Swimming off the deep end

I love books. Since I was a little girl I’ve loved the whole idea of escaping into an alternate universe and imagining what it would be like to live someone else’s life.

I can remember falling in love with books when I was younger; it was Enid Blyton that took up a lot of my reading time. The book I loved the most was Bimbo and Topsy. It was about a cat and a dog and all of their adventures around the house. Absolutely loved it. Others included The Magical Faraway Tree collection (even then I snickered to myself when I saw one of the girls’ names was Fanny).

Aside from them, I don’t remember many other books actually being on my bookshelf, the rest were procured from the school and community library. I remember reading The Adventures of Blinky Bill (yes, it is actually a large book) and The Magic Pudding (I still have that one). Also, Paul Jennings. His books, starting off with Uncanny! (I think) were the hot-ticket item in our school library. Whenever a new one came out, the line to borrow it next stretched on for ages.

I also read a few classics, and by today’s standards obscure books; like Great Expectations, The Secret Garden, Anne of Green Gables, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, The Silver Sword (I think that’s what it was called), Black Beauty (like most girls I went through a horse-crazy phase) and the Flowers in the Attic series. I guess at the time I wasn’t overly concerned about analysing them, if the plot and characters took my fancy I was into it.

In high school, and to this day, I think I’m perhaps the only Australian kid who did not like John Marsden’s Tomorrow When the War Began series. It was prescribed reading one year, and I read it dutifully, but couldn’t get into it. On the other hand, I absolutely loved Looking for Alibrandi. I think most of us did – well, the girls at least.

Then I remember in a Year 9 literature class or something similar choosing to read a book by Sonya Hartnett. It was called Sleeping Dogs and it was a beautifully written, albeit tragic, story about a family living in isolation. I remember speaking about it in a class presentation and the teacher exclaiming: “How interesting! A story about incest, the relationship between these two (main) characters was fascinating!” I started. Hey?! Incest? I picked it up briefly, but never saw it as a key facet of the story. I read it again. Ah yes, there it is, huh. I think that from then on I really began to pay attention to things going on “behind the scenes” in books. I think it’s something that comes with age, and understanding, and maturity.

From there, I moved onto more “adult books”. My step-mum introduced me to Bryce Courtenay via The Potato Factory trilogy; I was hooked. It was also convenient that part of his contract with his publisher states that he puts out a book every year in time for Christmas; between myself, my step-mum and my nana we were well looked after.

The Potato Factory books were probably my most favourite of his, followed closely by April Fool’s Day – I still get teary every time I read that book. Grab it if you ever have the chance. This was largely broken up with the typical library and random book purchase. Nothing overly memorable.

For a while I was reading uni texts, and to be completely honest I really fell out of reading. It was largely library books, and some Jodi Picoult. I have to say I was pissed to hear that the ending of that movie has been changed from that of the book. The whole ending of that book, the beautiful, tragic irony of it is what made the book what it was. I dabbled in Paullina Simons, thanks to my ex-boyfriend, didn’t stick.

So, I drifted. I got really interested in books about Asian history, stories of geishas (not Memories Of, I have not read that yet) and more ancient stories, then moved on again. I discovered, and this is perhaps one of my most prolific finds, the Penguin Classics. Classic books for $9.99. Love it. I’ve read A Clockwork Orange, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and The Picture of Dorian Gray. I’ve just bought Madame Bovary and Of A Boy (another Sonya Hartnett). It’s a great way to read books that in a million years I would never actually go looking for to read or buy, for a minimal investment it’s a no-brainer.

Thanks to some movie on at the cinema I found Twilight, I will admit I enjoyed those books despite the obvious flaws (remember reasoningwithvampires from a previous post). Through my love of podcasts I found The Hunger Games trilogy, this cemented my love of Young Adult fiction. Suzanne Collins used to write for TV; it is apparent in her writing that grabs you by the throat and drags you into this dystopian world where children fight to the death for the entertainment of a privileged few. Amazing books.

Then, strolling through my local Borders (one of my new favourite stores) I saw Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare. Begin current fangirl phase. Her characters are portrayed in such a way that elicits such emotions in her readers it’s insane. From there I went to her current trilogy (Clockwork Angel is the first of a trilogy prequel) City of Bones, Ashes and Glass. Wow wow wow. Totally hooked. The books, along with Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games books, are doing the rounds of my family at the moment.

From there, I found one of Cassandra’s friends Holly Black, and her book White Cat. Again, amazing; I’m trawling through her back catalogue at present now, I just got The Spiderwick Chronicles through one of those office-based book clubs that visit workplaces.

Other great trilogies (sensing a pattern, huh) are His Dark Materials by Phillip Pulman (very controversial for its time, look out for the anti-religion theme for a very innocent sounding set of books) and Shiver, Linger and soon Forever by Maggie Stiefvater.

Wow, I’m exhausted. I might go read a book.