You may have noticed I have been more grown-up lately. In the last few weeks I have both by chance and on purpose read more adult books. I set up Bookwitch mostly for children’s books, while also saying there would be some older crime.
Strangely enough, it has felt more relaxing reading some adult thrillers and stuff. I don’t know why, although it could be the same way I never fancy eating vegetables when I’m ill. Not saying children’s fiction is anything like greens. But you need different things at different times.
The other intention behind Bookwitch was to go on and on about children’s books.
‘Yes,’ I hear you say. ‘You already mentioned that, just now.’
It’s just, I never imagined I’d be reviewing brand new books all the time. It simply happened. I was fully intending to hark back to books I’d read some time ago; occasionally books that were really quite old and not in the news.
I like keeping up with the new (as you might have noticed when I moaned about my lack of Carnegie list success the other day), but there is no doubt about it; it’s hard keeping up. With Jules Verne or an older Celia Rees novel, there is less urgency. You just read, and then write a bit about them. Old Jules won’t even know I have his book in mind, so complete relaxation there.
I don’t know how I imagined I’d be able to feed you on my reading from the past, for 13 years. Even two years. Quite simply, I wasn’t thinking.