Why libraries still matter in a digital world

In the late 1990s, primary school teacher Antonio La Cava grew ​alarmed that students in his home region of Basilicata, in southern Italy, felt no connection with the books that had shaped his own youth.
To change that, he teamed up with a local craftsman to transform a three-wheeled delivery van into 'Bibliomotocarro,' a mobile library that could reach kids living in the most remote corners ‌of Basilicata. Since 1999, La Cava - who retired in 2010 after four decades as a teacher - has driven the light-blue van dubbed 'Italy’s smallest library' by Italian media across hills and farmland for over 300,000 kilometres in Basilicata and in the nearby regions.
After meeting children outside a library in the town of Moliterno, the 80-year-old La Cava tells of his dreams of a Bibliomotocarro running around each province of Italy, where reading rates are lower than the European average, and inspiring the next generation of librarians.
What is the importance of libraries in a world that is growing increasingly digital?
It has always been important to read. Today, it's even more so with artificial intelligence and the new mass media, which are extremely useful. But they cannot replace books and their charm. We need to strengthen our ​identity now. And we can do it through the best of these means: studying, reading, delving deeper.
The number of book readers is low in Italy, especially in the south. What can be done to reverse this ‌trend? I still expect the higher authorities - the ministries of Education and of Culture - to foster an approach to the world of reading which, as we know, is a world that no one can do without. I used to go to San Paolo Albanese, the smallest town in Basilicata, just to bring books to two children, a little brother and sister. I travelled more than 100 km there and, of course, back again.
Why did you choose the three-wheeled van? It is small, slow and not so comfortable.
I chose it precisely because of ‌that. Books needed to be 'unsettled.' Let's not forget that for decades, for centuries, culture was said not to be for ‍everyone. In Italy, culture was always on the upper (classes). 'Dear books, ‌leave your high and noble shelves,' I said. And I placed them on modest shelves on a humble three-wheeler. Books and culture needed to become for everyone and of everyone - a ‍tool of cultural growth for all the people.
How many towns have you visited? And what was your longest trip?
I have visited 121 out of 131 towns in Basilicata, where I am usually invited by schools or local authorities. I have lent hundreds of books, and I usually return once a month to the villages where I have to pick them up. My longest trip was to Naples, a few years ago. It ⁠took 11 hours.
Have you noticed changes in interest and reading habits over the past 30 years?
At the level of early childhood, there's an increase: They read more. But then there's a phenomenon around 13-14 years of age, (when) they start to say, 'I'm not a child anymore - do I still have to read?' And this is very, very worrying.
Inside the Bibliomotocarro, there is a space where children can sit to watch short films inspired by books. (It’s) like a home, a refuge. When we get home after a rough day, the first thing we do is sigh with relief: 'I'm safe.' And that's the message: The book is a shelter. The most borrowed titles are 'Geronimo Stilton' (the Italian children’s book series by Elisabetta Dami) and the classics, like 'David Copperfield' and 'Twenty Thousand Leagues ⁠Under the Seas.'
So you offer short films, books to read. Anything about writing?
Among our activities there's one that's particularly evocative and useful: the white books, which are books made up of stories written by children from different towns. ⁠A story begins in one town and then, when they return, the white books end up in the hands of a child from another little town, who may read that story and decide to continue it. It is an ⁠itinerant writing workshop, but above ‍all (it’s) a ‌remarkable opportunity to (write) about oneself. I always say to parents and teachers: watch out for children's loneliness. Those white books really help to overcome this problem of loneliness, because when a child writes a text and knows that children in other towns will read it, that's somewhat gratifying.
What are your favourite books? What was the first you read?
My first book was 'Fontamara' by Ignazio Silone, which I didn't take from a library or a bookshop, but from the Bibliobus (or mobile library), a past initiative of the provincial school boards, which in a way inspired the Bibliomotocarro. I remember that when I took it, I brought it home pressed ‌to my chest, and with my child's imagination I thought: 'This came just for me.' And it's a scene I see again whenever I watch children in these villages taking their books.
Would you tell us about the best and the worst moments you have experienced since you started driving the Bibliomotocarro?
I have received honours from more than one Italian president of the Republic. But my greatest satisfaction is in the encounter with the children. You realise it is worth getting up at 6 am and setting out with a vehicle that sometimes has trouble starting. But the beginning was difficult. The first 12-13 years of the Bibliomotocarro carried on in a solitude that was bitter and painful. Then there was a 56-second appearance on state broadcaster Rai and that gave me visibility.
What do you hope to leave as the Bibliomotocarro's legacy?
I'm in contact with juvenile detention institute where there are 17 detained youths. I'll meet four, to whom ‍I'll present the Bibliomotocarro's activities. All four of these youths, or one of the four, will become my assistants when I go to schools. I won't be alone. I'll be with a guest from the juvenile institute. My dream is that this young person who is now there, in the institute, could be the future driver of the Bibliomotocarro.
The perspectives expressed in Culture Current are the subject’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Reuters News.