Katy Guest: Who ever heard of a librarian who didn't say 'Sssshhh'?

It is a spectacularly bad piece of timing by those whose job should be to spin these things: just as the sexy librarian look finally became popular, the role of the classic librarian as we know and love it is being ruthlessly compromised. News has emerged from the Society of Chief Librarians – an organisation consisting largely of strict-looking middle-aged women in Sarah Palin spectacles who are all concealing frankly mind-boggling collections of saucy underwear in their (colour-coded, alphabetised) closets – and it is not happy.

Unfortunately (for those who like that kind of thing), the Society confirmed last week that what has long been feared is finally to happen. Libraries are ditching their traditional image, it said. Gone are the strict rules, the atmosphere of quiet apprehension and the enigmatic silence. Gone is the smell of books and ill-disguised sexual tension. Gone, too, are the stern women in tweed pencil skirts and 1950s seamed stockings who were wont to murmur, "Shhhhh!" A lifestyle, real or imagined, has been lost.

The revamp is being carried out because the number of people who visit libraries is in freefall, according to the Society. The number of books borrowed in the past 10 years has fallen by 34 per cent. Forty libraries across Britain have closed in the past year alone.

The figures do not record how many happy hours in the past 10 years have been spent in quiet contemplation of literature and life; nor do they reflect the soul-enhancing nature of a solitary sojourn among the mysteries of the Dewey Decimal System. Understandably, the Society of Chief Librarians is interested in the bottom line. And it seems that the bottom line is about to hit rock bottom.

The solution to this deeply troubling problem is simple, say the experts. Instead of the perusal of fusty James Pattersons and an awed hush, libraries are to encourage eating and drinking. Computer terminals will continue to replace moth-eaten armchairs and snowdrifts of old newspaper copy on microfiche. There is even a suggestion that patrons will be permitted to watch football matches. "It is all about improving the atmosphere," said Mike Clarke, head of libraries at Camden Council in north London, last week. "We want to make them into a more relaxed space that people can feel more comfortable in." He added, with breathtaking audacity: "I don't feel that they have to be totally silent."

Those in favour of this radical proposal cite the example of Hillingdon, west London, where book borrowing rose by 32 per cent after the council introduced a Starbucks café into one of its main libraries. The chain will expand into all 17 of its libraries over the next year. Much as when a dodgy old boozer is tarted up and transformed into a trendy gastropub with genuine leather seating, visitors to the all-new Hillingdon libraries are likely to find two lost-looking old men somewhere in the reference section, wondering what happened to the banquette by the window. At least one of them will be almost indistinguishable from Philip Larkin.

How sad that libraries must always have an eye on the red column. What a happy world this would be if they were saved for the nation: repositories of fantasy, myth and unbroken silence. If Sarah Palin is unsuccessful in the American election, perhaps she will find a role for herself in the echoing halls of Hillingdon and Camden. That is, if she could be trusted to run a fiction aisle.