Is post-literacy really coming? Anne Rooney

 

One of my children wanted to learn to read so that she could navigate the menus on the computer to load the game she liked (Zoombinis) and read the captions and instructions. That wouldn't be necessary now. It would be clicking on an icon and listening to the audio. Even ten years ago, when kids were already spending too much time on screens, they were still reading and writing. Now they watch short-form video and leave voice notes. A recent article in The Atlantic proclaimed the end of literacy.  Are we nearly there yet?

Around 2,500 years ago, Socrates (according to Plato) bemoaned the advent of literacy as corrosive to our memories: “[reading] will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves.” He was right, but literacy, on the whole, was a good thing for society. (And we wouldn't have known what Socrate thought without it.) Literacy has been a source of power for two millennia. In societies where only a few can read, they dominate  as they control the flow of information (and misinformation). Today, audio and video communication have l given that power to everyone with a smart phone. Democratising the power to spread misinformation is of doubtful value, but at least we can now all find three ways to put on our eyeliner or clear a blocked drain without the aggro of having to read. 

So far, children still have to learn to read and write, though the reading they are set becomes ever briefer and less challenging. For decades we have seen children complain that they don't need to learn arithmetic as they can use a calculator. How long before they say they don't need to read and write because everything either is or can be audio/visual? And what does that mean for children's writers and children's books? 

Picture books are rooted in oral tradition. They use word play, often rhyme, alliteration, repetition and musicality just as oral storytellers and poets have done for millennia. And to the recipient (the child) they are orally delivered, read by an adult or older sibling. Picture books are already giving children the tools they need to live in an oral culture. As authors and parents, we hope the pleasure they get from hearing picture books will prompt them to want to learn to read, to be able to repeat their pleasure whenever they want, without the assistance of a reading adult.

Many adults read very little, taking audio books, movies, TV, online video and music as their principal sources of both entertainment and information. But somone has to write all those still, at least for now. AI can produce derivative slop, but nothing wholly original, so it will all get increasingly samey as it feeds on itself (this is model collapse in AI jargon). It's unlikely everyone will be content with slop so there should be some market for thoughtful creativity still. And no one can write who does not read.

But the outcome of writing is not just articulating what you think, it's working out what you think. Socrates could, no doubt, work out his thoughts using spoken language, but I don't think we could do that now — precisely because the ability to record things, either in writing or digitally, has eroded those skills we once had.  The human brain hasn't changed in 2,500 years, though. We could still develop those skills from infancy if we lived in an environment where it was necessary. And perhaps our descendants will again, after the apocalpyse when they can't read or write or have any access to digital repositories of information. For now, though, it's important to nurture the skills and pleasures of reading and writing. In the worst-case scenario, those children who grow up reading and writing when others don't will be those with power and knowledge. It's our books they will have been reading. What they read will show them how to think and suggest what they should think. We need to make our books count because the future of the world depends on them. — literally. No pressure, then.

And maybe it's time to re-read Ong's Orality and Literacy (1982)...

Anne Rooney 

website

Coming soon: Science Museum Space Annual 2027, published August 2026 

 

 

 

 

USING FOLKLORE IN MODERN CHILDREN'S STORIES by Sharon Tregenza

 I think folklore is an absolute gift to children's authors. The more I dip into it, the more wonderful stories come to light sparking ideas galore for new books.  Where else can you find so many ghosts, witches, giants and mermaids. 

Dragging these tales into the modern world is an interesting exercise in itself. Think of a giant struggling with an iphone, a mermaid having to deal with plastic pollution and a witch going viral with her TikTok dance. 

Old myths and legends feel fresh when they're transported into modern life. It also works well for creating a strong sense of place - mysterious caves, dangerous cliffs and creepy woods. All luscious stuff. 

The issues and themes haven't changed. I can look for the the greed, the courage and the kindness and they're all there. Just a twist of time here, and an update there, and before you know it you got a fun, scary story that everyone will enjoy.

