There is one of those memes going around asking which books have stuck with you, and it made me think about what those books would be for me. However, being an author, I couldn’t just make a list…it needs context, and character to tell the whole story.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it, I blame my father, Roger Ballantine for getting me to be a writer. I am sure it wasn’t his plan, but when he read me as a bed-time story these words
In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit
I was set on that path. Later on, as a writer I came back to reading the Hobbit to my daughter, and I realised just how difficult to read aloud it is. Probably that is because Tolkien has a real Victorian style of writing, and is also coloured by his knowledge of epic poetry like Beowulf. It does make for long sentences. I only appreciated the effort it took my Dad to read this every night, when I had to do it!
But he didn’t stop there, he also read me Lord of the Rings. I can’t tell how many months or years that took, and maybe he abridged bits, but that was an act of love. Later I read the series myself, and it stuck with me. That aspect of worldbuilding was like Edmund Hilary getting to the top of Everest; everyone else followed in his tracks.
Now I was firmly entrenched in the world of genre fiction.
I proceeded over to the Narnia books. Like his pal Tolkien, CS Lewis carved out a place in my heart. They made kids the heroes, and they told me that there was magic in the world, even if I couldn’t see it. The Last Battle taught me just how easy it is to be broken by a book. You think GRR Martin slays characters you love? Well, at least his books aren’t for kids. Two words. Train accident.
Then I read the Dark is Rising Sequence by Susan Cooper. This introduced me to the possibilities of weaving myth and legend into stories. I remember reading these books over and over again in an almost obsessive way.
Ender’s Game. Though now classified as a YA book, it wasn’t when I read it…it was just a book. Also, the abhorrent beliefs of the writer Orson Scott Card had not yet revealed themselves, so I was able to enjoy this book- something I feel sad that young readers today are less likely to be able to do. This book haunted me, mainly because it is about choices made and childhood being warped.
I don’t ever recall my parents telling me not to read something. I am sure they were watching what I was devouring, but I never felt their presence in it. Reading was just fun.
Later on in teenage-hood, I worked my way through Stephen Kings’s early works, Carrie, Pet Cemetery, and It. I enjoyed the shivers and the masterful way King blended the ordinary with the terrifying. However I didn’t keep reading beyond teenage-hood—maybe that was enough exploration of horror for me.
When I was at my Nana’s house, I also read her books. They seemed relics of the past…which I guess they were. Most of them had probably been her books when she was a child. I recall there was one series about a group of girls all called Catherine (?) who were summoned to attend this mysterious school which might have been in Cornwall. They had all sorts of adventures, and we trying to untangle the mystery of who was running the school and why they were attending. Being a British book it was probably some kind of tragedy!
If anyone can find out the title, then please let me know!
Anyway, shortly after that I started writing for myself, dragging around my green journal and scribbling away on it. So perhaps parents should be warned, if your child reads to much there is a distinct danger that they may become a writer!
Mind you, there are worse things to do I suppose…