BILL MACNAUGHT

Lifelong librarian

Bill Macnaught’s favourite books are a set of 1930s Encyclopaedia Britannica that sat in his father’s study, which he’s kept since he was a kid. Back then, an encyclopaedia was basically the world’s knowledge on a shelf, says the outgoing National Librarian of nine years. ‘‘It’s kind of the microcosm of the public library, which in turn is a microcosm of the world’s libraries put together.’’

Born in Stirling, central Scotland, in 1951, and educated at the University of Strathclyde and University of St Andrews, Macnaught says it was when he left there that he decided to become a librarian. ‘‘What’s that – 47 years, I think, working in the field of librarianship continuously.’’

Starting in his hometown at the public library, Macnaught, now 69, says he had no great career ambitions then – ‘‘You certainly don’t go into libraries to make lots of money.’’ But he did have a lingering curiosity about all aspects of human knowledge. He supposes he did become more ambitious through the years, spending 14 years at Gateshead Council, in northeast England, as director of libraries and arts, and later head of cultural development.

In the 1980s Gateshead was primarily a working-class town on the southern bank of the River Tyne. It was experimenting with technology to improve the lives of its residents, including a home shopping and information service in partnership with supermarket chain Tesco. People were wanting information about the coal miners’ strikes, but because it was so expensive to come into town, the system allowed residents to go to their local library and place shopping orders, which would also give them access to strike information.

While most public libraries in Britain were using technology to support businesses and research, Gateshead was using it for the benefit of ordinary people. ‘‘I’ve been following breakthroughs and thinking about how we can apply this to get information to the people at large. The democratisation of knowledge is the phrase that captures what gets me out of bed in the morning,’’ he says.

As arts director, Macnaught built Gateshead Council something of a name for putting sculptures in public places, perhaps the most controversial of which was Antony Gormley’s 20-metre-high Angel of the North, with a wingspan of a jumbo jet.

While it’s now an iconic piece, many at the time questioned the council’s spending. But councillors committed to it after Macnaught sold it to them, believing it would be good for Gateshead. They were proved right when The Sunday Times ran it on its front cover as a symbol of the millennium, with the caption ‘‘Farewell to the 20th Century’’. ‘‘One or two had doubts, but they trusted me as an officer,’’ Macnaught says.

Later he secured about £43 million in funding to convert a flour mill into an arts centre (the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art), and persuaded the council to construct a new concert hall, designed by Sir Norman Foster. The argument was that, through cultural investment, there would be economic rejuvenation of the run-down parts of the town, and neighbouring Newcastle upon Tyne.

With the hall, the art centre and the Angel of the North, and more arts lotteries funding coming to Gateshead, a serious bid began, in consort with Newcastle, to become one of the annual European capitals of culture. It ultimately lost out to Liverpool, in 2008, but Macnaught was able to see public recognition of culture as locals rallied behind the bid. ‘‘They were proud of the angel, proud of what was happening with the Baltic.’’

Having Gateshead’s captains of industry, teachers, and prime minister Tony Blair acknowledge the case for a knowledge economy was something Macnaught brought to New Zealand with him in 2005. To foster a knowledge economy, there has to be a recognition of the importance of reading, he says. ‘‘It’s feeding the brain – fiction and non-fiction. In your brain, you’re making connections with something you’re reading today and something five, 10, 20 years ago. Very little innovation comes out of the blue. It’s usually connecting ideas and knowledge in your head.’’

His first encounter with New Zealand was in 2001, when he came to visit his niece, who had married a Kiwi. Macnaught was lying on a beach in Abel Tasman National Park during summer and thought he could get used to the lifestyle.

He secured an interview with New Plymouth District Council, flew out, was offered the job, accepted it, and met the governor-general at lunch while visiting the council. That same day was the opening of Womad, and he saw Helen Clark, then prime minister, on stage. Richie Havens, who was the opening act at Woodstock, was playing as he phoned home to tell his wife they’d be moving.

From 2005 to 2011 Macnaught was manager of New Plymouth’s Puke Ariki museum and library. He then became National Librarian, a position charged with setting the direction of the National Library.

In his time at the library, he helped install the permanent He Tohu exhibition, which displays the country’s founding documents, and led a modernisation of the Services to Schools programme.

Through all his work sits a thread of the importance of reading, and getting children reading for pleasure. ‘‘The reaction you tend to get is, ‘Who’s stopping them?’ But most people in government would not be in those jobs if they weren’t good at reading in the first place.’’

Illiteracy is a hidden problem, Macnaught says. ‘‘Reading is something to invest in. If you want a strong society, being able to read is fundamental to a democracy in the sense of holding the government to account. Archives holds the record [of government]. But if only half the population can read it, how strong a democracy is that?’’

‘‘Reading is something to invest in.’’

Macnaught has seen the library transform in his years there – every change in minister brings subtle changes in priorities for the department as a whole, he says. Tracey Martin, internal affairs minister in the last government, was passionate about getting kids reading, while current minister Jan Tinetti – a former school principal – also understands that importance, he says.

But given the size of the department, other matters also need attention. ‘‘It’s not helpful to suggest the library should always be top of the list. If you’ve got an emergency, people aren’t reassured by ‘Let me through, I’m a librarian’.’’

Perception is the key to prosperity for any library service, he says. If politicians or decision-makers don’t see the value, they won’t invest. ‘‘It’s our job to help them understand that value.’’

On the controversial cull of the Overseas Published Collection, Macnaught says the library hasn’t been great at communicating what it’s doing, why it’s doing it, ‘‘and why that’s OK’’. ‘‘You do something and suddenly you get a reaction from people who demonstrate they really, really care what’s happening to the library, and it’s great that people do care.

‘‘It’s not an attack on democracy or sharing knowledge. It’s the library being focused on where we need to invest our time and money to get the best outcomes for New Zealand.’’

The library has also seen a huge shift towards digitisation, and is working on initiatives to improve systems that require people to physically travel to Wellington to view specific items.

He foresees more such work over the next decade. ‘‘They’re all big discussions, and they will determine our ability to make knowledge easily accessible.

‘‘We’re working on the basis that it’s good for . . . as many New Zealanders as possible to have as much access as possible to as much knowledge as possible.’’

Macnaught is succeeded by Rachel Esson, who was appointed from within the library, having previously served as director for content services.