Libraries of the Future
EXPLORATION
Libraries of the Future:
From Present-day Limitations to Future Possibilities
by Flick Kemp
Present knowledge and the access to present knowledge enables the imagining of potential futures: the language we use to frame and describe this knowledge will shape future understandings of both ourselves and our present. One institution designed to provide access to knowledge is the library. Not only do libraries provide a gateway to knowledge – they curate and regulate it. Their categorisations of information and knowledge encapsulate how we categorise the present linguistically, through physical space. Traditionally, this has been written knowledge. However, technology is constantly changing and influencing what forms this information can take. Now, information can be held in videos, images, or audio, and the digital sphere has expanded access to knowledge in all these forms. What role, then, do libraries play in inventing and imagining new futures and deploying language to realise them?
In the words of David Blair, a researcher of language and knowledge organisation, “the process of representing documents for retrieval is fundamentally a linguistic process, and the problem of describing documents for retrieval is, first and foremost, a problem of how language is used.”1 This process of definition and representation is classification, a crucial yet mostly invisible area of librarianship. By organising information in specific ways, the library and the librarian draw and create attachments and associations between items. This structure, often unacknowledged by visitors to the library, orients people within their social and informational landscape. Classification structures, thus, implicitly shape futures: they create value judgements and priorities between areas of knowledge, and, in a physical space, these structures mobilise or restrict potential connections between information.
However, there is a problem with categorisation systems in place; they are unable to help everyone find the information they need. As a librarian, I find this frustrating and sometimes disheartening. The information environment has changed. People’s information needs have outgrown the past. How can libraries better support the imagining of futures if they cannot adequately reflect the present? Traditional classification schemes, such as the Dewey Decimal System, were designed for the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first. Despite work to update and broaden it, the Dewey System remains encumbered by historical notions of society and antiquated values.
Furthermore, not everyone has the access to libraries and knowledge that I have and not everyone with the same access will have the same experience of the knowledge found. As a child, my experience of libraries was one of expansion and escape: I borrowed and read to imagine alternate futures for myself, to enter other worlds where more felt possible. Libraries have empowered me; they have given me a voice and a method of expression and self-actualisation that I could not find elsewhere. Through libraries, I have engaged with ideas foreign to me, people different than me, and learned things that have shaped who I am. Now, libraries are very much a part of my present as I work towards a career in librarianship. I want, in part, to offer future generations – the unknown public – the opportunity for imagination that I found in libraries. Yet, the more I’ve interacted with and integrated myself into these spaces, the more I have noticed their limitations. The categories things are put into, the systems that they operate within, are all designed to uphold the past.
The current systems of categorisation classify items based on prior notions of discipline and related-ness and serve as voices of authority within the library. These systems were primarily developed by white men in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The historic privilege these systems were afforded can still be seen in their broad application to different disciplines: a classic example of this impact in modern libraries is the relegation of all non-Christian faiths to the 299’s in the Dewey Decimal System. As a finding aid, it is certainly helpful to only look in one place, but the values tacitly endorsed by classification schemes shape who is welcomed and how ideas are discussed. Efforts to change these schemes are often long and slow processes, which build on the crumbling foundations of the old rather than fully rejecting them.
A related issue is literary warrant: the justification of cataloguing terms based on published works held by, or available to, the library or cataloguer. Through this system, the collection is described using the natural language of the collection itself. This is useful – to a point. In relying on the available collection, literary warrant focuses heavily on past publications; the more something is said, the greater its literary warrant. Thus, new ideas which are not widely discussed are not represented in the classification schemes more commonly used. Further, it raises the question: what does one do when published literature is wrong or doesn’t fully encapsulate modern understanding? New frames of knowledge, if they do not meet the threshold for literary warrant, are described through existing language, which limits the potential for transformation and innovation. Even if a new concept meets the threshold for literary warrant, this must be proven and approved by the body in control of the vocabulary scheme.
