It’s hard enough as a parent getting your kids into the habit of reading, but despite my best efforts, I found out the other day that the younger of my sons still hasn’t finished reading my own novel. Apparently he started it – as shown by the bookmark wedged two-thirds of the way through the pages – but it just wasn’t interesting enough for him to make the final sprint to the finish.
I thought I held the greatest reading ace up my sleeve: ‘What, you can’t find anything to read son? Here, Daddy wrote this for you!’ But I was deluding myself. Oh, I’ve made some headway with getting him to read graphic novels (hoping these would up his desired word count to something more substantial), but it’s not worked so far.
He’s fourteen and will be starting to study for his GCSEs next year and I can’t think of a better way for him to prepare than to glut himself on books. Competition is stuff and remorseless though, in the form of Xbox, iPad and football.
But there is one small light on the horizon. He picked up my copy of Lovecraft’s Necronomicon the other day and asked if he could read it. I think it was the faux leather cover and faux gilt mystical symbols that piqued his interest, but I’ll take whatever I can get. If the Elder Gods can succeed where I’ve failed, then so be it. I’ve ordered him his own copy.
Read-along with Cthulhu anyone?