Reading has been something I’ve escaped to since
childhood. My parents would read to me every night and together we adventured
through different worlds, went to far off places, discovered new sights and
sounds, all through the pages of my books. I’ve been hooked ever since I could
read my first word and there’s no sign of me slowing down anytime soon.
As a child, it was these sojourns through fiction
that would spark my imagination, that made me want to write and create and
learn as much as I possibly could. For a while, Matilda was my biggest hero.
Then, Hermione Granger who, with my bushy brown hair, I was oft compared to by
classmates (she also became my go-to Halloween costume). I still think of
Hermione and Matilda as heroes of sorts and I’m forever grateful to my parents
for introducing me to books so early in my life.
Now in my early twenties, having completed a degree
in English literature and gearing up to start my teaching degree so I can
impart my love of words onto other young people, I find myself reaching once
more for my old favourites. In a recent clean out of my bookshelves, there were
two shelves of children’s books that I just absolutely refused to part with.
They’re books I still reach for when I’m seeking comfort, words that I have
memorised and hold close to my heart. These are the books I hope to pass down
to my own children, the writers that taught me important life lessons and
shaped me into the person I am today.
My love of things that go bump in the night all
started with Eva Ibbotson and her collection of fantastically eerie – yet still
humorous – books for children. My copies now are all dog-eared and worn
through, the pages yellowing, some torn, all well loved. One night quite
recently, I was at a loss of what to read. I have piles of unread books on my
shelves, plenty I would like to reread, but I didn’t feel like sinking my teeth
into any of them until I came across The
Great Ghost Rescue. Curled up on the floor, I planned to just read a few
pages. Instead, I finished the whole book in one sitting.
It’s rare that a children’s book can still engage me
so fully. I laughed out loud from genuine humour, I was emotionally moved by
the plight of the characters – Ibbotson, like all of the greatest children’s
authors, knows how to weave a story that is going to keep the adults
entertained, too, without sacrificing any of the good bits that kids look
forward to.
I think that is a common trait of all of my
best-loved children’s authors. Roald Dahl’s books are on both my shelf and my
parents’, his stories engaging for readers of all ages. I can’t tell you how
many times I’ve read Matilda, only
that it is probably my most reread book of all time. As a child, I identified
with Matilda’s love of books and learning, her eagerness to find out all that
she could. Now, as an adult, I am still inspired by her love to sink her teeth
into whatever knowledge she can find, but I am also hugely moved by Miss
Honey’s love of teaching, her desire to protect and help children. Matilda continues to remind me of the
importance of being good and kind, even so many years after I first read it.
I still flick through my copy of The Witches from time to time, both to revisit Quentin Blake’s
fabulous illustrations and to let myself back into Dahl’s fabulous mind, and The BFG was one of my favourites as a
child, initially because of the protagonist’s first name, and then because of
the importance of the message. Dahl is such a household name and the more I
look back on my favourite childhood books, the easier it is to see why.
Another household name and a writer whose presence on
this list will be of no surprise to plenty is J.K. Rowling. To say that Harry Potter is my favourite series is
an understatement. Like many in my generation, it is a series that really and
truly engaged my interest. I grew up alongside Harry, Hermione, and Ron. On the
release days of new books, my brother and I would drag our parents out as soon
as the shops opened so we could get our hands on our pre-ordered copies. We
would start reading as soon as they were in our hot little hands, then find the
comfiest place in house and not move until we had read every last word.
I’ll have to do a full post to really get into my
love for this series but the crux of it is that I haven’t the foggiest idea of
the person I would be today if it weren’t for Harry Potter. These books were with me every step of the way in
childhood, right up and into high school. I can spend hours and hours reading
fan theories, diving into meta, finding out all that I can about this series.
There’s a reason that you can get a degree in Harry Potter studies, why people
of my generation will be naming their children Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry Potter is the sort of series that
stays with you forever, long after you finish the final page.
I don’t know who I would be if I hadn’t spent so much
time reading as a child. I don’t know what I would have studied at university;
I don’t know what my job today could have been. The choices I’ve made over my
whole life have been to actively seek a future where I could spend my time
surrounded by books, learning about them, writing them, writing about them – no matter what I do, it all
comes back to my parents’ decision to read to me every night before bed.
