How I learned to love audio books

According to a charity called Fight For Sight, 38 per cent of people who’ve been using screens more during lockdown believe their eyesight has deteriorated. I am definitely in that category. This time last year, I didn’t need reading glasses; now I do. When I’m working at my desk this doesn’t much matter, but it has made reading in bed more difficult because I was in the habit of doing this on an iPad under the covers so as not to wake Caroline. Keeping my glasses in place while lying on my side, with one hand clutching my iPad and the other pulling the duvet tight over my head to eliminate any light pollution, is surprisingly difficult. The upshot is I’ve switched over to talking books.

In the past, I found listening to a novel less satisfactory than reading it. The effort required to read anchored me in the text, making my attention less likely to wander, and it didn’t take long before I was transported into the world of the novel. With audio books, my imagination wasn’t as engaged, possibly because some aspects of the experience — such as the sound of the characters’ voices — is filled in by the voice actor. It was more like watching television — no bad thing, obviously, but closer to fast food than a three-course meal. OK if you’re doing something else at the same time, but no substitute for reading in the dark.

In the past, I found listening to a novel less satisfactory than reading it – but Bernard Cornwell has changed that

But that has changed during lockdown — and I have Bernard Cornwell to thank for it. I had just finished the Palliser novels by Anthony Trollope and asked James Delingpole to recommend something. He suggested Cornwell’s Azincourt. I started listening to it during the 15 minutes or so between getting into bed and falling asleep, and was instantly hooked.