One of my biggest reasons for starting this book blog was so I could share my stories of how books have become woven into the very story of my life. I have such vivid recollections of not only what I was reading at certain times but how the books made me feel and how that merged with my feelings of what was happening to me in real life at a particular point.
There are memories around the happiest moments, like the book I was reading the night before I got married. And the saddest – the very few books I read when my Mum was dying. But I have lots of seemingly random moments of sitting in a cloak room reading books when I went to work with my Mum in school holidays and had to sit quietly while I was there, I remember the first book I ever read that really scared me, I remember the argument my dad had with a librarian when she told him I (aged 8 at the time) shouldn’t be reading books meant for adults (my parents believed I should be allowed to read whatever I wanted and never be censored and I am eternally grateful for that), I remember the first book that I felt I had to hide from my parents due to embarrassment. And my list could go on (and on and on!).
I so often pick up a copy of a book years after I first read it and am instantly transported back to the time when I was reading it, and I find this such a wonderful thing to experience.
So, I’m going to start a regular post on here sharing these memories, picked at random. I hope you’ll enjoy reading these posts and will perhaps share some of your own bookish memories in the comments.