It’s St George’s Day, therefore it is Shakespeare’s birthday, therefore it is World Book Day. (And any tedious people who insist ackshually it’s been moved to March because mumble mumble can expect to eaten by bears like the little boys who mocked the prophet Elisha)

I have been on something of a spree of book-buying of late, after a long pause. Mostly old books. The Collector. Ripley Under Ground. A 1930s Short History of Religions. A 1960s translation of Spanish histories of the conquest of Peru. An Oxford History of Magic. Some of this is research for a writing project. But a lot of it is resurgent intellectual curiosity. Perhaps spurred by my recent discovery that literacy collapsed in the Roman Empire in the 200s, and never recovered thereafter; yet another reason for the decline and fall. Is literacy collapsing now? Yes. Obviously. The New York Times doesn’t know what NATO stands for. The SAT exams had a reading comprehension passage that was 24 words long and had as one of the answers literally the same words in the same order as in the passage.
What is going on? Smartphones. Social media. Collapsing attention spans. The decline of publishing. Terrible reading material. Semi-literacy (as Moore McDowell famously described his students twenty years ago) finally metastasised into actual functional illiteracy. I was writing recently about my editing of a Classic Novels section for the University Observer back in the halcyon days of 2004/5. Dune, Master and Commander, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Right Ho, Jeeves, Gormenghast, The Naked and the Dead, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas – such titles. Such setpieces: Paul Atreides placing his hand in the Gom Jabbar, Gussie Fink-Nottle’s inebriated prizegiving speech at Market Snodsbury Grammar School, Raoul Duke attempting to drop Dr Gonzo off at the very steps of his airplane, the stream of consciousness of a falling whale. Imagine if in secondary school such books were taught. Fun? Never!
To paraphrase GK Chesterton, writers that pen jokes are not taken seriously, even though crafting jokes is far harder than dashing out thoughtless, empty solemnity.




