This post is inspired by Brian, who was inspired by Stefanie, who was inspired by Tim …whew.
All book lovers have reasons for reading. Beyond that we all have reasons for reading what we do. We’re all complex but I think I can at least nail down why I have all the love for literary fiction:
Books were always around when I was little. I grew up surrounded by piles of Little Golden Books and other small kid tales. Once I reached a certain age my mom handed down her boxes of Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden mysteries. I read each of those series. Multiple times.
Then I got a little older and the long drought began. I was too old for Little Golden and Nancy Drew. I NEEDED more.
I grew up in a very small town without a public library. For a long while the only books I had access to were the collection of Jackie Collins that my mom had (I read them all, secretly) or the stacks of bodice rippers at Grandma’s house. (Grandma once caught me reading one of those and gently suggested that I read something more appropriate.)
Enter the hero of this tale, my maternal grandfather and the BookMobile! (I’m sure I’ve talked about this before.) A quick recap: Grandpa saved the day and took me to the BookMobile. He would check out a whole box of books. I didn’t realize you could do that!
Finally! After years of reading only cereal boxes or books with Fabio on the cover I had access to real books! No longer would I be reading scraps left by other people. No longer would I have to be content with reading the rubbish that was commonly lying about. Now I could become a SERIOUS READER of SERIOUS THINGS. And that, I think, is where my love of literary fiction began.
 |
| “Fetch me a book…of quality!” |
Maybe I’ll explore my adoration of nonfiction on another day. That’s a whole ‘nother topic.
Why do you read what you read?
The Relentless Reader 