David Hill on the challenge of getting boys to read

'I shan’t forget that image of him transformed for a fleeting moment by words. I believe his heart had been touched, too.'

Ask any New Zealander between the ages of 20 and 40 what books they read at school and they're likely to mention See Ya, Simon, the hugely popular 1992 YA novel by David Hill. The Taranaki writer is beloved for his writing that engrosses even the most reluctant of teenaged readers, and backs that work up with many years as an English teacher too.

Today, Hill continues to write (often for The Spinoff as a reader favourite) and yesterday, delivered the prestigious Read NZ Te Pou Muramura Pānui (formerly the Book Council Lecture) in Wellington. The pānui gives a literary leader the opportunity to "breathe new life into reading and writing", a particularly hefty task as libraries dwindle and artificial intelligence marches on.

Below, an excerpt of Hill's pānui on the unique privilege and challenge of encouraging young men to read.

I was a high school English teacher for some 14 years in Taranaki, Auckland and the UK. In each of those places, I watched teenagers sit in rapt silence, or rock with laughter, or eagerly point pages out to their friends, or try to hide their tears as they and I read, separately or together, and the pages built their effects.

One year, my form five – or year 11 – class included a boy I’ll call Jarrod. Jarrod came from a dysfunctional home. Violence was his default setting, in class and elsewhere. On a good day, he might yawn loudly and pointedly from his seat in the back row. On a bad day, and Jarrod had a lot of those, he was known to kick his chair over, swear at the teacher and storm from the room.

I was lucky. As an English teacher, I could tell stories to the class, and there were lessons when Jarrod would stay reasonably quiet, while I hoped that something might rub off on him. The class was studying Barry Hines’ A Kestrel for a Knave, a poignant story about a boy from an industrial slum in Northern England who catches, tames and trains a wild falcon. The achievement gives him purpose, knowledge, hope and even love. Partway through the year, we were reading aloud the sections where the bond starts to build between boy and kestrel. The young protagonist, Billy, is glowing with happiness and a sense of accomplishment.

As we read, I’d occasionally glance towards Jarrod, to check he wasn’t damaging any furniture or nearby pupils. But we were all becoming increasingly engrossed by the story. The class were silent and motionless, empathising with Billy, hoping for him. Their hearts were going out to him. So, it was some minutes before I looked in Jarrod’s direction again. When I did, he was sitting quietly and listening. This feral 16-year-old, held in thrall by a story.

The book didn’t lead to any movie-style breakthrough. At the end of the lesson, he shouldered out of the door as usual, leaving his chair lying on the floor. But I shan’t forget that image of him transformed for a fleeting moment by words. I believe his heart had been touched, too. I think of that whenever anyone asks me, "What’s the use of books?"

On school visits, I occasionally encounter boys who say "nah, I’m not into reading". A couple of times I’ve been guilty of replying ‘I hope you get well soon". But now I use a sneakier technique. I say something along the lines of "yeah, reading’s pretty hard, eh? Not everyone can handle it. You’ve gotta have guts to keep going." If I’m lucky, I’ll see the boy’s eyes narrowing into a glare, and I hope I hear an interior voice saying "I’ll show this old … person! I’m gonna—I’m gonna read a book!"

Probably I’m deluding myself. But I’ve also been known to tell teenage boys that joining a book group or a writing group at school is a good way to meet classy girls. There’s no approach too low for me to stoop to, if it may encourage young males into words.

I’m aware that some boys put reading on hold during adolescence, when hormones and other distractions swarm to the forefront of their minds. I understand that many of them return to printed or screen pages when they’re older. But I still lament the years they miss out on. Some, of course, don't come back.

I’ve ranted on several occasions about the time I heard an All Black being interviewed on radio. He was asked what he planned to do during the summer holidays. Did he have any books lined up for the beach? He sneered – I’m sure it was a sneer – something about "having better things to do". I remember shouting at the radio. I thought, "You’re in a position where you can influence, inspire so many young guys, and you come out with irresponsible idiocy like that."

I have to tell you that the following season, the same non-reading player was dropped from the All Blacks, which proves three things: (a) there is a God, (b) she supports your local library and (c) we still face the challenge of voices like that. We have to keep fighting the good fight.