Susanna Kwan: Books Belong to Us All

The novelist reflects on how libraries shaped her writing and her first book

Susanna Kwan’s debut novel, Awake in the Floating City, takes place in a flooded San Francisco of the future, where a surprising connection forms between a 130-year-old woman named Mia and her caregiver, an artist named Bo. The author lives in San Francisco herself, where her favorite library branch is a fifteen-minute walk away from her apartment.

“On a quiet Sunday, after visiting the farmers market, I like to sit on a bench outside the library, snacking on dim sum and watching white-crowned sparrows, until the doors open at 1 p.m.,” Kwan says. “I pick up my holds (while trying not to be nosy about the books other people have requested), browse the cookbook section for inspiration, and feel a small thrill when I recognize familiar faces from the neighborhood and my bus routes.”

In addition to taking advantage of the reserve system, Kwan also uses the library to research her books, print out drafts, and find quiet to write. “I see the scope of services the library offers to its patrons, far beyond access to books: internet access, onsite social workers, story time for babies, job training, financial planning, sheet music, film screenings, the daily edition of the newspaper, shelter from extreme weather,” Kwan says. “Library trips still feel like a treat, and now I see them as an integral part of civic life as well.”

 


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Kwan remembers how in her childhood, libraries were always a safe place to go after school — as well as somewhere fun to visit on weekends and a place to discover new interests. “At the library, I could learn about any topic I wanted to know more about. I could borrow books and CDs I couldn’t afford to buy,” she says. “I understood that I shared these seemingly infinite collections with other residents of the neighborhood. It’s where I saw people of all ages hunched over books and began to understand myself as one reader among many.”

Libraries provided a way to connect with those around her. “As a child, I understood the library as a place full of thrilling, instructive, challenging, comforting, transformative messages written by an author for a reader — and I understood that the reader could be anyone, including me,” Kwan says. “The stains, dog-eared pages, and dated stamps on the checkout cards were all reminders that I shared the reading experience with unknown people in my community.”

Now, as an adult, she leans heavily on the San Francisco Public Library as a place to write. “I worked on Awake in the Floating City in at least fifteen different branches of the San Francisco Public Library. It helps to be in the company of thousands of books while writing,” she says. “Again and again, I had the serendipitous experience of discovering just the book I needed but never knew existed — sitting on a shelf, maybe for years, patiently waiting for me.”

 


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Another perk of writing while surrounded by books is that they are close by for research and inspiration. Kwan says, “I checked out so many stacks of books — Victoria Chang’s Dear Memory, Arnold Genthe’s photographs of old San Francisco, plays (to study dialogue and narrative economy), books on Angel Island, climate change, caregiving, dying, novel revision. . . .”

Librarians play a crucial role in Kwan’s life as well as in Awake in the Floating City. “My novel takes place in a flooded and largely abandoned San Francisco,” she says. “From the beginning, I knew the main character would be an artist grappling with her relationship to that disappearing place. It made perfect sense when, early in my drafting process, a librarian showed up to help her. With her expertise in local history and her dedication to preserving the city’s books and archives, the librarian is perfectly positioned to connect the artist with the materials she needs to consider the history of the city and her place in it.”

Mia, the book’s 130-year-old character, is loosely based on Kwan’s own grandmother, with whom she lived for several years. “While doing research at the library, I found — among many resources — Judy Yung’s social and documentary histories of Chinese women in San Francisco,” Kwan says. “Suddenly, because of the author’s efforts, translations, and relationships, I had access to firsthand accounts of what life was like for many women in my grandmother’s generation. I had a way to map what I knew of her life onto the larger story of Chinese immigration and San Francisco history. Like many storytellers who are interested in exploring complex cultural and historical narratives, I rely heavily on the library for access to stories that would otherwise be lost to time.”

 


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Kwan has witnessed libraries serve as bridges between different cultures and generations. “At Night of Ideas, an annual event, the Main Library opens its doors late into the night, and thousands of attendees of all ages pour in for an array of talks, performances, and activities,” she says. “I’ve watched French acrobats fly through the atrium, listened to a string quartet perform in an elevator, attended a live radio broadcast on climate and storytelling, written a love letter to my neighborhood, checked out an original artwork with my library card, and run into parents of my childhood classmates. The library comes alive in a new way on these nights, animated by an engaged public that values history, creativity, and a sense of collective belonging.”

She loves how libraries can amplify voices that are suppressed. “There are so many exciting small independent presses publishing innovative work that deserves more support and readers,” she says. “Same with books in other languages and books in translation. Libraries can play a big role in finding readers for these works. I also think outreach to communities is crucial — how can we reach and encourage young readers, especially? What stories speak to them?”

Kwan is excited to introduce her book to readers and for it to find a home in libraries with all the other books. “I have this image of every book, when it is published, joining the body of all other books in the world. And that’s what libraries are, in aggregate: a home for so many of the perspectives and narratives and styles we’ve built together over time. Books remain our direct connection to past and future generations, and they belong to us all,” she says. “I hope libraries continue to protect our collective stories, so those who need them later can find them.”