WENHUI Daily recently published a picture of a library room conspicuously empty of readers.

The caption explained: "Deserted community library. However great the collection, however stylish the desks and chairs, all becomes ornamental in the absence of readers."

I was sort of surprised - less by the emptiness, than the assumption that we have community libraries.

During my brief stay last year in Arlington, Virginia, in the United States, it took me about five minutes to walk to a library.

During the past 12 years I have lived in seven locations in Shanghai, and have never realized we have community libraries.

My home was once within walking distance of the Pudong District Library, which was housed in a splendid building in the state-of-the-art district administration center. I am sure it's the equal of any similar library at home or abroad in terms of space, accessibility, facilities and management.

The library was around one kilometer from the nearest residential area, but eager readers in good health could easily manage that distance.

Both my wife and I frequented that library, and we were just about to add our son to its readership when last summer, without warnings, a notice on the closed library door announced that it was closed. It had suspended operation and was being relocated to a building that, as I later learned, set several infrastructure records.

My wife was compelled to make her only visit to the mysterious new location to return borrowed books, and commented that its location "would not even be patronized by birds with their droppings."

But I have no doubt that the state-of-the-art equipment and magnificent building draw exclamations from visiting dignitaries.

In their eagerness to set records, our urban designers have forgotten that no matter how breathtaking a library appears, it should be, first of all, intended for us humble residents, some students, some jobless, some quite elderly.

This inaccessible public library reminds me of the long tracts of forest land created along the city's outer ring road.

Such extensive green belts surely impress those traveling on the roads, but you do not see many residents sauntering there.

It is quite far from residential areas and those people who are not deterred by the distance are soon discouraged by the thunderous rumblings of container trucks on the highway.

But these green belts are very helpful statistically, for they so dramatically boost the city's areas of greenery that the city can call itself "green" by quantitative measure.

Another piece of recent, library-related news is equally disturbing.

It was blogged that "Hangzhou library will open to all readers, including beggars and rubbish collectors. The only requirement: Wash your hands before entering."

Open to all

That certainly makes news.

Most libraries demand a library card on admission, which generally involves a fee.

About 12 years ago, when I applied for a library card that would entitle me to borrow from the legendary National Library of China in Beijing, I was refused because, although I had a master's degree, my job title was not sufficiently senior.

But the enthusiasm over the statement from Hangzhou Library is likely unjustified, because isn't it illegal for any library to discriminate against beggars and recyclers?

Branding is a buzzword today, as the Chinese people are initiated into all sorts of miracles that can worked by money.

Money creates neon lights, cars, luxuries, spectacles, and edifices, but the most important aspects of life cannot be measured in cash, and that truth still eludes many of our policy makers.

In this process known as growth and development, libraries and bookstores as a rule take a back seat, beat a hasty retreat, or just vanish from prime downtown areas.

The space vacated is taken over by brand shops, Internet cafes, karaoke, real estate brokers, massage rooms, restaurants and other venues.

What remains of cultural enterprises are the trinkets and tinsel that can be exploited by the capitalists, flatter our vanity, or count towards official merits for promotion.

While serious writers are starving, last year a female writer of children's books pocketed US$3.8 million, and a young male writer of schmalzy love stories earned almost as much.

It is profitable to sell and advertise to the young, if you know how to make your words pulsate with money.

Yes, it is said our government is also flush with money, but that money does not usually translate into libraries, or bookstores.

Japan impressions

During my visit to Fukuoka, Japan, in mid-January, I found a couple of very comprehensive store selling inkstands, brushes, and paper of every conceivable type, in a prime downtown area.

China is the mother of all these arts of calligraphy and seal carving, but I had never seen a store of similar scale back home.

On Japanese television I saw programs in which participants were tested on the meaning of Chinese characters. There was also a short drama about a young Japanese girl in love who mistook one Chinese character for another, which led to some misunderstandings. She was corrected by her mother and the program concluded with a explanation of the shades of difference between the two words in Chinese and in Japanese.

A Japanese friend later explained that many Japanese young people addicted to the fast-food culture are less familiar with Chinese characters than their parents.

From these efforts - downtown stationery stores and TV programs about Chinese characters - I can see the persistence in inculcating something traditional into this generation. The efforts are heroic in this age of instant gratification.

During my short stay in Fukuoka, I had to ask directions from passersby, and many of them went out of their way to help and then make sure I was on the right path.

One local girl encumbered with heavy luggage cut short her subway travel, led me to a higher level, consulted at length with a clerk and finally obtained for me a piece of information that was not vital.

Fukuoka is a city rebuilt after the war and dominated by drab concrete buildings, but these kindnesses warmed my heart in the cold winter.

These impressions are not a result of national branding, but rather a response to spontaneous outpourings of kindness from locals that can be, probably, traced in part to good libraries, not landmarks.