I'm an adult who has stopped reading and I'm horrified.

ITwo wise men had similar messages when it came to the subject of children. “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” said one. “I believe that children are our future. Teach them well and let them show the way,” said the other. The first was Jesus, the second, Whitney Houston. Ten points to Gryffindor if you guessed both correctly.

Normally I wouldn't quote Eighties ballads and the New Testament so flippantly, but in this case I feel compelled to do so, because some very worrying news has come to light: half of UK adults no longer read regularly, according to a new survey by the Reading Agency. And the only bright spot I see on the horizon is that the younger generation could still change things.

In some ways, I don't even blame the adults involved. After the initial shock of seeing those figures, which also revealed that 15 per cent of UK adults have never I read regularly for pleasure, so I started to ditch my own literary habits. I’ve always considered myself a capital-R reader, never without at least one book in my backpack. I used to carry a tome in my bag at all times – the thought of being stranded somewhere, bookless and alone, was a nightmare. I used to look forward to an afternoon when I only had one novel on my to-do list, lying on the couch like a cat in a ray of sunshine or curled up listening to the rain, devouring chapters as the hours passed without my noticing. I used to have a library card, belong to a book club, bring seven books for a week’s holiday and even (shame on me) queue overnight to get the latest Harry Potter releases.

But somewhere along the way, things changed. When was the last time I prepared myself for a good reading session? When was the last time I remembered to put the reading material I was reading in my backpack, “just in case”?

My identity as an avid reader, once as immutable as having blue eyes and hating cilantro, had eroded over time until there was nothing left but a cursory paragraph or two that I managed to read before bed. It pains me to admit this, but I, and so many friends who were once bibliophiles, are Thirty-five percent of the population, according to the “Reading State of the Nation” report, is made up of “adults who used to read but have now stopped.” And I put the blame squarely on technology.

When I look at how the shift from “avid” to “occasional” happened, it almost always relates to devices. Mornings spent reading with a bowl of cereal have evolved into surfing in bed; quiet afternoons spent flipping through pages because “there’s nothing on TV” have given way to mass-market streaming services because there’s nothing on TV. always Something on TV. Train rides, solitary coffees, waiting for friends at the bar – in short, all the insignificant moments of downtime that accumulate throughout the day, which were once filled by reading a fantasy novel or a juicy biography, are now in the custody of social media, WhatsApp and Netflix.

We're so used to consuming the world in chunks—tweets, posts, DMs, clips, episodes—that focusing our minds on reading for more than a few minutes, even when we've made a conscious decision to do so, can be difficult.

The survey found that lack of time was the main deterrent for adults when it comes to reading (33 per cent), followed by difficulty focusing (28 per cent) and distraction from social media (20 per cent). Around 30 per cent of UK adults say they find it difficult to finish what they are reading, while 11 per cent say they find reading difficult in general. This paints a bleak picture of the relationship between adults and the written word.

Young people are struggling even more: nearly one in four (24 percent) of those aged 16 to 24 say they have never been readers, and research has shown that this age group faces the most barriers to reading. An independent report called “What Kids Are Reading” also showed a “particularly sharp” decline in reading among secondary school students.

This is where I must return to our great white hope according to the Lord and the Voice: children. If I am asked to imagine someone who is truly passionate about reading, my eight-year-old niece comes to mind. Watching her make the journey, first slowly and then very quickly, from being able to read a road sign to reading almost anything that crosses her path has been nothing short of magical. Watching her discover the books of our youth and introduce me to new ones I had never heard of (hugs!). Indiana Bones) with the unbridled enthusiasm of someone still living a life free of Donald Trump memes is a thing of purest joy.

As she tells me at a rapid pace the latest story that has captivated her (so excited she can barely get the words out fast enough), I feel a tsunami of nostalgia wash over me. Memories of reading by torchlight under the covers with my head on my mother come flooding back; the audacious thrill of staying awake when I should have been sleeping; the feeling of not being able to physically stop because the story in my hands was so gripping. Yes, it’s like Theresa May running through a field of wheat in terms of rebellion, but what a thrill I felt in that moment!

It makes me want to throw the Android into the ocean, rediscover my inner child, and gift her a book she can dive into—the kind you can’t put down and keep you frantically devouring until 2 a.m. Somewhere along the way, we collectively forgot what a gift reading is. We let ourselves get distracted by shiny new toys. We convinced ourselves that reading was “worthwhile” and “hard work” and that we no longer had the attention span or stomach for it.

But learning to read, and suddenly being able to immerse yourself in endless stories, live endless adventures, escape to endless new worlds, Whenever you want, damn it – is as close to a miracle as many of us will ever experience. And that’s why I have faith that we can find our way back to books. Because, to quote my girl Whitney once again: “There can be miracles, when Believe it!“