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Roula Khalaf, editor-in-chief of the FT, selects her favorite stories in this weekly newsletter.
The writer is the author of fiction, cookbooks and poetry anthologies. Her the latest book is “The Dinner Table,” a collection of culinary writings
This week’s National Literacy Trust statistics make for unfortunate reading: unhappy reading, of course, is the problem in question. Two thirds of children in the UK don’t read for pleasure; four out of five people do not read daily. This is the largest year-on-year decline in reading enjoyment on record. It’s hard not to feel depressed: as someone who has written children’s books, is a serious volunteer librarian, and reads almost constantly, it’s quite depressing to feel part of a condemned culture.
It’s also kind of depressing, honestly, because the books are so cool. We talk a lot about the importance of reading as a skill or stage of development; we put a lot of emphasis on books about nutrition and education, a kind of literary approach to literature that makes books (much like green vegetables) seem less delicious than they are. I don’t think we’re good enough at sharing books as a source of joy.
The observation is clear: children who like to read read daily; kids who don’t, don’t do it. Children who like to read find reading easier; kids who don’t, don’t do it.
Adults no longer read for pleasure either, or at least, much less than before. Half do not read regularly, if at all. And yet, the majority of adults surveyed want to read. There are books, specific books, that they would actively like to read. They just don’t have timee. The book should replace something else in their time. If it cannot replace harsh realities, it better replace small comforts. And who would trade a known and easy comfort – TV, for example, or endless doom scrolling – for the gamble of a book?
Only someone who already loved reading would do this; just someone who didn’t already feel intimidated by it all. And listen: if the adults are overworked and tired, isn’t the same true for their offspring?
How much time is allocated for the average child to sit and read? How much space is created during the school day? If a caregiver works late, who reads to the child? There is a correlation between children who need free school meals and children who do not read for pleasure: when money is tight, time almost always is too.
If books are to have a central place in our lives, we must give them a central place. Libraries, for example, are open and welcoming, with electrical outlets and places to have a good coffee. Houses full of books and parents who have time to read. Schools with well-stocked shelves and cozy nooks to snuggle up in. Imaginative teachers who have time to tell stories. Good stories and good books, published with an eye toward what kids really want and who they really are, rather than adult ideals and adult fame.
I sometimes worry that the children’s books that get the most attention are the ones that kids don’t really like: the kinds of books that are easy for kids to write about because their brains are small and the font is big. The books are short! How difficult can it be? As someone who writes for both adults and children, I can tell you that children’s books are much more difficult – if you do it right. How can we convey, in words understood by an average six-year-old child, the truth, the beauty and the horror of this world? How can we forge this vital, mysterious and passionate bond between the writer and the reader when half the space must contain images?
And if you don’t do that – all of that – how can you expect children to understand the good in books? This is what writing is and what reading should be. Choose good books: really good books, those that make you tremble, laugh and cry real tears. Choose books that look like lightning. Read them to your children. Read them yourself. Free up space to read wherever you can and fight for libraries wherever you go.
(Oh, and turn off your phone. But you already knew that.)
