Page 49 - The Midnight Library

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e books in the librar y began to move again, as though the shelves were

conveyor belts. is time, though, instead of going as slow as a wedding
march they moved faster and faster and faster, until they couldn’t really be
seen as individual books at all. ey just whirred by in streams of green.
en, just as suddenly, they stopped.

Mrs Elm crouched down and took a book from the lowest shelf to her le.
e book was one of the darker shades of green. She handed it to Nora. It
was a lot lighter than e Book of Regrets, even though it was a similar size.
Again, there was no title on the spine but a small one embossed on the front,

precisely the same shade as the rest of the book.
It said: My Life.
‘But it’s not my life . . .’
‘Oh Nora, they are all your lives.’

‘What do I do now?’
‘You open the book and turn to the first page.’
Nora did so.
‘O-kay,’ said Mrs Elm, with careful precision. ‘Now, read the first line.’

Nora stared down and read.

She walked out of the pub into the cool night air . . .

And Nora had just enough time to think to herself, ‘Pub?’ Aer that, it was
happening. e text began to swirl and soon became indecipherable, in fast
motion, as she felt herself weaken. She never knowingly let go of the book,

but there was a moment where she was no longer a person reading it, and a
consequent moment where there was no book – or librar y – at all.