The butler’s library has been overdue for investigation. A freshman detective team uncovers the horrifying (and oddly romantic) stories that revitalize Columbia lore. Guest writer Justin Gao recounts the tale.

When a batch of freshman detectives launched their debut investigation on what seemed to be the unassuming library of Columbia’s main campus, they were thoroughly unprepared for the harrowing tales of horror that lay in its heights (as opposed to depths). Reports had been received from a group of nerdy witnesses who, besides whispering the word, “Circulation,” and revealing a ripped theatre ticket, were otherwise too stunned to speak, and an investigation was immediately underway. Who’s the butler? They wondered. Does he (not her because otherwise, it would be buttress) serve the dean? Why does he get a library? Endless questions…

Upon arrival through the ground floor entrance, the team was met with a majestic Lady Columbia embodied by Goddess Athena, whom, now in hindsight, the butler most probably served. They made their way up both right and left stairs, splitting the team, and conjoined in front of “CIRCULATION,” in gold, atop a dark room. The team was reassured that this could not be a case of book torture as circulation, or a library’s cycling system for texts, ensures equality of attention across the board for all genres. 

Books, like humans, need food. But instead of proteins and carbs, books live off attention. Their face lights up when they are looked at, or better, read, and their tendency for reproduction increases too (but only when books are relatively young).

An air of prestige and academic integrity presided over the large hall and both wings. Every book in these rooms, other than their slightly sardine-like configuration, was in full view, looking enticing and borrowable (or circulateable). The environment was welcoming and comfortable.

The investigatory team decided to shorten their investigation by going straight to the upper floors. Horror was what they saw. Darkness, haunting hallways, singular chairs laid out for no one. Books could not be seen even when standing within a few feet of them. From the silence, the rustling ghostly breezes, and the faint smell of vomit, it was clear these books had been ill-treated for decades, involuntarily incarcerated, their voices silenced. Who would do such a thing? Why would they do this?

A detective recalls the ripped ticket.

The recently revived off-broadway show Little Shop of Horrors. With the team in a circle, a particularly theatre-orientated detective reveals that the show recounts the story of a boy who thinks that the only way of being with his crush is to continue feeding this vicious man-eating plant, which grew from small and demure to monstrously large. The tone of the musical, along with the boy’s character, follows the same descent into darkness and monstrosity. 

And alas, with trial and tribulation, with horror and annexation, with harrowing exaltation after rambunctious tomfoolery, the detectives of the brave debut investigatory team arrived at a unanimous conclusion.

The upper stacks of the butler’s library used to bathe in the streaming sunlight of summer New York sunsets, flowing with rivers of students each wearing the crown with honor, interchanging knowledge, and looking at and reading books. The butler, an adamant theatre lover, was, during that time, madly in love with Lady Columbia, who was in turn betrothed to Sir Low, a distant cousin to King George II. Lady Columbia, unhappy with her marriage with Sir Low, grew, slowly (over 50 years), in love with her butler. Their affairs could not have taken place in the depths of Low Library as it was also full of students on every level at all times of the day. So, inspired by the newest off-broadway musical (Little Shop of Horrors), the butler decided to wield the most fabulous architecturally propagandistic narrative the world had ever seen. By reconfiguring his windows, rearranging his stairs, and remixing the odors, the Butler transformed this haven for knowledge into the architectural manifestation of the Little Shop of Horrors. Through intentional interior design choices that evoked fear in students, he framed his beloved books as carnivorous traps that fed off human beings by engrossing their entire attention, alluring them to become entrapped within the endless rows of stacks, becoming prey for the demons of the mind. It was only then when the stacks of the butler’s library were emptied of students (and most definitely, Sir Low), that the butler and Lady Columbia were able to consummate their long overdue affair. The butler turned into a flesh-eating demon himself, investigators speculate. 

Only through this eternal perpetuation of injustice, of the never-ending torturing of the butler’s beloved books, was he able to continue his affair with Lady Columbia. 

End note:

Lady Columbia and the butler are respectively made of bronze and sandstone, so they do not age. For your mental well-being, please do not visit the stacks of the butler’s library after 10 pm.

The butler and Lady Alma via Justin Gao