The connection between collection and connection is a much-discussed topic in Library Journal. A library without a collection is a community centre; the presence of books is what distinguishes the library from other social facilities. Yet for many visitors, books seem to be just a backdrop; they come not for the collection present but to work, play or meet.  

 On a quiet Tuesday evening in my library, I had cleared out all the books, replenished displays and looked for reservations. Plenty of time left to devote to the so-called ‘repair list’. The box was bulging with busted all-time favourites, such as Dummy the Mummy, Minecraft and Gonnie & Gijsje. One book had a single loose page or sometimes even a whole section, another had a flap torn off. It felt good to be able to keep these books for the collection armed with scissors and tape.

How different it was during my previous volunteer shift, when I got to work on the ‘zero list’ of books that are (almost) never borrowed. These books don't need repair because they are hardly ever used. But they do take up shelf space, which is why they are sent to another branch or, in the worst case, written off. My job is to take them out, remove them from the BICAT system, take off the security and label them with big letters: DEPRICIATED. It makes me sad; as if the unloved child is sent out of class, while I give the popular student a plaster. 

Mira Fetiscu will recognise this feeling. In her book ‘“Geheugen, geschiedenis, beschaving: Een lofzang op de bibliotheek” (2022), she makes a plea for collection preservation. According to her, we treat our collections disrespectfully in the Netherlands, and throw away books that are treasured elsewhere. Lending frequency is not an important criterion, she argues; few people read Foucault's work, but that does not mean you throw it in the bin. Still, it is inevitable that some books will be written off, simply because there is no room for the endless stream of new copies, along with the increasing demand for space for events, study spaces and makerspaces. 

Looking around Rotterdam's central library for our research, it is striking how few people browse among the bookshelves. There is a lot of studying, playing games, taking language lessons and asking digital government-related questions. The books seem to be just the backdrop, but not the main reason to visit the library - at best a warehouse where you can pick up reservations. So is the collection becoming less important after all?

As a social geographer, I research important meeting places in the city. Not only the library, but also the marketplace. Although the library and the market differ, there are also some similarities. Both have suffered in recent decades due to declining visitor numbers and lack of (government) support. They are publicly accessible to people from different social, cultural and economic backgrounds. And they are both places where you come primarily for a particular product, such as books or fruit, but can also find something else: social contact. 

Without bread, cheese or vegetables, there is no market; without the presence of traders, there is no interaction with and between visitors. The supply of produce is the prerequisite for the market to function as a meeting place. The same goes for the library: no connection without a collection. Anne van den Dool wrote last April in Bibliotheekblad about the symposium series around collection. Despite the ‘shrinking physical collections and ditto budgets’, there are inspiring examples of ‘community-driven collecting’ where the focus is not on lending figures, but on the wishes of borrowers. We also see this in Rotterdam, where 30% of the collection is put together with Rotterdammers. Collection and connection thus go hand in hand.