* The illustrations I've used here are the artwork of Caitlin Turner. I bought these cards on my latest trip to Cornwall. I found them scary but beautiful.

Email: sharontregenza@gmail.com

www.sharontregenza.com

Members' News July

Congratulations to all Scattered Authors with books out this month. There's lots for younger children here, nicely timed for summer reading.

Animagicals: Noah's Bear, by Paula Harrison, illustrated by Erwin Madrid

Book two in Paula's magical series published by Nosy Crow, follows the adventures of children who can turn into animals.

Noah loves changing into a bear! He’s sure it’s the animal he’s destined to be. So why do his friends at Wild Haven School say he should choose something else? A mysterious magic brings a terrible storm to the land of Animagia, putting every animal in danger. Noah is determined to help. Can he stay true to himself and prove how great he can be as a bear?

Details here

Tales of the Wild: Animal Families by Alice Harman, illustrated by Becca Hall

Published by Post Wave Children's books, 9th July.

A comic book with five short stories for 5 - 7 year-olds.

In the suburbs, a red fox encourages his cubs to take their first steps towards independence. In Botswana, an elephant matriarch must trust the youngest member of the herd to find water.

This charming collection of five beautifully illustrated stories celebrates the incredible bonds between animal families as they navigate the challenges of survival in the wild. With themes of conservation, climate change and rewilding woven throughout, and non-fiction pages after every story, each tale is as educational as it is heartwarming.

Alice Harman's warm storytelling pairs perfectly with Becca Hall's adorable illustrations, making this mix of a comic book and picture book a delight for young readers.

Details here

How to Build a Human by Moria Butterfield, illustrated by Clare Elsom

Another in the Builderbot series, published by Ladybird, 2nd July.

Meet the Builderbots – the best building crew in the universe! They can build just about anything.... but can they build a human?

Take a fascinating tour through the incredible body, and discover all the things that make a human – from the weird to the wonderful!

Packed with facts about the human body – from what the tiniest bone in our body is to why we have nostril hairs – this is the perfect book for budding scientists.

Details here.

Leaving the House by Sally Nicholls, illustrated by Ellie Snowdon

The first in a new series, published by Andersen Press, 16th July.

Little bunny brothers Jackson and Harley love to create chaos and fun in the mornings, from superhero playtimes and breakfast mishaps, to wardrobe dilemmas and toothpaste trouble... and not a lot of listening to Mum and Dad. No wonder they are always late to leave the house! Will today be any different?

Details here.

Congratulations all!

If you have any news you'd like to share in the August round-up, please send the details to Claire Fayers

Frogs and Toads by Paul May

On my allotment in Friern Barnet I have an old cast-iron bath. When Friern Hospital closed in 1993 an Italian named Mario laid claim to the bath, and transported it a few hundred metres to the allotment site. The hospital was originally known as Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum and at one time had more than 2000 inmates and hundreds of staff.

There are many Italians who have allotment plots near mine. Many of them arrived after WW2 when the British government was recruiting staff for places like Friern Hospital. Others, like Mario, followed family members or friends who were already here. Mario came from Naples in the early 1960s to work on the hospital's farm. Yes, a farm! On its 75 acres the hospital had extensive workshops, kitchens, recreation grounds, a gasworks and a brewery. It had its own water supply, chapel and cemetery, and even its own railway station. Where once there was farmland, now there is a huge retail park stretching down to the North Circular Road. The hospital also had the longest corridor in Britain and quite a few cast-iron baths, one of which ended up on my allotment.

