The sight of empty and disassembled bookshelves leaves me demoralized every time I climb McLennan Library’s seemingly endless central staircase. The removal of 2.38 million books and other physical media from McGill’s downtown campus represents a distressing overcorrection of the library’s notorious lack of seating, threatening students’ free and accessible access to information and turning our libraries into glorified internet cafes (minus the pastries and coffee).
The transfer of around 60 per cent of McGill’s physical collection to an automated 4,200 square metre off-site facility was carried out alongside the ambitious Fiat Lux Project, which aimed to “create a new central Library complex dramatically reconfigured to suit modern users.” Announced in 2019 as part of the bicentennial ‘Master Plan’ to wholly revitalize McGill’s campuses, Fiat Lux promised to “more than double available seating” in a newly incorporated McLennan-Redpath Library.
But Fiat Lux — Latin for ‘let there be light’ — was prematurely snuffed out when McGill President and Vice-Chancellor Deep Saini announced, in a September 2024 Senate meeting, that the administration had reached the “painful decision” to suspend the $33 million project. Saini attributed recent project cuts, including the termination of Fiat Lux, to the Quebec government’s decision to significantly increase tuition for out-of-province students. This decision has decreased overall enrollment revenue and helped balloon the university’s deficit, from a projected $15 million in the 2025 fiscal year to a staggering projected $45 million in the 2026 fiscal year. In early February of this year, McGill released a statement tersely reflecting on the Quebec government’s actions: “It has taken more than two centuries to build this world-renowned university, but just over a year for these decisions to harm it deeply.”
During the aforementioned Senate meeting, McGill Librarian and Senator David Greene inquired whether or not the Fiat Lux project was “suspended permanently, or if there was an intention to resume it in the future.” The question was met by a resounding shrug, with Senator Fabrice Labeau responding that “the University would continue exploring options for how to best utilize available space to meet the evolving needs of students and other library users, though there was no timeline for these efforts.” With plans on hold indefinitely, when will the 400,000 books planned for return to a renovated McLennan-Redpath complex be sent back? It doesn’t take a keen eye to see that there aren’t 4,000 books in McLennan, let alone 400,000.
What we’re left with are the remnants of an unfinished vision. Walking slowly down corridors of empty white bookcases as the tube lights above me eerily flicker to life, a sense of loss pervades my thoughts. Not only because the fluorescent blinking reminds me of a haunted house, but because technology continues to push the physical medium towards obsolescence. I’ve been asking myself: “What is a library without books?” It’s a community centre or study hall, but no longer a library. Those naked shelves stand as monuments to a dying age. The physical book had a good run of over 4,000 years anyway, right?
But with threats to internet access, the physical book may be more essential now than ever before. I recently finished reading the book Apple in China by Patrick McGee, chronicling the fascinating and alarming story of how China allowed for the rise of Apple and, perhaps more importantly, how Apple played a pivotal role in the rise of China as the world’s manufacturer. While reading the book, I learned about the erection of China’s so-called ‘Great Firewall,’ which limits and surveils their citizen’s internet access, and Apple’s surrender to the whims of that same authoritarian police state: “…when Beijing called for virtual private networks to be removed from the China App Store, Apple complied, and 674 VPN apps were deleted. This was a massive concession, placing all iPhone users in the country in a splintered-off version of the internet” (298). The playbook is clear: limiting information limits resistance. The internet is not as secure as some believe it to be, even from the institutions we trust with our personal data.
You may say this repression of free speech can’t happen here, but take it from an American abroad: it could. The rise of an anti-informational age at home following the re-election of President Donald Trump, along with increasing book-bans across the country, means that free and easy access to university libraries and their physical contents should be enthusiastically protected. I agree that ample space must be made in our libraries for students, but when does principle overtake practicality? In a world on a collision course with AI, reliable information is soon to become an even more valuable commodity than it already is. Though Fiat Lux was not unreasonable for its promise of increased space, the removal of nearly 2.5 million books from the immediate access of McGill students is a distressing overreach that is only underscored by the project’s failure to proceed.
I came to McGill in 2023, and was one of the last to see the Library before its hollowing. I remember my neck hurting from walking up and down the aisles, stunned at the sheer size of McGill’s collection and proud to be a student here. In the free time that a freshman had, which was plenty, I would sit down and flip through whatever interested me. I miss that.
Though a sleek remodeling is worthwhile in theory, the Fiat Lux approach to separating libraries from their books removes from libraries their very souls. Books are as much a symbol of the appreciation of knowledge as they are an instrument to enhance understanding. A library without its books is a car without wheels: you can sit down, but it won’t take you far.