Suffice to say, libraries have expanded beyond books in recent decades. While they have always been sources of knowledge, their function is changing, especially with the advent of the internet. The niche that libraries fill in society is now one of community and social support as well as reading and learning. This shift toward a more social institution is not entirely through the will of librarians. As austerity measures and shifting political priorities have shuttered social services, those in need have turned to public libraries as safe havens, as places to access the resources and care that they need. This shift has been reflected across different library sectors to varying degrees. Given that a library’s position within its community has become more politicised, it is imperative that those of us within this space acknowledge the implicit politics of libraries. Primarily, I take issue with the language of organisation. While there is no perfect organisation for library materials, the systems in place now harbour bias and limit the imagination of futures. The people who frequent libraries will adopt, even if subconsciously, the ideas presented.
The potential for error in the implicit politics of libraries is rooted in the subjective associations between resources. On the face of it, sorting by subject makes sense: it is simple and effective. At the same time, however, it restricts the possibilities of interdisciplinary learning. When each type of subject is set in its own area, the materials do not intermingle. This issue is compounded by the magnitude of work needed to update materials once classification systems change. We know that classification systems must change, but to consider the magnitude of that change is overwhelming and stops people, in many cases, from trying. I do not blame librarians, who are often overworked and asked to provide more and more for their respective communities. But just because change feels impossible, that doesn’t mean it is. Recently, the Te Awe Library in Wellington, New Zealand piloted a new classification scheme based on the Te Ao Māori classification system.2 Instead of using Dewey, items are classified using Māori atua (Māori gods). This brings the library collection into closer community with the land and the Indigenous knowledge of its people. This makes doubly clear the lack of innovation and imagination within traditional classification systems, which restricts collections, and ossifies biases into perpetuity.
Beyond the materials a library houses, they have, as I have intimated, become a ‘third space’; a space for community, for discourse, for support. There is great potential for crafting new narratives and creating new futures, but the constraints of the institutional structure cannot be ignored. When some people are excluded from their community, when some voices are not given space within a library, the possible futures are limited. While I have found freedom and empowerment in libraries, I have also been in many ways reflected in the library’s collection and patronage. My ethnic and socioeconomic background has afforded me the privilege of being considered ‘normal’ (i.e. of being near the white male standard that Western society produces and promotes). Where I found belonging and community, others find only isolation and othering. Libraries have expanded my worldview and support the continued knowledge and learning of their communities, but they work within the values and expectations of the social fabric. Ideas beyond this fabric are not easily available here.
The unspoken is left unsaid because there is no formal space to say it. I am very proud to be part of the librarianship community, to work and learn among people who I believe want to help and support their communities and make learning accessible and understandable. This is all the more important now as information becomes harder and harder to dissect and interpret. Still, the shortcomings of libraries as an institution frustrate me. Despite the push from within to move forward, to adopt flexible modes of thought and give the community greater access and visibility, progress is slow.
I strive for systems of classification centred around accessibility and equity. I think modelling information around Indigenous knowledge and the environment could foster greater community. Conversations have begun, though change is slow. As I work toward equitable access and community, I also keep in mind how the structures of information sharing have altered past ways of adaptation. Learning from community helps librarians discover what is needed and is central to the ethos of the public library. Communities must also be brought into conversations about change, to allow the discomfort of the new to offer truly future oriented results. Likewise, public libraries must recognise the pressures of profit that modern capitalism places on all endeavours. This is perhaps the greatest source of discomfort in change, as profit reduces community to a numerical output. New concepts and perspectives may shake these foundations and break the restrictions of the present, allowing the future to grow.
Ultimately, perhaps what I believe should be progress is not progress at all. Perhaps the future of libraries is something different altogether. I hope, whatever happens, that libraries continue to exist as a gateway to knowledge and a gateway to imagination, that through dialogue a new future opens up for libraries, and the people who need them. The past cannot be escaped, but I hope that future imaginations can moderate it to create a more equitable and flexible method of communal knowledge and support.
FLICK KEMP is a UCL student in the M.A. Library and Information Studies programme. He has been in and around libraries his entire life, and is currently researching how cataloguing impacts the use of library materials. In his spare time, he likes reading outside (in fair weather), crafting, and baking bread.
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Edited by JOSH WEEKS
Proofreading by FLORA SAGERS
Lead image by Metin Ozer via Unsplash.
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