It’s a perennial debate, isn’t it? The function and purpose of the public library: an active ingredient in the library press of the last hundred years. The present book is a condensed testimony to our obsession with a problem that is seductive and intractable. Alistair Black, an industrious and zealous practitioner, has produced a dossier summarising British library history from a position which could be described as idiosyncratic. In short, this is an histoire à thèse, the thesis explained in his own words thus: “a core theme of the book is the interface between the public library and the Self.” Now, to introduce a philosophical concept like “The Self” into the mundane world of public library practice and policy is to skate on thin ice. Pragmatic colleagues might view this with derision; the more reflective might welcome a little metaphysics but might conclude that such a stance begs many questions. Nevertheless the result is a fast‐moving narrative written with vigour and conviction, a late twentieth century witness to our condition. How does Black go about his mission?
He is a sociologist at heart, emphasising that his interest is in the public library as a social product within time; hence he is not concerned to write what he calls “a techno‐bureaucratic history” – presumably a dig at other specimens of library history with which our progress is littered. We will return to this later. Meanwhile he reveals his debt to his five main sources: the PRO (government dealings with the public library movement); the records of the Carnegie United Kingdom Trust; the news‐cuttings collection, the Library Association; Mass Observation archives; and – a surprising one – the career of William Benson Thorne, Librarian of Poplar 1902‐1942. These abundant authorities supply him with the materials for a mosaic of references and citations, as the notes to each chapter testify: chapter 1 (Introduction), a mere ten pages, elicits 40 notes; Chapter 2, 180; Chapter 3, 218; Chapter 4, 194; Chapter 5, 151; Chapter 6, 140. The consequence is a non‐stop cataract of views, opinions, reports, propaganda and controversy which succinctly expresses the spirit of the five stages of history covered: the First World War; the inter‐war years; the Second World War; the post‐war years; and the last, computerised, quarter of the century. But then the Self intrudes. The question is, does it need to?
In essence Black is engaged with the theme of modernity; for him public libraries mirror many of the characteristics of modernity: a liberal desire for progress, self realisation, freedom of thought, reaction against stale custom, although respectful of tradition. Further, the public library has been “a spiritual haven for soul and self.” Yet clearly the same institution is a social construct, communally funded, a place for social interaction. It serves both self (with a small “s”) and society. His message seems to be that we need to keep the self, as he puts it, “at the very heart of the public library philosophy.” But then, didn’t we always recognise that? How could it be otherwise as long as it is individuals who form the queues at the library counter? In his last page he urges us to become more socially aware: “Public librarians need to be sociologists as much as technicians.” This is a familiar credo: even in the dizzying world of the Web it holds true, but what may puzzle readers of this well‐documented book is, what new attitude of mind is he advocating? His final, rhetorical sentence does little to dispel the suspicion that he is simply dressing an idea that has been common in library circles for a century, in new clothes: “ … to resurrect the true, radical essence of its philosophy” which is, he says, “the enhancement and emancipation of the self within the context of progress and social justice.” Expressed in a variety of different ways (consult any set of library periodicals since about 1900) the same vision will be found. The only novel spin Black applies to it is his doubt about the notion of “community”, which he feels could be a slogan used to condone complacency, even conservatism. That is a challenging view, but he hardly attempts to validate it, merely asserting it as a donnée.
A breezy self‐confidence blows through the pages, a welcome change from the conventional tone of library chroniclers, but is his method really very different from his predecessors? The answer, with some reservations, is yes. Of course, he is bound by the same chronological frame, but within that constraint he finds – even despite some strain – a fresh viewpoint. Where his illustrious predecessor Thomas Kelly (A History of Public Libraries in Great Britain 1845‐1975) is prescriptive and descriptive, Black is thematic. Kelly did make one important point in his exhaustive work, namely that “The heart of a library history is not to be found in its more general aspects such as the growth of legislation or the development of library techniques. Rather it is to be sought in the often highly individual histories of the hundreds of individual libraries.” He went on to say that he “tried to tell the story in a way which will be of interest to the social historian.” That emphasis on individuality may well have given Black his hint about the “Self”, though in Black’s case it is the individual person, not merely the individual library, which counts. The existential “Self” was a notion fashionable in the 1940s: it’s curious but refreshing to see it revived.
This is an enlivening read, even for those of us familiar with the terrain, and for the younger generation it might still be a revelation.
