(I know I did anyway.)
We approach adulthood, and as such move on to more age appropriate books, and titles which suit our taste more – let’s face it, they seem a bit babyish once we hit our teens, don’t they?
By then, it was more a case of wanting to read the Point Horror series, or a bit of fluff and romance in the Sweet Valley High series.
What happens when you hit adulthood though and haven’t read, or thought about your favourite childhood books for years?
You pick them up with rose tinted glasses, that have been suffused with a hint of nostalgia, that’s what.
You start thinking:
“Ooh, I’ll look it up on Ebay/Amazon and buy it. On pretence it’s for the kids, of course.”
Then it will duly pop through your letterbox and you start to read it. Then halfway through realise your stupid adult brain won’t just shut up and enjoy the story from a child’s perspective like it used to.
Enid Blyton, The Famous Five.
The children take off for the week on an island that is undoubtedly full of pirates or bad men with guns.
Do Uncle Quentin or Aunt Fanny care? Nope, they’re off on holiday somewhere. For an entire week with no such thing as phone contact. Mobile phones? Eh? What’s that?! Never mind 10 year old Anne is probably stuck somewhere with a baddie out pointing weapons at all their heads.
Little Aily, a character they meet on their adventures. A small scrap of a child who is left to roam the countryside for days on end with nothing but a dog for company. Where’s social services when you need them?!
Roald Dahl, The BFG
Giants coming and eating small children in the dead of night and leaving their piles of bones in the middle of the street.
Yum, yum, yum.
*runs and hides book from the small people in case they get traumatised*
I think I’d better stick to adult books from now on……