Lisa Nandy is my generation of Labour hacks to a tee. “The best way to honour the dead of the two World Wars is to do an Erasmus year.” Beyond satire. And unchanged in 30 years. As, on Nandy’s Departmental watch, is that of which Yusuf Tamanna writes:
Plans to turn the British Library’s science and social sciences reading rooms into pay-to-use co-working spaces have divided those who use the space. In an email sent on October 21, the historic library in London’s King’s Cross said the decision came in response to the changing ways its reading rooms are used. The email read: ‘We want to reassure you that our commitment to science and social sciences remains as strong as ever,’ adding that it hoped the move would enable the library to ‘generate the necessary revenue to keep our core services free’. Entry into the British Library and reading rooms is currently free. It offers an annual membership at a fee, which gives members access to exhibitions and a private member’s room.
A British Library spokesperson told the Metro: ‘Science and social sciences research services will be preserved and relocated within the Library’s other eight reading rooms, maintaining the same level of specialist support for research and access to the collections. Analysis of daily usage levels across our reading rooms shows that we are still able to accommodate demand within a reduced reading room footprint – even including an anticipated increase in demand once full services are restored.’ The British Library said the co-working space will help foster collaboration between businesses, researchers, entrepreneurs and innovators, and a detailed design of the arrangements will be shared in due course. This is in addition to the development of an extension to the library, which started this summer and is due to open in 2032.
But not everyone is a fan of the plans. A spokesperson for the Public and Commercial Services Union (PCS), which represents British Library staff, said it was ‘deeply concerning’ that a space designated for public research could be repurposed for commercial gain. ‘Our members are deeply concerned about the proposed closure of the science reading rooms and the impact this will have on both the service the library provides and the staff whose jobs, terms and conditions could be affected.’
Academics and scholars have also voiced concerns over the decision. Dr Harvey G Cohen, senior lecturer in cultural and creative industries at King’s College London, said the British Library is a special place in which he has spent months of his life. He now encourages his own students to use it to support their own research.
He told Metro: ‘Removing the reading rooms for business purposes just seems crazy to me. If you drive around central London you’ll find plenty of other co-working spaces that already exist for people to use. If people need to collaborate and network, you can do that without having to take away space from this library that has qualities and resources that you can’t get anywhere else in Europe.’
Cohen understands that budgets are strained, but said funding the library’s future shouldn’t be at the expense of the reading rooms. ‘When you start with taking away a few reading rooms, they’re not going to come back. I’m concerned that the space isn’t being put to the best possible use.’ Georgy Kantor, associate professor of ancient history at the University of Oxford, said on X: ‘This is utterly horrible, but the fault is the government’s for effectively bankrupting a national institution over a hack.’ Cohen believes removing the reading rooms, particularly for science and social sciences, is an insult to the subjects themselves. ‘We have to make sure Britain continues to be one of the top nations for research. To take this away just for business people to be able to do their calls is upsetting.’
A British Library spokesperson said: ‘We have announced a series of changes as part of our Growing Knowledge strategy, a six-year programme to put the British Library on a more sustainable financial footing and ensure it remains accessible, relevant and world-leading for everyone – with core services free to use. As part of this strategy, we will be repurposing our Science and Social Sciences Reading Rooms to create a new flexible workspace. The new space will enable businesses, researchers, entrepreneurs and innovators to work and collaborate at the heart of the Knowledge Quarter, while generating income that can be reinvested in the Library to keep our core services free to users. Detailed design and access arrangements will be shared in due course.’ The spokesperson added that the library would work with an ‘external partner’ to ‘deliver and run the day-to-day operation of the flexible workspaces’.
Lucy Mangan writes:
I should have known. I should have known the minute Andy Burnham announced the launch of a campaign against those who play their music and conversations out loud on public transport (“Share the carriage, not the noise”) and £100 fines, that something would be coming down the pike to obliterate this tiny gain in the quality of my life. And it was the tiniest gain, by the way. There was no information on where the resources with which to confront the offenders – I’d like Swat teams on every train, armed patrols on every bus – or impose the penalties were going to come from but at my time of life, and in the godforsaken year of 2026, even a gesture in the right direction gladdens the heart.