Source: Wellcome Collection

I took on the allotment in 2016. Half of it was then planted with grapevines which I quickly discovered had been planted by Mario. Apparently at one time the whole plot had been covered with vines. Mario had taken cuttings from a vine belonging to a neighbour of his with the intention of using the grapes to make wine, only to discover that these particular grapes were useless for winemaking. At one time he had cultivated three adjacent plots but now he only had the one next to mine, from which he dispensed horticultural advice to anyone who'd listen, and where he kept a vast collection of stuff that he'd salvaged from skips because it might come in handy one day. He had also salvaged the bath, which was now partly a water store and partly a seat. Mario sat down often because he was really very ill, but he continued coming to the allotment, digging and grumbling and dispensing unasked-for advice despite the efforts of his family to stop him. Looking at his plot, which, despite all the junk he'd collected, was very picturesque, a friend said to me that it could have been anywhere in rural Europe. 

Mario

It was to try to preserve something of that atmosphere that I took over Mario's plot, in addition to my own, after he died in 2019. I cleared all the junk and turned the bath into a pond. I'd already moved the bath once, from my plot to Mario's, but now I had it back again. I moved it to a new location and planted yellow flag iris and marsh marigold. I made a mound so that wildlife could get to the water, but recently I decided that it would be better if the bath was sunk into the ground, so I started clearing it out in order to move it. That was when I found the frogs. They keep themselves to themselves, those frogs. I never see them out and about, but there were at least four in the bath. Hopefully they've all survived their move to a new location.

I like to think that the frogs are like Arnold Lobel's famous Frog. I love the Frog and Toad books and I was delighted to discover, in a children's bookshop in Bologna, that they have been translated into Italian. It's very good fun reading a book like this, one that I could almost recite with my eyes closed, in another language. Toad sounds great in Italian: "Questa casa è un distastro. Ho un sacco di lavore di fare." It's almost better than the English.

And there's a great story for gardeners where Toad's seeds don't seem to be growing and he shouts at them so loudly that Frog tells him he's scaring them and he needs to leave them alone. Mario didn't need to be told how to grow things and he would no doubt have offered slightly scornful advice to Toad. Like most of my allotment neighbours who come from Kurdistan and Italy, Macedonia and Albania, for Mario growing his own food was just something you did, not a lifestyle choice. Perhaps that was why Mario was so keen to offer advice to those he thought were bungling part-timers. The trouble was, there was only one proper way to do things, and that was HIS way. He also ordered me not to cut the grassy path where the oregano was growing. He'd brought it all the way from the hills above Naples, but he really didn't need to worry about losing it because it has seeded itself everywhere. I also have a very fine white-flowered variety of oregano that was brought by another elderly Italian, Giacomo, from his home in Sicily. Giacomo has also since died. 

Most of the Italians are now in their 80s. Half a dozen have died in the ten years since I came to the allotments. But for at least two of them their memory is preserved in the plants that they brought with them from their childhood homes, and that are now flourishing in North London. And the memory of London's most famous lunatic asylum is preserved in a pond in a bath. The asylum was once a byword or perhaps a synonym for lunacy, and even gets a mention in a children's book. "Three cheers for the Hempress of Colney 'atch," jeer the Londoners in The Magician's Nephew when Jadis, escaped from Narnia, proclaims herself Empress.

Oregano from Naples

Oregano from Sicily

The bath in its new location

* There is a famous philosophical article inspired by the Frog and Toad story Cookies entitled Frog and Toad Lose Control by Jeanette Kennett and Michael Smith which is only available via subscription to JSTOR, but there are also numerous discussions of the story online, and if you search hard enough you might even be able to find the mentioned article republished somewhere. I know I did manage to read it once.

Fair Isle Filling the Well - Joan Lennon

Like Penny's post a few days ago JULY - and NO DAY WITHOUT A LINE, I too have been filling the well, though I was taken in the opposite direction and as far from the delights of cities as it's easy to get.

Time on Fair Isle has become an essential part of my year. The big skies and the sea that change by the moment, the weather and the birds and the flowers and the people - photos give just the barest flavour of how vivid a place and an experience it is - images and sensations to feed me and my writing until I can return - next year! 

Joan Lennon website

Joan Lennon Instagram

JULY - and NO DAY WITHOUT A LINE by Penny Dolan

There’s little writing angst with this first of July post, as I am still in a ‘What I did in my Holidays’ kind of mood - so do grab a cup of tea or coffee or whatever and read on.

