Why I Always Spend Some Time at Bookplate in the National Library

Whenever I visit a new place, I like to see its library, and libraries often have cafés of their own. I do not go only to inspect the architecture. I sit down and find out whether the space allows me to read, work or simply remain there for a while. The library at Shenzhen Civic Centre is imposing and visually striking, but for me it is not particularly suited to sustained reading or study. I find it difficult to keep my attention on the book in front of me. I have never been certain whether the reason is noise, lighting or the unusually open field of vision. That experience taught me that a beautiful library and a library that supports concentration are not necessarily the same thing.

Bookplate, on the ground floor of the National Library of Australia, does not demand attention in the same way, yet I have visited it countless times. Whenever I go to the Library, I generally sit there for a while, read, or open my computer and do some work. It is not merely a shop attached to the institution. It forms a transition between reading, working and resting.

The quiet inside the National Library has left a strong impression on me. On one occasion, I was looking through a book from the shelves. When I turned around, I discovered a group of primary school children standing behind me with their teacher. They were very close, yet I had not heard them arrive. The children were clearly behaving with care, but the fact that an entire school group could remain almost imperceptible also showed how effectively the space and its rules sustain quiet. After some time in the reading room, I often return to Bookplate to experience a moderate level of sound again. It retains the Library’s cultural atmosphere without requiring the same degree of silence.

Bookplate interior. Image source: National Library of Australia.

Three areas and three states of attention

Bookplate extends across three connected areas. The interior sits beside floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows designed by Leonard French. The National Library building opened in 1968 and was designed by Walter Bunning with T. E. O’Mahony. The windows belong to the original artistic scheme rather than being decorative additions made for the café. Bookplate therefore occupies the materials, light and scale of the Library itself. The Library’s own account of Bookplate also emphasises its place within the modernist building.

In winter, I generally try to sit inside. The room can sometimes be quite noisy with voices, but it does not feel disorderly. It has the full atmosphere of a well-used public place. When I need to read or work on my computer, I often switch on the noise-cancelling function of my headphones and let the conversations and movement of people remain in the background. From what I have observed over many visits, older customers form a noticeable part of the clientele. People meet, eat and talk, while some arrive with books or computers. It feels like a public sitting room inside a national cultural institution.

The second area is in the Library foyer, where customers can take their food and coffee to a designated group of tables. When I sit there, it is usually not to work or read but to experience the setting itself. People move through the foyer frequently. Adults sometimes pass with children, and occasionally a child runs a few steps even though running is not permitted inside. What I value is the moderate background sound and the small, continual changes within my field of vision. The space does not demand sustained concentration, but it keeps me aware that I am inside a public library that is actively being used.

In warmer weather, I prefer the broad terrace on the northern side of the building, reached through a rear or side door. The Library calls it Ex Libris. It overlooks Lake Burley Griffin and the Patrick White Lawns. In summer I sometimes become more focused there than I am indoors, while my thinking also feels more open. The lake, lawn, sky and changing temperature all enter the process of reading and working.

The terrace faces the lake and is particularly attractive in warmer weather. Image source: National Library of Australia.

My choice among these three areas is not determined only by the weather. Sound, colour, temperature, smell and the movement of people can gradually alter our state even when we are not consciously attending to them. A familiar Chinese saying holds that people come alive through movement, while trees die when moved. I understand this to mean that we need signals from changing surroundings. The stimulation need not be strong, but some minimum frequency and density of change should remain, perhaps especially in later life. An unchanging residential-care environment and a severely restricted range of activity may contribute to some people becoming quieter and less responsive, although changes in personality and cognition have many causes and cannot be reduced to the environment alone. Research at least indicates associations between a wider daily life-space, engaging environmental stimulation, cognitive condition and lower apathy. For me, moving between Bookplate’s interior, foyer and terrace is a small but continuing way of adjusting my environment.

The people in the café and its connection with the Library

There are plenty of younger people reading and studying in the Library, but they tend to gather in the more open public area on the lower ground floor, where there is also a very small café called Paperplate. Downstairs feels more like a shared study space used by younger people working on computers. Upstairs, Bookplate combines reading, meeting, conversation and eating. I rarely remain downstairs for long because the mobile signal has consistently been poor in my experience, and the air does not feel as comfortable to me as it does upstairs. I do sometimes go there simply to spend a little time among the younger crowd and experience the atmosphere of study. That contrast makes Bookplate’s age profile and pace more noticeable.

Bookplate does not draw only from the reading rooms. In a deliberately humorous description, the Library’s website says that one might encounter writers, scholars, Treasury officials, foreign emissaries, graduate students with laptops and lobbyists visiting during parliamentary sitting weeks. This is not a customer survey, but it captures Bookplate’s unusual position within the Parliamentary Triangle. The Library’s 2024–25 figures record 388,422 onsite visits, including 172,567 reading-room visits and 93,046 gallery visits. These are not Bookplate customer numbers, but readers, researchers, exhibition visitors, event participants and people working nearby do meet there. Friends of the National Library also receive a 20 per cent discount at Bookplate and Paperplate, bringing the cafés directly into the Library’s membership system.

The menu is not especially expensive. According to the official winter 2026 menu, a small latte, flat white or cappuccino costs AUD 5 and a large one AUD 6. Espresso is AUD 4.50 and an iced latte AUD 6.50. Toasted banana bread costs AUD 9, the bacon-and-egg roll and eggs prepared to order are both AUD 16, and Eggs Benedict is AUD 24. Lunch is generally between AUD 16 and AUD 25. A 10 per cent Sunday surcharge and a 15 per cent public-holiday surcharge apply, and the menu changes seasonally. Bookplate opens from 8.30 am to 4 pm on weekdays and from 9 am to 4 pm on weekends and public holidays. On weekdays, it opens before the Main Reading Room.

Across from the café is the National Library Bookshop. It is small, but it does not sell only books. Alongside Australian titles, the Library’s own publications, fiction, non-fiction and children’s books, its official Gifts section includes calendars, diaries, cards, stationery, clothing and jewellery, homewares, prints, puzzles, games, souvenirs and tea towels. Much of this material remains connected to reading, Australian culture, images and design. The shop extends the Library’s content into everyday objects.

The National Library Bookshop opposite Bookplate. Image source: National Library of Australia.

I can remain in near silence in the reading room, then move to Bookplate for a moderate level of human sound. I can sit in the foyer and watch people pass, or move out to the terrace in warmer weather and allow my field of vision to open completely. After coffee, I can browse in the bookshop before returning to reading or work. Bookplate is no longer simply a café attached to the Library for me. It has become part of the way I use the institution. Its distinction lies neither in a particular cup of coffee nor in a ranking, but in the distance it maintains between reading, public life and environmental change.