The young are bringing new life to libraries, in a very Gen Z way

Ihave been working in the British Library a lot recently, and let me tell you: it’s buzzing. Despite falling victim to a massive cyber attack in October (from which its online systems have not yet fully recovered, and which is expected to cost the library around £7 million), the place has an almost festive atmosphere.

In the public areas, open to non-members, every desk and chair and bench is taken. The demographic is a diversity officer’s dream: multiracial, pan-gender and, most noticeably, young.

This, it turns out, is not just a testament to the scholarly resources on offer. It’s because young people, to everyone’s amazement, love libraries. A recent survey in the US found that Gen Z-ers and Millennials visit libraries more often than their parents or grandparents. Even among those who “don’t identify as readers” (now there’s a phrase packed with zeitgeist), roughly a quarter visit a library at least once a year.

Teenagers love libraries because they are safe, comfortable, free and – as my 11-year-old would say – “aesthetic”. This means they look good in the background of an Instagram post or Tiktok video. (At least, the old and grand ones do. The underfunded local library, with its primary colours and chipped plastic veneers, not so much.)

The children of the internet get a fetishistic kick from certain “real world” objects and experiences. A library – a physical place stacked with old books and populated by actual humans – is so materially rich it borders on sensory overload. It’s also a great place to meet people. If you’re both young and in a library, chances are you have similar interests. The scholarly hush adds to the frisson: you have to flirt with your eyes, and pass notes.

And then, too, there are the books. Gen Z are turning out to be big readers, especially of paper books. Even though, or perhaps because, they have in their pockets the most limitlessly distracting gadgets ever invented, many are deliberately choosing to pick up a piece of 15th-century technology instead. They like the fact that books are selfcontained and require concentration.

There is, sometimes, a whiff of nostalgic cos-play in the way young people read. In New York, for example, the latest Tiktok-fuelled craze is reading with strangers in bars. You have to buy a ticket in advance, and then you all gather at some hip venue and sit in silence for 30 minutes, reading whatever book you’ve brought along. Like an expensive version of going to the library, except that afterwards you all have a drink and talk about books.

The very thought of it makes me writhe uncomfortably, but that’s because I’m a child of the 1970s and 80s. To me, reading is a private pleasure, whereas screens – TV or cinema – are social. I did once, in a fit of aspirational parenting, introduce a “family reading hour”, during which my husband and children were obliged to join me at the fireside for some silent reading. It could not have felt more performative if we had dressed up in top hats and crinolines.

But still, I applaud these young readers – for knowing what is good for them, for seeking out human connection, for finding the beauty and pleasure in old institutions, and for bringing new life to the library.