If you have ever studied in “the Stacks,” the upper floors of Yale’s Sterling Library, you have no doubt seen the notes: “We lie best when we lie to ourselves,” “HELP,” “Fuck the patriarchy,” “SURVIVED THE GLOBAL PANDEMIC JUST TO WORK IN THIS CARREL FOR HOURS ON END! #YALIE,” “JUST LIVE LIFE!!!!” — and more. Scribbled by anonymous students in colorful marker, pen or pencil, they adorn almost every study carrel. The notes themselves span diverse genres: puns, maxims, Taylor Swift lyrics, philosophical quandaries, obscene expletives and countless motivational messages. Notes so ubiquitous that one of the study carrels on the seventh floor contains only one note, “How come no one writes over here?”

Because of the anonymity, many treat the walls and desks of the Stacks as a private forum, leaving ultra-confessional notes often centering on sexual exploits (or lack thereof) or depressing notes intended to release frustration, stress and fear.

During first-year orientation, despite several tours, the Stacks remained on my bucket list. A day-in-the-life YouTube video of a Yale student, in which she studies in a Stacks carrel amidst a sunset glow, inspired my desire to visit this seemingly idyllic study space. Of course, gossip from other students about what happens in the Stacks–romantic trysts hidden within the folds of bookcases–also piqued my imagination. From what I heard, none of the other libraries at Yale dared to challenge the Stacks’ notoriety. I wasn’t seeking to witness something like a (rumored) ménage à trois in the Stacks but sought to uncover some exciting secret. Feeling homesick, I decided to skip a “safety session” and visit Sterling.

Exiting the elevator, I discovered there was nothing to see but an unremarkable library with non-ergonomic wooden chairs, overhead fluorescent lights, and miscellanea scattered throughout: an unplugged vintage green desk lamp, a black-and-white photo of a NYC bridge, a print of Thomas Cromwell. I got lost in the labyrinth of bookcases, periodically startled by someone hunched over their laptop (classes hadn’t even started). Overlooking the plain gray tops of buildings, many windows lacked scenic views. Like a tourist, I took photos of one of the few study carrels with a nice view. With desolate aisles of books untouched by light, the Stacks’ creepiness grew by the second, treating me like an unwelcome guest. Finally finding an elevator, I descended to the bright ground floor of Sterling.

Despite its “dreariness” (in the words of a friend who has never been), the Stacks eventually became my preferred study spot. I valued the privacy of the individual study carrels over the large rows of tables at the other Yale libraries, which frequently filled with loud conversation. Parsing the notes in my chosen study carrel still serves as a ritual that prefaces any reading or studying I hope to accomplish each visit, as does skimming the bordering titles–books cataloging esoteric subjects in excruciating detail. The upper shelf of a carrel usually contains a few of these volumes, standing only a foot from some of the most juvenile notes that are likely penned by the very people researching such works.

While I joined the fraternity of “Stacks regulars,” the eeriness from my first visit lingered. One day, procrastinating before starting my psych paper, I imagined a ghost story befitting the setting, centering on a first year pseudo-intellectual who, disillusioned by the lack of like-minded scholars and appalled by the debauchery at parties, finds solace in the Stacks. He abhors the vandalism that defiles the study carrels and sits rapt each day reading the books of the Stacks. Eventually, he stops going to classes in favor of simply reading the books and sleeping at the same study carrel every night until eventually disappearing. 

At times during freshman year, I found myself identifying with the protagonist’s escape into the Stacks. I fumbled through the first couple months of college with a clumsiness akin to bumping into a Stacks bookshelf, causing flurries of books to tumble onto the floor. Self doubt, a ghost from my past, held me back. Not even a Yale acceptance could erase it. The Stacks didn’t care about any of that––just a place where you hunkered down and focused, a place of refuge. Whenever I saw one of the motivational messages as I embarked on a study session, I wished I could absorb it into myself and leave the carrel ready to “JUST LIVE LIFE!!!!” 

While not wanting to disappear into the Stacks like my protagonist, I valued them as a place to breathe and reflect away from the bustling campus below.

In that inexorable, reassuring cycle of first years, I gradually acclimated to campus, began to feel less homesick, gained confidence, and made new friends. Before I realized, the first semester ended and reading week arrived, with much of that time spent in either Bass Library or the Sterling Stacks. After having made progress on one of my papers in Bass, I relocated myself to the Stacks for a new round of studying. Night approached and my study carrel became suffused in a golden sunset like the one from the YouTube video. I turned away from the scattered papers of Italian grammar and spent a moment bathed in the amber light. The fading orange sun mixed with the cool night blue at the horizon. Receding sunrays left their invisible ink on the windowpane–a celestial note defying categorization. Like an initiate, it was my turn to receive this gift from the Stacks.