'I hear that those new people have decided to have books in their library,’ remarked Edith Wharton disdainfully. That put-down, from an eminent novelist and book lover who was also a wealthy member of upper-class New York society, was delivered without ambiguity in the 1920s. The ‘new people’ were using books as interior decoration. They would never disturb the display of handsome volumes in their unused library by taking one from the shelf. Could they even read? Probably not, Wharton thought: they had been too busy making money.

Today, Wharton’s words no longer carry the same dismissive meaning. It is indeed possible to have a library without books in it, assuming that the definition of a book involves paper and print. We have e-books and talking books. Last time I looked around the magnificent domed Reading Room at the State Library of Victoria, most of the readers were intent on their screens. Today’s joys, which include Trove and other digitised sources, have changed the scholar’s world, and mostly for the better. There are losses – the serendipity of finding a misplaced or unknown document might be one. Touching the original of a letter, even with a gloved hand, brings its writer closer. Another loss is the diminished companionship in a Manuscripts Room. But does anyone really want to be an internet Luddite?

There needn’t be a choice. As well as the newer ways of transmission, the book in its traditional form still flourishes. There are books in the National Library of Australia, as always. The Library now celebrates fifty years as a publisher with the remarkable story of Alec Bolton, the first director of its publishing program.