Step into any good school library and you’ll find something wonderfully unexpected.
This is, of course, assuming that it hasn’t been transformed into a ‘Digital Learning Hub’ featuring six beanbags, a broken 3D printer and a poster claiming that ‘Reading is Lit!’
What you’ll find is teenagers… reading.
We’re talking actual reading. Not swiping. Not scrolling. But reading real books. Big, bewildering, brilliant stories.
If they’re lucky, they’re meeting Gilgamesh: the ancient Mesopotamian king who searched for eternal life and returned with something far rarer – a clue about what it means to be human.
Maybe they’re following Odysseus, the man who took 20 years to get home because he kept upsetting gods and making creative (but unwise) travel decisions – a sort of Homeric Interrailing, but with more monsters and less Wi-Fi.
They may encounter Jesus – not only as a religious figure, but as a radical storyteller whose parables still leave us scratching our heads and shifting in our seats. Love your enemy? Forgive them? He was confusing TikTok long before TikTok existed.
Somewhere, usually just before the pupils sprint for lunch, they may be grappling with the Mahabharata. Gods, warriors, family feuds and the occasional existential meltdown. It’s Shakespeare meets Marvel, via a detour through metaphysics and sibling rivalry.
And then there are the toughest stories of all. Books like Night or The Diary of Anne Frank don’t only teach history; they bear witness to the most testing of times. They force us to remember what happens when we dehumanise others and turn off empathy like a faulty light switch.
So why do these stories matter?
Because they are the toolkit for being human. They help us build moral muscle, emotional intelligence and perfect the fine art of not being a fool. Stories teach us to sit with discomfort, with contradiction, with characters that we don’t always agree with. They slow us down in a world that only wants us to speed up.
And the school library, however humble, is the sanctuary where this alchemy happens.
Chancellor, Rachel Reeves, pledging a library for every primary school by 2029, is the absolute bare minimum that we should be providing.
These literary palaces are where books outlive budgets and where empathy sneaks in between the pages. The National Literacy Trust tells us that when children have access to books, it boosts confidence and wellbeing, alongside academic performance.
In a society chasing data, libraries preserve meaning. Because long after the last exam, what we remember isn’t the worksheet – it’s the story.
It’s also why we’ve heavily invested in a new library at LWC.
Equipping our digital-savvy Gen Zs and Alphas with the latest tech is important, but so is going back to basics and showering them with words that they’re inspired to look up and plot twists that leave them thinking for days.
The journey you’re taken on by the books that line the shelves begins when you climb the steps to reach them. Its lofty position at the heart of the school means you can gaze into a canopy of trees as you leaf through pages (I make no apology for the pun). And it’s green lights all the way for the green light that bathes this space. One can hear the science of health and wellbeing purring in delight. Next steps, pine oil. If only all schools could do the same.
Whether finding a comfortable corner or a wobble stool (yes, really) to perch upon, the space is as inviting as the books themselves and that’s important.
Because it all gets our young people reading.
And that’s a story worth persevering with.
Yours,
Adam
