While other kids watched cartoons, Times columnist James Marriott would spend his school holidays in bed with piles of books – “a mammoth effort of attention, perhaps the greatest I ever made” – under the spell of his father, a teacher who inculcated in him a literary zeal “not exactly common in the north of England in the early 2000s”.
Twenty-five years on, Marriott fears smartphones have all but killed reading for everyone. He had to get rid of his own – “George Eliot is no match” – and now, watching the rest of us scroll, he worries not only that we will lose the ability to appreciate Middlemarch, but that we risk falling prey to tyrants and anti-vaxxers forging “a world very different to the one we have known … mystical, tribal and autocratic”.
