According to my mother, book was my first word. She likes to remind me of this whenever I mention books. I suppose it’s her way of relating to my interests.
I read an awful lot as a child. I devoured books- spending whole weekends curled up in narrow gaps between the wall and the sofa and in 'dens' I'd made, reading. And the rest of the time I was at Jesmond Library, searching for new books. I played out and went swimming and for adventures on my bike too but some of my fondest childhood memories are of books that surprised and delighted me.
Now that I'm older I don't read in same the urgent way and I also read less. I have other priorities- I have to go to work, do the washing up, cook dinner, spend time with my husband. All this adds up to only reading a few times a week- always during the commute. It's not that I fell out of love with reading. I think that adulthood can make you take stories for granted, make you think you know enough and that you're too busy. But I don't know enough at all and I'm not that busy.
I've decided to read 100 books in 2015 (8.3 books a month). I'm going to write a little bit about each book here, mostly for my own 'records' but also to share any lovely/terrifying/tragic treasures I find so that you can go and read them too.
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