I wouldn't sail this ship if I were you
A library of trees, planted in alphabetical order of their commonly-used name in long ranks across the field: apple, birch, cherry and so forth. We vary the spacing of the ranks based on the height of the trees and how much light the next trees along require. It is an oddly sterile place, but good for holding garden parties. On our deaths, we have decreed that the field return to nature, in the hope that one day it will become a chaotic forest with a tantalizing hint of the alphabet about it.
A library of cats. We have derived a complex classification scheme for them that we are very proud of, starting with genetic charts and using age, size and whisker length as subclassifications. But the cats will not stay in their assigned spaces. Some scratch at our carefully constructed section dividers. None of them will submit to whisker measurement. We even find them in the morning with their collars off, nonchalantly grooming themselves on the front desk and shedding hair into the index system. We spend all our time finding the cats and refiling them. Somehow we do not mind this; there is even talk of finding more librarians.
A library of the dead. Some might argue that this is the function of a cemetery. But we disagree; one cannot legally make withdrawals from a cemetery. Our library of the dead, on the other hand, positively encourages short-term borrowing. Our stock (though we are still working on fully stocking the building; perhaps our initial facility was overambitious) is sorted by preferred method of decomposition (in soil; in air; mummified; saponified; in formaldehyde). All stock items have agreed prior to their death that they would like their mortal remains to revisit the world from time to time. Borrowers may, however, wish to inform the police beforehand so as not end up in a situation they find difficult to explain.
A library of lost things. This requires certain preparations. We have been raiding lost property offices and prowling down trains at the end of the line, black sacks at the ready. We buy up mounds of stranded suitcases from space-strapped airports. We follow the forgetful around, making distracting noises and snatching what they drop. Our collection of socks is particularly fine. We have all the usual exhibits: umbrellas, crutches, hats, prosthetic legs, notebooks, toddlers, packets of cheese, antibiotics, carnevale masks. Our library is open only to those who have lost things of their own. We collect the stories of the applicants’ losses and match them up with the lost item we have that we think will do them the most good (though it does not necessarily echo the original loss; we have lined up those who have lost loved ones with maps left on buses, for example).
