At around 5:30 p.m. on a recent Tuesday, the door to the Latino/Hispanic room on the lower level of the San Francisco Main Library rattled as antsy participants turned the locked knob, eager for prime seating at the third installment of Literary Speed Dating. 

True love, after all, could be waiting on the other side of the entryway.

Starting in February, the San Francisco Public Library has doubled as a dating service, holding literary-minded events for singles. There have been three Literary Speed Dating nights thus far, with a fourth happening next week, and every one has a target audience — on this night, attendees were LGBT baby boomers.

Thirteen women and ten men had signed up online in advance, a far cry from the maximum-capacity 36 men and 36 women at the first event. Of the tepid attendance, Karen Sundheim, librarian, and Literary Speed Dating volunteer, could only speculate about the factors —maybe it was the age of the participants, the sexual orientation or perhaps the time of year. 

The event was conceived by librarian Donya Drummond, who wanted to get book-lovers together to see if sparks might fly over literature. Sundheim said that the first events were media mayhem: camera crews showed up, and hopeful daters were turned away for lack of space. There were two events in the inaugural month, one same-sex and one opposite-sex, but both had been geared towards bookworms in their 20s and 30s, and more mature readers wanted in on the action.

Thus, they decided to throw two more nights, on August 2 and 9 for what their press release delicately termed “baby boomers.” The first night was an LGBT night and the second for straight people, but any sexual orientation was welcome to either.

The Literary Speed dates are highly structured: each “date” lasts exactly four minutes and participants are encouraged to talk about literature. When four minutes are up, it’s on to the next. After completing the circuit, each participant writes down the assigned number of each person they’d like to discuss books with more, among other things. If the numbers match, the library emails both daters with contact information. That way, participants aren’t forced into a second, long-form date with the guy who, say, recited Jewel’s poetry from memory. Last time, Drummond said, one lucky gentleman’s number appeared on almost every other participant’s card.

On this night, the room was arranged with chairs facing each other, divided by tables dotted with bright yellow note-cards, pink heart-covered pencils, and Hershey‘s Kisses. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, as Drummond and her crew of librarians — most of whom are not themselves single — prepared a coffee-and-cookie bar at the back of the room, and reviewed the final tally of RSVP’s for the night. “I sent out reminder emails!” is a sentence that was oft repeated.

As the attendees filed in, the mood seemed to be nervous but optimistic; as one of the participants said, “I might meet someone to talk about books with, and then maybe after several years of an unspoken mutual attraction, I’ll end up dating her best friend.”

Down the hall, a presentation on sharks —arguably presenting certain parallels —was about to start.

Most of the participants looked to be of the targeted age, except for one baby-faced boy who appeared not much older than 20 and presumably enjoyed the company of an older gentleman. Participants were asked to bring books that they felt passionately about to discuss with each other. Kathy, a vivacious San Francisco-based minister who didn’t want to give her last name, had two books with her: “Little Women” and “The Complete Idiot's Guide to Ventriloquism”.

And some brought many more works. Christine Chudd, a San Francisco civil servant, took out her Nook, an e-reader which currently contains 55 full-sized books and 150 book samples (the first 60 pages). She notes that it’s only because of the e-reader that she was able to read the entirety of “War and Peace.” Chudd says that she didn’t come to the event to date, but to kindle (or Kindle?) literary connections with like-minded book-lovers.

The ladies’ side seemed more of a conventional book club, as most agreed that they’re looking for literature-lovers first, lover-lovers second. The men, however, were more interested in actual love connections. “I already have a best friend,” one man noted.

The pickings were slimmer on their side though, as only six men showed up, and one begged off early, claiming he’d already had unsuccessful dates with some of the other participants. So much for reminder emails.

The event organizers, in the spirit of fostering chemistry without someone eavesdropping and scribbling into a notebook, did not allow this reporter to actually watch the dates in progress —only spend time with the group before and after the event. But after about an hour, people began to flow out of the room, mostly alone.  A few did walk away together, chatting amiably, if not making out in the halls.

Next week’s opposite-sex dating is already booked solid for women, with only two slots left for men. As for long-term romantic successes, Drummond wasn’t sure, but February’s event definitely ended in at least a few future dates, including a tandem jog over the Golden Gate Bridge for two lucky men.

Even when love was not in the cards, the participants said they were glad they tried out the event. When cornered on his way out, aforementioned baby-faced man, who wished to remain anonymous, admitted that he didn’t notice the event was for people of a certain age. He had brought Alison Bechdel’s “The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For,” and said it was cool to be in a social environment that didn’t involve getting drunk.

He was last seen striking up a conversation with a young man who’d just exited the shark presentation.