Denmark is a place for dreamers. Thanks to Hans Christian Andersen, the Little Mermaid is the unofficial symbol of the country. Walt Disney realized his modern-day fantasy when he saw Tivoli—the second oldest theme park in the world—and decided to create his own paradise. In 1971 a group of hippies said no to government and yes to self-government—and their commune Freetown Christiania is still standing today. And perhaps most unbelievable, a friend once told me that he doesn’t mind paying taxes, because their healthcare system actually works. Of course, it would make sense that the Copenhagen is home to “The Black Diamond,” a library that not only lives up to its whimsical nickname, but embraces the country’s egalitarianism in a wholly unique way, making it the latest selection for The Daily Beast’s monthly series, The World’s Most Beautiful Libraries.
Located on the banks of Slotsholmen island, a quick walk from the city center, The Royal Danish Library’s (or “Det Kongelige Bibliotek”) eye-catching design has become a calling card for the Schmidt Hammer Lassen Architectural firm, who spearheaded the extension in 1999. The black marble and glass façade really does gleam like a gem in the rare (albeit welcome) Nordic sun, earning the building its playful moniker. Meanwhile, the sharply angled outer-walls, and wraparound ground-floor windows give it the appearance of a floating treasure chest. And while the comparison is a bit on the nose, it’s worth noting that it absolutely does contain treasure.
But being that we’re in Scandinavia, it’s a jewel designed to be used by the people. The library’s airy eight-story atrium, auditorium, photography museum, and coffee shop all point to a building meant to act as a cultural third place. And certainly, it’s regularly used by locals, eager to spread out and read the paper, the unhoused population who can discreetly stash their belongings in lockers for the day, and tourists who can mingle and grab a snack with the illusion that they’ve passed undetected into Danish society. (They haven’t, but given that it’s Denmark, no one is going to tell them otherwise.)
However, as indicated by both its name, and the history of most European institutions, The Royal Library was founded in 1648 by King Frederik III as a private holding. It wasn’t until 1793 when the public was invited to share in that impressive repository of knowledge. Emphasis on impressive. As Uffe Paulsen, library communications director explains, by a Danish law created in 1697, if you publish anything, you have to give two copies to the library archives. Literally anything—even today they maintain a collection that ranges from Danish literature to junk mail advertisements.
“It’s kind of a little curious,” he says. “But the idea is to preserve the most complete spectrum of things from our time. We don’t only preserve what’s considered high value now, we preserve everything, because what we consider trivial now can be really valuable later with information about how we live right now.”
It’s a philosophy that has left its mark on the building. Yes, they are concerned with moving forward, but not at the risk of erasing their past. The “diamond” exterior usually steals all the press. But located right behind the glittery black exterior, connected via skybridge is the older section of the library, originally built in 1906 by Hans Jørgen Holm. While the newer section is a testament to modern Scandinavian design (clean lines, they got ’em—particularly when admired from the top of dizzyingly slanted elevators), the older section feels like a cathedral to knowledge.
The original façade arch was protected, its flowers and vines now acting as a visual and thematic divider between the old and new sections. Designed after Charlemagne’s palace chapel in the Aachen Cathedral, down to the immaculately manicured back gardens, the wing is imposing. Study rooms featuring high vaulted ceilings and dark wood desks scream “house of learning.” (Or given that the library merged with University of Copenhagen in 1989, whispers “stressed out students studying for final exams.”) Despite digitization of records, painstakingly typed in by hand, one of the study rooms even has a card catalog, with entries that date back to the early 1990s—because let’s face it, history is cool.
But that brings up the record scratch realization—despite owning an estimated 300 kilometers of books, almost none of the collection is housed in the main facilities. Instead, as standards increase for book preservation, The Royal Danish library has been slowly moving their collection to various, temperature-controlled storage locations across the city, with the promise anyone who requests a book can pick it up at the information desk in the gift shop a day later.
It’s a bittersweet feeling to watch workers clear books from a stunning, multi-level storage room, one complete with stately columns and a sweeping spiral staircase. But given The Royal Danish Library’s mandate for preserving the past, I’m assured that within a few years, the room will host a secondary café, preserving as much of the original architecture as possible in the process.
But what remains of the collection in the main building is spectacular. The Royal Danish Library is home to one of Northern Europe’s largest collections of rare books and manuscripts. Given the library’s goal of making knowledge accessible to those who might not be history buffs and professional researchers, a proportion of those books is on permanent display. That includes books recognized by UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register (Paulsen seems genuinely confused when I mention displaying rare books isn’t always a standard practice at other libraries. “That defeats the purpose!”).
As a visitor, some of the holdings I have the pleasure of seeing on display include correspondence of Hans Christian Andersen, a Gutenberg Bible, and Guamán Poma de Ayala’s El Primer Nueva Coronica y Buen Gobiernos, which features over 400 full-page drawings of South American birds, and attracts local amateur ornithologists when a new page is turned every few months.
Egalitarian, yes. Even visitors without a library card can enjoy these notable books. But as we leave, Paulsen needlessly apologizes for not allowing visitors to actually touch the books. I just laugh. Somehow, amidst all this perceived perfection, and quantifiable functionality, it’s nice to know that there’s still room for dreams.