Light years from literary genius

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It's official. In view of the letters that have been pouring into Derry Street, begging me to stand for Mayor of London, I've decided to run (or at least jog) for office.

Because I already have a day job, I'll have to implement my policies after work (so citizens will doubtless refer to me as a Night Mayor), and I shall rule you, Old Testament-style, with a rod of iron.

When I take power, I shall force crematoriums to give discounts when disposing of burns victims (well, the job is already half done), I shall instigate a shoot-to-kill policy against wheel clampers and traffic wardens, and to discourage thieves, bicycles will be fitted with spring-loaded bayonets which thrust up through the seat.

Less controversially, I shall also crack down hard on twisted adolescent cyber-terrorists (the ones who infect the e-mail system with viruses and cause untold misery to office workers) by tracking them down, burying them up to their necks in sand, and releasing the red ants, after first smearing their faces with honey and (of course) spam.

According to last night's Books for Boys (BBC4), these adolescent males play games with their computers because they can't find anything stimulating to read.

Notwithstanding the Harry Potter phenomenon, British boys are now reading 15 per cent less than they were five years ago, and the programme set out to discover what ingredients a novel should contain if it's going to attract them back to the delights of literature.

As usual, nobody questioned the basis of the widely-held prejudice that the printed word is morally and intellectually superior to information absorbed via a screen, even though many movies, TV programmes, and computer games are more original and thought-provoking than many books.

And why are people who have digested a lot of books always admiringly referred to as "well-read," yet people who have watched a lot of television are never praised for being "well-viewed"?

Conducting the search for what makes the perfect boys' novel was car-crazed Richard Hammond.

Why BBC4 should have hired an exile from Top Gear (sporting a Mary Quant-style leather bodystocking with go-faster stripes down the sides and expressing himself in a dated Jeremy Clarksonesque new-laddish vocabulary) initially baffled me, but perhaps there was method in their madness: not only did I feel very clever, but I experienced an urge to switch my TV off and read a book.

According to this Little Jeremy (whose own major literary influences were revealed to be Biggles and Victor comic), what all boys want is "a cracking good adventure story," and the class at a swanky prep school (where, coincidentally, his brother happens to teach) seemed to agree, speaking enthusiastically about the plots of James Bond and The Hobbit.

But this triumph for the printed word was short-lived, because many of the boys preferred the movies to the novels, and as one child put it: "It's easier to watch Lord of the Rings than to read it."

Although Little Jeremy was clearly out of his depth, he had some first-class writers to advise him, including Anthony Horowitz.

The author of the Alex Rider series emphasised the need for action on every page, and for a vivid sense of description (before writing about being trapped inside a car crusher, he'd actually put himself through the ordeal), whereas Malorie Blackman thought social and personal issues were more important, preferring sensitive characters with whom "young adults" could identify. Garth Nix espoused the merits of fantasy and the battle between good and evil, while feminist Natasha Walter objected to the very notion of "boys' books."

Little Jeremy seemed unwilling to challenge these conflicting views and unable to synthesise them into a meaningful whole. By the end, the only book-related question he'd opened up was this: why had BBC4 booked him to front this programme at all?

In today's interactive, digital world, it's no surprise that books no longer monopolise youthful imaginations in the way they once did. I wondered who this programme was intended for.

Aspiring writers of children's fiction would have needed a more detailed technical approach, while teachers would have required a more authoritative presenter. As for the boys, they'd surely have been repelled by Little Jeremy's earnest tone, which reminded me of a trendy vicar saying: "God's really cool."

One important area that wasn't explored was children's love of the grotesque and the disgusting. A poster that read "Move Over Roald Dahl" seemed especially illadvised, because Roald's books remain enormously popular.

I say "poor old Roald", incidentally, because Ronald Dahl was a former Spitfire pilot who had his 'n' shot off in the war. Apparently, the 'n' fell onto his widow's head, transmogrifying her into a window. A shattering experience, after which she was a broken woman, with a terrible pane in her head.

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