Amid plans to save energy this summer by reducing the use of air conditioning and ventilation on campus, UCLA Facilities Management and library staff are collaborating to ensure books don’t become the next casualty of rising fuel prices.
Facilities Management placed Powell and Charles E. Young Research libraries on a list released in March of buildings that would have circulation systems turned off Sundays between June 26 and Sept. 25.
But after librarians expressed concern over the impact of climate change on research materials, facilities staff agreed to help monitor temperature and humidity in Young Research Library in a trial run of the shutdown, said Susan Parker, deputy university librarian and chief financial officer.
The test period, slated for this quarter, should last over 12 hours, with 10 detectors set up around the library, Parker said.
Kristen St. John, the collections conservator in charge of preserving books, said she will be looking for sharp rises in humidity or temperature, which could accelerate the death of books by speeding up a process called acid hydrolysis, which causes paper to lose its flexibility.
Over time, paper becomes brittle, turning yellow or brown and cracking easily, she said. This is the point of no return for research materials, as acid hydrolysis breaks fibers in paper, an irreversible process, she added.
“Once it’s gone, it’s gone,” St. John said. “The higher the temperature, the faster they’re going to deteriorate. It’s like if you left a sandwich out of the fridge.”
Radical fluctuations in the atmosphere can also cause damage. Some books are bound with leather, which expands and contracts as it absorbs and releases moisture in its surroundings, St. John said.
Facilities staff have made no promises about what they will do if preservation crews recommend against the planned cutback, Parker said.
But David Johnson, director of energy services and utility, said his department will keep air systems running all summer if librarians decide reductions could hurt the books.
“Saving energy is a necessary thing. Our budgets are negative right now,” he said.
“On the other hand, things that we do to attempt to save energy cannot result in damaging the materials of the university.”
Johnson estimates the university would save about $200,000 by cutting consumption this summer. A similar program implemented in the winter reduced costs by $180,000 in 2003 and $250,000 in 2004, according to Facilities Management’s Web site.
While books feel changes in the atmosphere, the impacts wouldn’t be immediately apparent, St. John said. It takes years for paper and other materials to become irreparable, and there are steps she and her colleagues take to slow down the degradation.
Besides a paper cutter several feet long and shelves lined with texts – some in need of new bindings, others with shattered pages – a deacidifying machine is a key component of the lab where St. John works.
Paper can absorb pollutants in the air like nitrogen and sulfur oxides, causing acid to form in it. The machine counters acid hydrolysis by removing acid from the pages.
Though it’s counterintuitive, older books often fare better in the long run, St. John said. Prior to the 1800s, people made paper from cotton or linen rag, which are not prone to deterioration.
Books from the mid-19th to 20th centuries, when literacy rates were on the rise and wood pulp became a popular paper ingredient, have short life spans, she said. Newsprint also fades quickly. UCLA’s Conservation Lab, built in 2003, is housed at the Southern Regional Library Facility at the bottom of a road adjacent to Charles E. Young Drive, behind Saxon Suites.
St. John, who has been working at the university since January 2004, said she and other staff repair 40 to 60 books each month. The texts are exposed to a variety of harm, including rough handling – being crushed in copy machines or dropped – and fading caused by light, St. John said.
But while bindings and other damage can be repaired, not much can be done after pages become brittle.
Standing in one corner of the lab next to a set of shelves, St. John pulled out a small book with tiny black Chinese characters spilling down a cracked, yellowed background. Someone had tried to fix the book, a victim of acid hydrolysis, by taping together parts of pages that were, in St. John’s words, “shattered” like glass.
“That’s the end point of paper,” she said. “That’s how it dies.”