February 27, 2025 - 1:30pm

The National Literacy Trust has sparked quite the controversy with its proposal that audiobooks be introduced into the school curriculum. The suggestion follows the finding that among children between the ages of eight and 18, increasing numbers report listening to audiobooks for pleasure even as the numbers who report reading for pleasure heads south. Is this, as some think, a sign that the barbarians are at the gates?

Here, we need to make an analytical distinction between two things. One is reading for literary pleasure and appreciation. The other is reading with a view to acquiring skill in the written language, or literacy. The two obviously feed into one another in a benevolent feedback loop. Skill in the second thing unlocks pleasure in the first; pleasure in the first thing is what will drive young readers to decode ever more sophisticated texts and find themselves learning, along the way, how to spell “syzygy” or use a semicolon.

But they are nonetheless different things. So when it comes to introducing audiobooks alongside the dead-tree sort into the curriculum, we should be firm: as well as, brilliant; instead of, madness.

Our personal encounters with literature are oral before they are written, given that listening to bedtime stories is where it all begins. The foundation stone for a lifetime of reading is being read to. And, of course, human encounters with literature were oral before they were written: at the fountainhead of all storytelling are the folktales, myths and legends whose archetypal patterns are to be found in even the most sophisticated literary novels of today.

More than that, the sound of language in literary texts — what in prose we call cadence — is arguably the most important part of what makes them beautiful. When we talk about “good writing”, we usually mean that it sounds right. That applies just as much when you read silently as when you read aloud. The bits of your brain associated with hearing light up, neurologists tell us, even when you aren’t moving your lips.

So why on earth should we be so short-sighted, so short-memoried, as to sneer at listening to texts rather than reading them? Homer, Shakespeare and Milton (though the latter, admittedly, didn’t have a choice) all composed for the ear rather than the eye. Teachers can incorporate audiobooks into the curriculum without “dumbing down” lessons. Pupils’ enjoyment and understanding of The Waste Land will be greatly enhanced by listening to Alec Guinness read it, for instance.

But written language matters, too. Unlike the rules of spoken English, which we pick up automatically just by wandering about in the world and owning ears, the rules of any written language are artificial conventions that must be painstakingly learned. Children will learn very little about how to spell and punctuate if their only encounter with books is through an Audible subscription. Being formally taught those things at school helps; but what reinforces this teaching is working through the countless millions of well-formed sentences that you will encounter if you read a lot of books. And, until AI renders human writing entirely redundant, the ability to compose and decode Standard Written English is one that puts you at a huge advantage in the world.

Here, the NLT is right to be optimistic. Being read to has always helped lead children to reading for themselves, not least because it assuages that thirst for storytelling which seems to be wired into the species. There’s no reason to suppose that the process doesn’t continue. Children’s love of stories has always jumped from platform to platform — the stage, the page, the radio, the screen, the playground, even video games — and these needn’t be considered to be in competition: more often, they are mutually reinforcing. Indeed, according to the NLT’s survey of 37,000 children, well over a third of pupils reported that enjoying audiobooks sparked an interest in reading.

Why wouldn’t it? If you take pleasure in, say, listening to Stephen Fry read Harry Potter in the car, you know that the books contain something worth having. And sooner or later, you are likely to notice that with a print book you can take in the good stuff much faster with your eyes than you can with your ears. This is, after all, the generation that watches YouTube at 1.5x speed so everyone sounds like Alvin and the Chipmunks. They may be in a hurry now, but they’ll get there.


Sam Leith is literary editor of The Spectator. His latest book is The Haunted Wood: A History of Childhood Reading.
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