I recently requested a book through the Hawaii State Public Library System. It wasn’t pretty.

Horizon Information Portal — Powered by Dynix! Awesome!!

First, I had to find the book in the online catalog, which was as well designed as most online library catalogs. That is, not well at all.

I know what I want, and I know I can probably get it by typing the title in that box in the middle of the page, but I have no idea what the logos in the top left and under the form are for, or what those tabs up there do. (Note that the copyright date for the “Horizon Information Panel,” which is also the title of the page instead of something relevant like “Hawaii Public Library Catalog,” hasn’t changed since 2004.)

I just want a book. Everything else but the search form and the submit button is noise. If I wanted to do something else, though, I wouldn’t know where to begin — those tabs doesn’t really offer any clues as to what they do. (What is “WebFeat”? “PC Reservation”?)

I soldier on. The results page is okay, despite what seems to be a database-wide disregard for the most basic rules of capitalization.

It’s relatively easy to find the “Request” button on the detail page, although it would have been nice to indicate the book wasn’t available at the library closest to me instead of just listing the locations where it was available, and leaving me to sort through each one.

I’m going to have to log in to request the book. Here’s the form:

Barcode? PIN? Well, “barcode” must be the number under the barcode on my library card, but I haven’t a clue what my PIN is. I try the PIN I usually use for things like this; no luck.

(Note that this form never remembers the Barcode number or PIN you input. Probably to keep the public terminals safe. Annoying.)

I called the library, and they told me my PIN was the last four digits of the phone number I used to register for a library card. I didn’t have a phone when I registered, so I figured I had no PIN. I was informed I’d need to come down to the library in person to set it up.

I did so and immediately sat down at one of the computers in the lobby to request the book. Here’s the confirmation page for requesting a book:

My hold queue position is 1. I can only imagine that means I’m first in line. I will be notified by — hold on, what? Mail? Postal mail? Are you kidding me? No other options here? No phone? No email? This is 2007. At least it auto-selected my pickup location. But wait, what do you mean my request is effective until 9/26/2008? They’ll hold the book for a year? I still haven’t figured this out.

I click “Request” and I’m given a confirmation screen. All right! Now I just have to wait for the mailman.

(Note that upon compiling this blog post and stepping through these screens to get screenshots, I was routinely redirected back to the homepage automatically after a certain amount of time. This, like the forgetful login form mentioned above, is probably to ensure the public terminals are returned to the home screen for the cycle of visitors in the library. That’s probably a good idea, but it should be restricted to the library computers. At home it’s just annoying — what if the phone rings and I’m in the middle of requesting a book?)

Carded

About a week later, a postcard arrived in the mail. And what a joy that was. I knew that I had to go pick up the book at the library without even reading the card, but reading it revealed it was as confusing and poorly designed as the catalog website.

First, the return address is obviously the factory where these things are printed:

Thanks. That’s useless. What if I don’t know where the library is and I need, say, directions on Google Maps? This should not be the most prominent address on the card.

What else can we find on this card, this card that is filled with type that is boringly consistent in its face, style, size, and spacing, this card that is completely devoid of useful elements like contrast and organization?

We can find the same capitalization whimsy:

We can find a “print date,” which is maybe useful (I can’t think of how) but certainly shouldn’t be as prominent as the rest of the text.

We can find a “Due Date,” which must be the date by which I must pick up the book to avoid the $1 fee. I suppose it’s the date I’m “due” at the library?

We can’t quickly find the phone number of the library we need, because it’s buried with sixty others.

We can’t know the secret message, because a sticker is covering it. Does the fun ever end?

And why is there a $1 late fee for not picking up the book? The book is at another library now… so what? If they want to curtail the expense of transporting books back and forth for people who casually request them on a whim, the threat of a $1 fee isn’t going to stop anyone. And anyways, anyone who survived the maze of the Horizon Information Portal is certainly serious about wanting the book they request.

I took the card to the library, assuming I’d need it to get the book. But what if I had assumed I didn’t need it? I did, in fact, need it, it turns out, but there’s no indication on the card that I should carry it with me. (Maybe that was the secret message?) I was sent back to my house twice when applying for a card (first I didn’t have photo ID, then I didn’t have proof of address), so I’m guessing they wouldn’t be too forgiving about forgetting my magical postcard either.

Deep Breaths

Now I’m all set, thoroughly enjoying Twyla Tharp’s “The Creative Habit,” but this isn’t the last time I’ll have to use the system.

Why complain about a library catalog system and the postcard it sends? Because I believe these systems are fundamentally impaired, plagued by bad design. I don’t believe there’s anything arrogant about wanting something better. The website and the card are both obviously the product of design by engineers who possess either little concern for usability or lack the skills to design for it. That’s okay; it shouldn’t be their job to take care of both code and presentation unless they’re adequately talented in both. But it would benefit everyone — library staff, technicians, and engineers as well card-carrying library users — to have a talented designer refactor this system from the ground up.

Have your online library experiences been any better?

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