There is a particular bookshelf that lives on Pinterest. Floor to ceiling, warmly lit, a ladder propped at a rakish angle, every spine somehow the colour of weak tea. Then there is the shelf most of us actually own, which holds four cookbooks, a stack of cracked paperbacks and a candle that has never been lit.

Somewhere in the last few years, reading quietly became cool again. Actual, physical, dog-eared-paperback reading, not just the Kindle-in-secret kind. Bookshops that were meant to be dying out are opening in record numbers, teenagers are picking Colleen Hoover over their phones (well, sometimes both at once), and “what are you reading” has become a genuine icebreaker rather than something only your English teacher asked.