What has arrived to smash this small, fragile piece of happiness and hope to smithereens? Why, it’s the British Library and its declaration that three out of its 11 reading rooms are to be remade into – someone please hold me as I type – “flexible workspaces”. They will be permanently closed to the public and rented out for private use as office space, meeting rooms and hot desks instead. At the moment, the three rooms act as science reading rooms and the rationale for closing them is that science readers and researchers do more of their reading and researching online that those in other disciplines do. User numbers have, we are told, correspondingly dwindled over the last decade. More overarchingly, the British Library’s public funding has declined by about a third in real terms since 2010 and its finances took a brutal hit in 2023 when it was cyber attacked by a ransomware gang. Rebuilding from the technological rubble is thought to have cost £7m so far.
So, it is understandable from a certain point of view that it is time to start sweating those reading room assets. But it’s a very narrow point of view. It’s a very short-termist point of view. It’s a very…managerial point of view. And it’s certainly not one that asks what the point of a national public library is, what it is supposed to provide or what it is supposed to stand for. Most immediately when you pass through its doors, I would argue, a library should offer a quiet space. These are two things in increasingly short supply (especially, of course, in London, where the British Library lives) and they are correspondingly increasingly precious. The modern world is cacophonous and intrusive and we are becoming acclimatised to the idea that this is normal and that it has no effect on us. And yet, the minute you step into a place that does still ban talking out loud, chomping on crisps, listening to music through leaky headphones and all the rest of it, you realise that this is what you have been missing.
This is what is required for the brain truly to rest and then to reflect, to follow up odd thoughts, link stray ideas, dwell on formerly fleeting insights and begin uninterruptedly joining all the weird synaptic firings and misfirings that we call thinking. That’s not a luxury add-on to what’s happening in reading rooms. That’s an integral part of it, and thus an integral part of a library’s business – even if it is not of an instantly profitable kind as far as the bottom line is concerned. Libraries, as many people have pointed out before me, occupy a special place in the social ecosystem and in the collective psyche because they are the closest thing we have ever managed to create to an unadulterated public good. A library is a collection of books is a repository of knowledge is an untrammelled offering of power to anyone who steps through its doors.
Libraries are amongst the last places we have that can be used by absolutely anyone for free; bastions of egalitarianism, a last stand against rampant capitalism – this isn’t romantic hyperbole, this is the truth. And it is what a national library beyond all others, instead of salami-slicing its facilities and selling pieces off, should stand for. Libraries have always had to fight for their status as an uncommercialised public service and should, more than any other institution, understand that once such a service is sold off it rarely, if ever, comes back. We become permanently the poorer.
In a crowded country that is short of public money, any expansive public building that seems underused in any way is vulnerable. Professional critics of state spending can claim taxpayers’ money is being wasted. Managers of the building who are under financial pressure can argue it needs to be used more intensely, perhaps that some spaces should be commercialised and offered for rent. The original open, uncommodified, egalitarian quality of the building can be steadily sliced away.
The British Library in London is in danger of that fate. A huge brick battleship moored on the Euston Road since 1997, it claims to be the largest public building constructed in the UK in the 20th century. Its both forbidding and exhilarating exterior conceals 11 unusually elegant and comfortable reading rooms and one of the world’s most extensive print and digital collections, free to use for anyone who is over 18. Last week, these readers received an email with the subject line, “Transforming your Library”. Next summer, the library would “begin work on repurposing our [three] Science and Social Sciences Reading Rooms to become a flexible workspace … available for hire by workers and businesses for co-working, collaboration and meetings”. The reason given for removing more than a quarter of the library’s much-loved research space was “ensuring we generate the necessary revenue to keep our core services free”.
