Pre-literate children get really fun books with furry bits in them, bits to squeak when you push 'em, smelly bits and so on. Adults have to put up with boring thin sheets of paper with black uniform text in the same font all over them.
Clearly if you did what I'm about to suggest with a novel, it
would be largely impractical because board books have rather thick pages, so you'd be stuck with text you could only read under the microscope or books which look like pillars supporting the ceiling. But it does lend itself to poetry, or at least shorter poetry.
Example: 'The Second Coming' by William Butler Yeats.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre - first page is pinned to the middle and can be spun round.
The falcon cannot hear the falconer - earplugs are attached to the corners with strings.
Page 3: Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold - as you turn the page, the pin comes out and the pages fall out on the floor like one of those trick card decks.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world - the book gently explodes, scattering its pages all over the room. They can be gathered up again as they're linked at the spine.
Page 5: The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned - a stage blood capsule is ruptured as you turn the page, spurting blood everywhere.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity - I can't decide what to do with these lines, so maybe someone more malign can tell me.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand. - this page has four fingers and a thumb, and the words are written along the creases of the palm.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man, - the next page has a "magic lantern" with a dazzling lamp projecting an image of a sphinx onto the ceiling.
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, - there's a handle on the page which lets the reader move the sphinx's legs and another which opens the eyes to reveal no pupils.
while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. - bird-shaped cards pop up on stiff wires and cast shadows from the aforementioned lamp onto the ceiling as they rotate.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep - the lamp goes out.
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, - the reader slides a handle which rocks a pop-up cradle.
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? - a clock face with movable hands opens up when both are turned to twelve, enabling it to be lifted aside, showing a beast with a rough texture sliding towards Bethlehem.
Just an example.