark being the “main” number and anything else being “added” (and often therefore regarded as an unnecessary extra). Gradually people start to think that the shelfmark IS the classification; so that when colleagues working in reader services return a book to bib services and ask for it to be “reclassified”, what they usually mean is that they want the shelfmark changed.

What I am beginning to wonder is, whether it should be any part of a cataloguer’s job to allocate the shelfmark – whether this couldn’t be done locally by staff in each library. I take it as an article of faith that classification certainly is the cataloguer’s job – the analysis of the subject of an item and its correct representation in the classification scheme, together with the creation of subject headings and/or subject index entries, should be done rigorously and consistently by staff trained in the theory and practice of classification. But is it up to us to decide where in the library that item is kept?

Why do we think it matters that all copies of a book should have the same shelfmark? Why, if a book is returned to us with the request that it be “reclassified” (i.e. that its shelfmark be changed) so that the users may find it more easily, do we change the shelfmarks of all copies of that book? All copies should be classified the same way, because it is the book that we are classifying, not each individual copy; but each copy can have its own shelfmark without affecting anything at all.

Bookshops do this all the time, of course.  The biography of a footballer may have copies put in both the sport and the biography sections;  a detective novel set in ancient Rome may be found in both the Historical and the Crime sections. In libraries we have always been a bit sniffy about this and prided ourselves upon always being consistent– all our copies will be either in one place or another, not scattered between them.  It's as if we think that consistency of shelfmarks makes a library in some way intellectually superior to a bookshop. But wouldn’t it be better if libraries were more like bookshops and put the books where we thought the users would find them, even if that meant they were shelved in different places in different libraries (or even in different places within the same library)? The casual user browsing along the shelves would be more likely to find what they were looking for and anyone using the catalogue would still be able to find all the copies each with their own shelfmark. 

I suspect what happens now, is that library staff often put their books in places other than at the shelfmark given on the catalogue, because they know better than the staff in bib services where that book will be looked for; but, because we have made library staff think that shelfmarks shouldn’t be altered, can’t be altered, this is done surreptitiously, without the shelfmark on the catalogue being changed – which means that no one using the catalogue will be able to find the book, because they’ll be looking in the wrong place. Isn’t it time that we separated shelfmarks and classmarks and used them each for their proper purpose?

Friday 18 May 2012

Always look on the bright side...


I’ve always been slightly afraid of dentists. Many years ago, when I was still living at home, I had a wonderful dentist. He was called Mr Ogilvie and he practised in a house in Lime Hill Road – probably downstairs in his own home, in fact. He was quite an old man – or so I thought at the time – and it didn’t seem that he had upgraded his equipment since originally setting up. Everything was rather antiquated.  This certainly put people off, but what really freaked them out was his conversation. I can remember a long disquisition on decomposition; and another on the capacity of the human bladder. You will gather from this that he didn’t adopt a normal chairside manner, but I found him interesting and the incongruity of the topics amused me. And I always thought, and still think, that it was a quite deliberate attempt to distract his patients from their fear at finding themselves in the dentist’s chair – even if for a lot of people it had quite the opposite effect. One of the things he told me was that people couldn’t laugh and be afraid at the same time.
And that is the point I want to make about the wave of changes to rules and roles that is breaking over us at the moment. Of course we’re afraid of what is happening to us and our jobs, but one way of coping is to laugh. I don’t mean that we should ridicule it - but do let’s try to see that there is often an amusing side to it.  If we are engaged and interested in the changes that are happening, and if we remember a sense of proportion and retain a sense of humour, I think we will all cope a whole lot better.

Sunday 26 February 2012

A faster horse

I was challenged recently to defend my assertion that we delivered the best service we could. "How can you say that you are delivering a good service," asked my challenger, "If you don't ask your customers what they want and then give it to them?" There was something about this that felt viscerally wrong to me, but I'm not a quick thinker - I'll never manage an elevator pitch unless the elevator breaks down - so it took until today for me to wake up with the answer.

Why should we think that what our customers want is necessarily the best thing for the service? Henry Ford famously said that he would never have developed the motor car if he had asked what his customers wanted, as what they would have asked for would have been a faster horse.

I find that all the time I am being asked for what in effect are faster horses, and I suspect that this is the position that most of us find ourselves in. Is it lack of assertiveness on our part, or lack of imagination on the part of our customers, that leaves libraries clip-clopping along on Dobbin?