The library has a current annual budget of about £170m – a third the size of my local London hospital’s – 84% of which comes from the Department for Culture, Media and Sport. The rest is from donations, investments and “charitable and other trading activities”, such as the private parties and ticketed exhibitions already frequently held in the sweeping interior connecting its reading rooms. Even with these multiple income streams, the library’s financial reserves are perilously low – according to its latest accounts – thanks to inflation and austerity, which mean its state funding has in real terms declined to two-thirds of what it was in 2010, and also a devastating cyber-attack in 2023, from which the library has still not fully recovered.
Despite this troubled context, and in some ways because of it, the library’s drastic reading room reduction plan has provoked “outrage” from staff, say the Prospect and Public and Commercial Services (PCS) unions that represent them. Reading room staff understandably fear for their jobs, but also for the building’s fundamental purpose, which was set out by law in 1972 – an indication of how hard the complex was to conceive and build – as “the establishment for the United Kingdom of a national library”. Staff are now “the most furious I’ve ever seen them about anything”, says a union source. A strike over the reading room plan, following one last year over low pay, could begin as soon as December.
Behind this potentially explosive dispute – not least because many well-connected authors, academics and journalists use the library – lurks a big question. In a digital age of decentralised study and dispersed online resources, what is a national library for? During the quarter of a century I’ve been regularly using the library, usually the reading rooms that are now under threat, its hierarchy has been trying to answer that existential question by steadily, not always harmoniously, widening the building’s user base and functions. Reading room passes have been transformed from a rationed credential for a few thousand people with supposedly serious research intentions – though some always ended up snoring at their desks – to something provided in minutes to everyone from elderly amateur family historians to undergraduates, particularly when dissertation deadlines pile up in early summer.
Meanwhile, the library’s lobbies, landings, hallways and outdoor terraces have been lined with hundreds of chairs and tables and turned into study areas, meeting places, cafes and locations for loud laptop video conversations. These are all heavily used: a sign of good, free spaces lacking elsewhere. A “family station” inside the entrance offers play materials, art supplies and reading corners for young children. What Karl Marx, who researched for years in the reading room of the British Museum, precursor to the British Library, would have made of the latter’s invitation this Halloween to “pop in for spooky crafts” and “enjoy a fang-tastic time” is an intriguing question.
I generally like the contrast between the library’s studious and boisterous sides: an antidote to the solitary obsessiveness of research and writing. But there are also tensions between the library’s diverging uses, which its management prefers not to acknowledge – and which the proposed changes would almost certainly worsen. Modern life is noisy, especially in London, and the semi-silence of the long, wood-lined reading rooms, with pages softly turning, keyboards pattering, books being slid on and off shelves, and the odd murmured conversation, is precious and addictive, as the constant influx of new young readers makes obvious. First thing in the morning and last thing in the evening, the rooms are half empty. That will probably be used to argue that fewer are needed. But a half-empty place can be an aid to crucial thinking and concentration. And if the reading rooms become fewer and therefore fuller, then users from outside London, whose taxes also pay for this national library, are less likely to be able to get there in time to grab a desk. In the busiest periods, they already sometimes run out.
The library is straining to cope with its daily crowds. On bad mornings, the entrance queue lasts over half an hour. The toilets are increasingly often out of order. The free lockers are wearing out, partly because of use by travellers from the many stations nearby. And across the reading rooms, a mysterious hissing has been spreading for months, like a kettle that never boils. The library says it is coming from a failing pneumatic ventilation system, and “there is no quick solution”. The library is starting to get old. In 2032, a towering extension, blander than the original building, is due to open. It is already noisily under construction. Last year, Rebecca Lawrence, then the library’s chief executive, who resigned during the strike, said the extension would “open up the Library even further … [for] future generations of visitors, learners, researchers and budding entrepreneurs”. It will not contain new reading rooms. If you find that ominous, you are not alone.
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