Well, we’ve done it, haven’t we? The American people have spoken, and it turns out they’d like a bit more of the uniquely Trumpian cocktail: part nostalgic-longing for a past that never existed; part chaos; part a love of people with remarkably small hands; and part straight anger; all doused liberally in a bucket of theocratic authoritarianism. But what does this mean for the world of books, libraries, and the culture they support? Spoiler: it’s not looking good.
The alarm bells are already ringing, and they sound suspiciously like the clattering of shuttering library doors. As detailed in a sobering analysis from the good folks at EveryLibrary, the consequences of a second Trump term could be “devastating” for libraries nationwide. This isn’t a hypothetical. This is the man who once said he doesn’t read books because he has “a good brain” and prefers “television.” Who needs the literary canon when you have Fox News chyron writers doing all the heavy lifting?
Libraries on the frontline of the culture war
Libraries, as EveryLibrary also warns, are poised to become battlegrounds in a re-energized censorship crusade. The book bans that have swept through states like Texas and Florida are only the tip of the iceberg. A Trump 2.0 administration, emboldened by a new conservative mandate, is likely to supercharge these efforts. And yes, we’re talking about literal book bans here. This isn’t some 20th-century dystopia. This is 2024, where banning Maus is apparently less controversial than not standing for the national anthem at a high school football game.
According to an article in School Library Journal, the implications for school libraries are especially grim. A recent report outlined how a second Trump term could embolden state legislatures to escalate their attacks on curricula that even vaguely acknowledge the existence of racism, gender, or any book where a female character dares to have thoughts. If this all feels a bit Handmaid’s Tale-meets-Vanilla-Ice, that’s because it is.
Reading between the lines
Meanwhile, over at King’s College London, academics are doing their level best to channel calm professionalism in the face of impending doom. Their recent report diplomatically warns that Trump’s re-election could “challenge the autonomy of cultural and educational institutions,” which is a very polite way of saying “watch out, librarians, the pitchforks are coming.”
But let’s not forget that books are not just cultural artefacts; they’re economic ones. The publishing world isn’t immune to political tumult, as Artnet highlights in their analysis of Trump’s impact on the broader creative industries. Expect publishers to feel the heat as bookshops come under scrutiny for the “woke agenda” of stocking titles like To Kill a Mockingbird or anything with a rainbow on the cover.
The end of knowledge as we know it?
All this isn’t just bad news for libraries; it’s bad news for democracy. Libraries aren’t just places where kids go to avoid their parents for a couple of hours. They’re hubs of free thought, access to information, and civic engagement. Eroding them erodes everything else along with it. As EveryLibrary bluntly puts it: “The library is the last place where everyone is equal.” It’s hard not to feel that this is exactly why they’re under attack.
Final chapter?
In the end, the irony is almost too much to bear. Trump, a man famously allergic to reading, could do more to shape the future of books than any author, publisher, or librarian alive. It’s as though we’re living in some avant-garde satire, except nobody’s laughing. So here we are, facing four more years of what might charitably be described as the world’s longest, least-funny performance art piece. If you need me, I’ll be in the library. Assuming it’s still open.
About the author of this post
Eleanor Sharp is a London-based writer and aspiring journalist interested in modern politics. With a degree in politics and a love for all things bibliophilic, she writes extensively on the intersection of culture, education, and societal change. Eleanor is as likely to be found waxing lyrical about forgotten Victorian novels as she is dissecting the latest political firestorm. When she’s not writing, she’s usually losing herself in a dusty second-hand bookshop or championing her local library in increasingly heated town hall meetings.
nothing in the rulebook 
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