In this essay, Tara Lago, winner of the New York Public Library’s Freedom to Read Writing Contest, explores how the annual Morningside Lights parade inspired community through literature — something only possible with free access to books.
Carrying my lantern up high, I entered Columbia University’s College Walk, the 33 paper mache lanterns illuminating the night sky. In the shape of open books, these lanterns were taking flight: a murmuration of stories, flying across Morningside Heights to spread the joy of reading. Despite the chill of a rainy fall evening, warmth and energy spread through the community and my palms, holding the lantern above me.
“Metamorphosis by Kafka!” At last, it was my turn. I stepped onto College Walk and twirled my lantern as I moved across the path, the beetle at the top of the book dancing along with me. I smiled and laughed, gasping at how amazing it was to participate in this great tradition.
Morningside Lights is an annual lantern parade in New York City’s Morningside Heights neighborhood, where Columbia is located. Every year, volunteers collaborate to build paper lanterns around a specific theme. From assembling the lantern wireframes to applying the white paper base and colored tissue paper, each workshop builds on where others left off, a true cycle of learning, love, and incompletion. Since this was my first semester at Columbia, I was excited to participate in these workshops and contribute to the parade’s theme of The Open Book, an ode to reading and to the libraries that share these books with all.
As a mini-reunion, I invited two of my closest high school friends to join me, and we immersed ourselves in the task of starting the paper lantern construction process. Hand-in-hand with our cream cheese and yogurt cartons of glue, my two friends and I applied tissue paper to Kafka’s Metamorphosis.
“Would you love me if I was a bug?” asked my high school friend, as we brushed glue and allowed the tissue paper to blanket the lantern’s surface.
“Of course.” I smiled, remembering how much I missed her company.
I didn’t know that my answer showed that I had not read the book.
But today, tomorrow, or in my wide, open future, I could read Metamorphosis because of the freedom to read. My freedom to read allows me to choose the ideas I want to learn, the knowledge I want to pursue, and the pages I want to peruse. The workshop space embodied not only my reading freedom but our collective one: I was surrounded by 32 other lanterns that were open books, literally and figuratively.
These books could be transformed into Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, Butler’s Parable of the Sower, Harari’s Sapiens, or Brooks’ World War Z. From classic to contemporary, fiction to nonfiction, and children to adult, these diverse books had one universal commonality: they were chosen because of their indelible impact on us, the readers. The community of lantern makers, bibliophiles, and illustrators curated the Morningside Lights' library themselves. Although the lanterns only showcased a select number of books, The Open Book theme was a celebration of every story and the freedom to read.
At the end of my workshop session, my Metamorphosis lantern was ready for the next set of hands. In the spirit of blind collaboration, strangers after me would glue the orange, red, green, and brown colored paper and design it in the form of eyes, apples, wine bottles, keyholes, and, of course, the emblematic beetle. Step by step, different hands by different hands, all 33 lanterns would be completed.
On the day of the parade, I witnessed the culmination of our efforts. The lanterns were vibrant even without their lights, and once we connected their cords to our battery outlets, the colors and character burst forth, illustrating that knowledge glows when it is accessible to everyone. I proudly carried Metamorphosis through Morningside Park and Columbia University, one lantern, one perspective among a parade of many. Morningside Lights was alive, full of chatter and song; thematic music wafted through the air as people talked and listened to book excerpts from our lantern library.
A mother and daughter pair, the strangers who worked on Metamorphosis after my workshop, walked alongside me. The mom told me she was so eager to participate that she had stayed up until midnight to register for the workshops, ensuring she’d get a spot. I agreed, saying I was looking forward to this event since I learned about it during my student orientation week at Columbia. We bonded over Metamorphosis — I started the process of making the lantern and they were the ones who finished it. Now, we would end this journey together: me, carrying Metamorphosis, and them, guiding and cheering me on.
Whenever the ground became too bumpy or the foliage too thick, my two new friends would help me navigate the lantern so that it would not get stuck between the branches. Whenever I got tired and the weight of the wires, paper, and lights chafed my hands, I would look beside me, at the mom and daughter, their wide eyes aglow. I would look ahead of me, at my fellow-lantern carriers and the undulating flock of color and light. I would look around me, at the Columbia students, Morningside Heights residents, and beyond, who joined the parade, drawn in not just by the pretty lights but by the covers of books they recognized, loved, and cherished. Reinvigorated, I would tighten my grip on the stick supporting Metamorphosis and walk with renewed determination in my steps.
Defending the freedom to read may be difficult. It may be heavier than a lantern and darker than a cloudy city night. It may have foes scarier than entrapping branches and trickier than uneven ground. Yet as a community, our efforts and the light of our lanterns and our stories shine brighter than these problems combined. My lantern’s glow did not waver and neither did we. From Metamorphosis to The Collected Poems of Robert Frost to Frog and Toad and more, we reaffirmed our dedication not only to these stories but to each other and our freedom to read.
From the bottom of Morningside Park, we steadily made our way up to the procession’s final stop: Columbia’s College Walk, where we were welcomed by people who carried their homemade lanterns in camaraderie. As we waited for each of our open books to be called, I felt it fitting that I was carrying my light of knowledge into Columbia, the campus I was beginning to call home.
“Metamorphosis by Kafka!” At last, it was my turn, but I was never alone. From gluing white tissue paper on Metamorphosis with my high school friends to enjoying the company of the mother and daughter pair, Morningside Lights has allowed me to sustain old friendships and create new ones. As I stepped onto College Walk, the mother and daughter danced along with me, the beetle, a glittering invertebrate star right above us. We smiled, we laughed, and we gasped at how amazing it was that we got to participate in this great tradition. This was our first Morningside Lights, with the promise of more to come.
Because of this experience, I was inspired to read Metamorphosis. “Would you love me if I was a bug?” had an entirely different meaning as I progressed through the story. I finally understood the design elements of the lantern, but more importantly, the reason why Metamorphosis was chosen as one of the open books in the first place. I was moved by the way Kafka transformed a mundane event, like waking up in the morning, into an absurd and heartbreaking allegory of life, family, and responsibility. Without Morningside Lights, I may not have ever read Metamorphosis. Without the accessibility and the promotion of these stories, I would not be able to explore the full potential of my freedom to read and the endless limits of my curiosity.
Before returning the Metamorphosis lantern to its storage unit, I looked around for the final time, at the students, teachers, friends, and strangers that surrounded me. In our individual capacities, we were readers, artists, writers, lantern-makers, and potential freedom-to-read fighters. There was warmth and energy in the air, channeled by the magic of these lanterns, whose light, cultivated by our collective learning and love, would never leave us even after we unplugged the cord. Beyond these paper lanterns, the open books carried lights of knowledge themselves — a glow that deserves to be protected, elevated, and shared with all. In this moment, ensconced by the beauty of the lanterns, the wonder of the community, and the preciousness of these stories, I realized that it does indeed take a village to create, celebrate art, and champion our right to read.
