Pirates or princesses, the adventures we read as children shape us for life

As the school holidays loom, my own happy memories of the long summer break come to mind: time spent climbing champa trees, embarking on Winnie-the-Pooh-inspired “expotitions” to the North Pole, and taking along CS Lewis’ Narnia books or Ursula K Le Guin’s Earthsea series wherever I roved. If you, like me, had a bookish childhood, it’s likely that reading is a vivid part of your summer memories.

Frank Cottrell-Boyce, the UK’s newly appointed children’s laureate and author of beloved books, from Millions to The Astounding Broccoli Boy, is a passionate advocate of reading for pleasure. “I write children’s books because I think they help build the apparatus of happiness inside us,” he said in his acceptance speech earlier this month. He has called for a nationwide movement to make sure that “every child — from their earliest years — has access to books, reading and the transformative ways in which they improve long-term life chances”.

All my memories of childhood reading, in tree houses, on secluded roofs, sprawled out on the wide lawns of my grandmother’s house, are joyous — books freed my imagination, and gave me a sense of control over part of my world. But for this generation of children, finding the time and the right books to read is a serious challenge. Only 14 per cent of middle-grade children in the US read for fun any more, according to a 2023 report by the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP). A major survey by the UK’s National Literacy Trust, published in September, showed that 56 per cent of children and young people aged eight to 18 don’t enjoy reading in their free time, an “all-time low statistic”. 

In January, Diana Gerald, CEO of BookTrust, a UK reading charity, together with a line-up of past children’s literature laureates, from Sir Michael Morpurgo to Malorie Blackman, and others published an open letter urging government investment in early years reading. “The cost-of-living crisis is tipping more families into poverty,” they wrote. “It is vital to recognise that children who read regularly are more likely to overcome disadvantage.”

In The Anxious Generation, published this spring, American social psychologist Jonathan Haidt confirms many fears for those children who have transitioned from a “play-based” childhood to a “phone-based” childhood in a phenomenon he calls “The Great Rewiring” — one that he associates with a range of mental health issues. Haidt suggests simple but radical reforms including no smartphones before high school, no social media before the age of 16, and more time spent on unsupervised play.

That, to my mind, is also a call for a return to reading, not as a niche activity, but as an essential part of growing up. If access to books is increasingly limited, with library closures widening the equality gap, the single biggest challenge for parents, librarians and schools is this: how do you make reading attractive to children?

In our large, often rambunctious Kolkata family, there were two constants: everyone from my parents to my grandmothers and uncles read books, in English, Bengali or French, according to preference, and left them scattered everywhere. They would also read stories aloud to my cousins and me, and we were invited to join in. I became a bookworm because stories were passed around as family fun.

I write children’s books because I think they help build the apparatus of happiness inside us

Cottrell-Boyce insists that reading must be a joyous activity: “I think reading for pleasure is the most important thing you can pass on because it so fortifies you as an adult. Nothing to do with education, nothing to do with being creative but to do with being ALIVE!” For other children, reading can be a way of “escaping the world”. Katherine Rundell, author of modern classics such as Rooftoppers and The Explorer suggests that in difficult times “you draw the people you love closer and the things you love closer and for me that was books”.

Multiple studies suggest a clear pathway: give children access to books, whether at home or in school libraries and bookshops. Make time to read with your children, possibly a regular screen-free family reading hour where everyone gets to act out their favourite bits. 

I’d add that rather than a set list of classics, encourage children to try newer authors they might love. For instance, this year, Sean Taylor’s When Dinosaurs Walked the Earth refreshes the dino subgenre with a rousing tale about Smallasaurus, who likes eating plants, and Badasaurus and Worseasaurus, who like eating . . . dinosaurs-who-like-eating-plants. Angie Morgan’s lovely I Really, Really Don’t Like Parties, about Dora who prefers to sit quietly in trees, is perfect for introverts; How to Write a Poem, by Kwame Alexander, Deanna Nikaido and Melissa Sweet, is fabulous for word nerds and creative kids. 

But these are only suggestions. My beloved nieces and nephews have taught me that where I loved pirates, they might prefer princesses, or that Toad, Ratty and Mole from Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows might be cherished by one and leave another yawning in boredom. Hide their smartphones but let them choose their own books, and make their own, lifelong reading memories.

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