Over the last four weeks, my life has been unusually blissful,  mainly because, for a few days, we met up – yes, person to person, in real life, in one and the same place – with the lovely people in our family and with time to be with each other: to sit, walk, talk, wander about, be with or away from each other when needed, as well as sharing a few meals together, from simple to splendid. Online contact, when you’re miles and oceans apart, can be fine but this patch of time together, feet on the same ground, was so much better.

The imminent sociability, I felt, meant stepping away from the drama-studio-black ‘uniform’ and becoming a different self for a while. I spent money on showy-off clothes, and I enjoyed wearing those showy-off clothes too because they felt totally necessary for an elegant Afternoon Tea and an important gathering or two. Not my usual life at all, but such very lovely fun. What will you wear? A jade green silk kimono decorated with cranes? How wonderful! A pink and orange over-shirt printed with lemons, oranges, a message across the back and large lobster? Yes, please, and with a smile!

Additionally, there was gadding about. I swanned across to the V&A for the Schiaparelli exhibition, in the company of a friend who knew about seams and fit and tailoring. During the pre and post WWII years, Madam Elsa designed stylish clothes that fitted women’s bodies and lives, adding touches of trademark pink and surrealism. However, Daniel Roseberry, Maison Schiaparelli’s present designer, seemed to me to see bodies as structures underpinning his impressively fantastic designs. Though these outfits would create impact at award ceremonies, on red carpet occasions and for the camera’s glass eye, none, for me, had the practical ease of the original designs. Slightly personally, I noticed that, as well as her richly embroidered jackets and shoe-shaped hats, Elsa went in for rather a lot of black in her designs too, as well as that Dali lobster, of course. Not so unfashionable?

Afterwards, out in the central courtyard, visitors sought ice cream and shadows and young children paddled and splashed in the long sunlit pool. What a delight! How empty and unfriendly that area had been when I first visited the V&A, decades before. What a good thing it is that museums and galleries are more welcoming now!

Another day of gadding took me to Tate Britain and the James McNeill Whistler exhibition. I knew little about JMW, other than his painted ‘Mother’, so how and why had that particular artist (1834-1903) become a ‘name’?

Whistler, an American, had an impact beyond his individual works and paintings: using ‘soupy’ paint and a freer style of brushwork, Whistler created an early impressionistic style of painting. Later, his atmospheric nocturnes of the foggy Thames had a role in bringing French artists to his riverside studio and the Chelsea area. Whistler’s argumentative nature led to rows with once-friends and donors - a sound recording and a video are part of the exhibition - and a controversial libel case against the art critic Ruskin, led to Whistler’s eventual bankruptcy. The kind of personality that creates headlines in the art world.

Art did not seem to make him kind. Whistler insisted an eleven-year-old model pose seventy times for a particular portrait. Now, when I see that painting, I wonder how much that poor girl earned - and must find out. As ever, with exhibitions, you go in and learn more, yet come away knowing too little. But I definitely did not want to carry the exhibition catalogue around with me all weekend. I’ll find out more, somehow, once I’m home.


By contrast, Hurvin Anderson’s huge canvases at Tate Britain brought bright sunlight, dark shadow and vibrant Jamaican foliage into the dark gallery space, some views veiled by bead curtains, painted grids or leaf patterns, all contrasting with the muted tones of his domestic and London shop interiors.

A day or two later, I called into Tate Modern to see Tracey Emin’s retrospective ‘A Second Life’ in real, before-me life. Some of her early items, seen before only as reproductions, were revealed as fabric-based. Her huge posters were large blankets, the bold statements spelt out in blocks of stitched-on felt lettering, and the smaller, mostly hand-written notes and statements sewn individually on to the giant collage. Elsewhere, and close-up, I discovered that the loosely-running lines of some large nude studies were created not by pen or paint, but by runs of black thread stitches. I had not linked Emin to ‘embroidery’ before, but there was stitchery there, among all the pain and rage, part of the impact of her work and personality on the 20C art world.

By way of contrast, my last gadding was a long-promised trip into the Kent countryside, to revisit that most beautiful of places, Sissinghurst Castle Garden. With this year’s weather, the roses were no more than crumpled heads of dry petals but the famous White Garden, full of plants and flowers, was at its ‘very best for years’, or so I overheard. We climbed the narrow stairs, up past Vita Sackville-West’s writing room, to the very top of the Tower and looked out. There was the wide and seemingly still tree-covered Kentish Weald, fading, as if in a story, away into the misty blue distance.

Then, of course, I came back north, and home, filled with a good many memories, and a buzz of questions to follow up. All the gadding about was an apt reminder of the need, in ordinary as well as at special times, to make time and space for the work of ‘filling the well.’
Now, if you have got this far, thank you for reading, and here is the explanation of today’s post’s title. 

The JMW show displayed several of sketch books and quantities of small etchings and prints, making it clear that the artist was in the habit of drawing, of making art constantly, wherever he was. Among his writing, is a phrase that the gallery had on display, high across one wall, almost as an introduction to his philosophy:

‘ NO DAY WITHOUT A LINE ’

The quote is an old one, first recorded by Pliny the Elder about a Greek artist, but the words have since been adopted and adapted by other artists, musicians, writers and more.  To me, the quote could easily be ‘no day without a line of words?’ 

Words - but does that mean writing? Or reading, possibly? Or both?

Whichever, whatever, have fun during July. With a bit of gadding about, too?


Penny Dolan

ps. Writing this post, I suddenly remembered A,S. Byatt’s ‘The Children’s Book’, a huge novel loosely inspired by the troubled family lives of Edith Nesbit and others within the Fabian Society, the Arts and Crafts Movement and the early years of the V&A museum. Must search my shelves! (Pub 2009)

Star by Star Keeps Shining -- Sheena Wilkinson

It hasn't been the jolliest of years, publishing-wise. In 2025 I had two books out within three months -- True Friends at Fernside, and Miss McVey Takes Charge, so it's probably natural that this year should be a time of building things up again. I've always wanted to be a writer contracted to publish a book a year -- that would fit my natural book-producing rhythm very nicely, but so far that's eluded me, and my publishing career looks more like this: 2010, 2012, 2013, 2015 (2); 2017 (2); 2020; 2023; 2024; 2025 (2). (I THINK that adds up to 12!) I suppose, written down, it looks regular enough, but every single one of those books represents a one-book deal, so I have always lived with uncertainty. 

From 10 to 57 ... 

This year has been devoted to editing a book I finished more than a year ago -- when I say finished, I don't mean rough first draft; I mean I THOUGHT it was great! My agent disagreed, I realised she was right, and for months I have been making it a very different and much better book. I love the story and the characters and, on a good day, I know it's as strong as anything I've written, and hopefully better. 

it's taking its time to get right ... 

But not all days are good days. And not all good books are published. And not all good published books sell enough to keep publishers happy. Sometimes we need a wee boost. 

Star by Star, 2017 

My boost came last month thanks to my very first publisher. Little Island have published seven of my books, which means over half my output, and this year they have reissued Star by Star (2017) in a gorgeous new cover, with a brand new foreword from me. I was delighted, of course, and imagined the book would just slip out quietly. After all, though it was always far and away my most successful book, it was first published nine years ago. And sometimes even brand new books come out with very little fanfare at all. 

Star by Star, 2026 

But Star by Star's new edition has had a blog tour and been featured in promotions and a radio interview: the attention has given me that little shot of adrenalin that writers -- or this writer at any rate -- need to keep our spirits up. And it reminded me that readers don't really care how old a book is; they want a good story. 

                                                      

I hope, readers and writers, that something happens this month to give YOU that wee boost -- whatever that might look like for you. May your star keep shining brightly too.