Vulpes Libris

A collective of bibliophiles talking about books. Book Fox (vulpes libris): small bibliovorous mammal of overactive imagination and uncommonly large bookshop expenses. Habitat: anywhere the rustle of pages can be heard.

My reading mojo

Lisa GlassReading was my first love. In the interim between my fifth birthday and the day I discovered alcohol and boys (discoveries that, as I remember it, both occurred on the same thrilling day) I was a bona fide bookworm. I was the sort of child who jumped feet first into a book, much like those chirpy souls leaping into that street painting in Mary Poppins. Reading wasn’t just a cerebral activity: on opening a novel I experienced the sort of adrenaline rush and stomach butterflies that others might reserve for bungee jumping. I was a greedy reader and I gobbled books with an insatiable appetite. I read at meals, during home haircuts and I even read as I walked to school, occasionally walloping straight into unforeseen lampposts. I read on holidays, I read sitting on uncomfortable black rocks whilst my brothers fished for mackerel, I read on the back of my dad’s bike as he peddled up and down dale. I read first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and when I slept I dreamed about my books. Twice-weekly trips to the library were more exciting than any shopping trip for clothes or toys could ever be. I read the Famous Five books in consecutive order and then backwards. I read the library’s selection of classics in a haze of elation, and found that I couldn’t get enough of Austen, Eliot, the Brontës and Hardy. Around this time my family started to notice that my vocabulary had expanded to include several irritating phrases including ‘pray tell’ and ‘I do not cough for my own amusement.’ Then I read all the American teen books I’d ever received for birthdays and felt sure I would never fit in at Sweet Valley High. Finally I discovered The Lord of the Rings, which filled a lonely summer that stretched between ages twelve and thirteen with such excitement and heightened emotion that I have never quite recovered from it. I was inconsolable on the day I finished the appendices at the back of The Return of the King. I felt bereaved, because I had not just lost a book, I had lost a world. So I read it again. Reading took me away from rainy Sunday afternoons when there was only cricket or snooker on the telly and showed me exotic lands and offered hot glimpses into earth-shattering love affairs. Reading was quite simply the best thing ever. And then when I hit fourteen, I stopped.

Suddenly I could spend weeks listening to one music album on repeat whilst staring at a poster of Kurt Cobain. I started painting my toenails black, dying my hair purple and fantasising about various rock concerts I couldn’t afford to attend. I skipped school and to my amazement I got served alcohol in bars. I drank cider by the litre and puked it up behind bus stops. I didn’t even look at a novel for months on end. I think even at the time I knew I had lost something. It wasn’t the loss of innocence that niggled me, it was the loss of my reading. But I was so busy trying to be a grown-up that I ignored what books could offer me.

At university I did an English degree but reading just wasn’t quite the same. I had lost my reading mojo, and where books had once been the be-all and end-all, they had become mere objects to help pass a few bored minutes in the bath or at the beach, and the classic texts that I had once loved with a passion were obstacles that needed to be surmounted in order to get a good grade. Reading was quite pleasant in its way, but I’d have rather been at the campus bar.

Writing my own novels initially took reading away from being a simple pleasure and morphed it into a complex activity ranging between market research, competitor appraisal, awe, ecstasy, and misery that I couldn’t write anything as wonderful as the offerings of my favourite authors.

I sometimes wonder if other people have lost the urgency and all-consumingness of their early reading passion, or if they still feel the same excitement for a book at age fifty as they did at age ten. Personally, I doubt that I’ll ever reascend to the giddiest heights of my early reading love, but the summit is, at least, in sight and a certain book blog with a funny Latin name is responsible. For the past eighteen months Vulpes Libris has filled my evenings with book after book, and the next time someone asks me why on earth I spend so much time reviewing novels without even getting paid for my efforts, I’ll probably blather about helping fellow authors get review coverage or the wonders of free books, but I’ll secretly be thinking that through book blogging I’m rediscovering my reading mojo, and to me that’s payment enough.

Lisa believes in ghosts, detox juices and earthworms that can read minds. To learn more about Lisa, click here.

*Calling all bookworms, past and present, (of course including my fabulous fellow book bloggers: Kirsty? Lizzy? John? Stewart? Simon? Lynne?)* Have you experienced marked changes in reading excitement? Did adolescence remove some of the wonder of reading? Or are you still reading with the same passion as ever? I’d be fascinated to hear if anyone else has experienced peaks and troughs in their reading life. Thoughts welcome, as always, below.

21 comments on “My reading mojo

  1. rosyb
    July 4, 2009

    My sister was the avid reader in our house, whereas I was the outside child – always running about with the dog covered in mud. But when I think about it I did read a lot, just probably not what a lot of people would consider “good reading”. I read books about animals – either textbooks or lots of anthropomorphic novels about foxes having emotional crises or badgers forming brotherhoods of love and that sort of thing. Of course the best of these is Watership Down which is still a great book. But I pretty well read any bit of anthropomorphising animal tat I could get my hands on and I remember going to browse the (THREE!) major book chains in Edinburgh to look at the different ranges they had on offer.

    I also suddenly stopped in teenage years – not because I was discovering boys and puking behind lampposts (I wish!) but because there didn’t seem to be any books that spoke to the weird, awkward, unworldly, child-like teenager I was. My friends read pink books and talked about Aha. (That dates me.) But I still secretly wanted to gallop about pretending to be a horse – but somehow, suddenly, I wasn’t allowed to anymore.

    But it was my teenage reading experiences – even though fewer – that were some of the most intense. When I found something that spoke to me it was a special moment because there was so little that did. Wuthering Heights was great but Gormenghast was the major discovery and remains my favourite book of all time. The equivalent of your Lord of the Rings maybe. But there were other things like Anne Fine’s Summer House Loon which seemed unlike other teen books. And another called Bilgewater which I saw in a shop the other day and discovered was by Jane Gardam. I had wondered what it was for years.

    As an adult I finish very few books indeed. I am a slow and thorough reader and so I have to really like something to get to the end. I feel that many adult books try to impress over try to engage. Or serve up the same old and fail to surprise. And perhaps it is also that adults fail to suspend disbelief as children can. And perhaps what you want as an adult is different – as a child you fantasise about power and independence and importance which is why so many fantasy books work so well. Books I loved included The Dark is Rising series and Diana Wynne Jones (particularly The Ogre Downstairs). As an adult Diana Wynne Jones The Time of the Ghost still cuts the mustard – but it needs a slightly different explanation of what is going on for an older audience…

    As for the classics – they have never floated my boat particularly. I think because as a teenager I was looking for permission to be myself and couldn’t find a single woman I related to in the whole of Austen or any other classics I’ve read. And that remains my problem with most books and a lot of the culture…

  2. Sam Ruddock
    July 4, 2009

    My story is a pretty similar really. Up until about age 14 I read all the time. It started with reading with my dad at bedtime to practice my reading but soon I had proved that I could read and got to sit back while he read to me. We read all sorts of environmentally friendly children’s adventure books: the likes of Michael Morpurgo, the Greenwatch series, books about whaling by someone with the surname Smith. I remember regularly reading late into the night, particularly Matilda by Roald Dahl which I must have read 4 or 5 times. I read to escape, not because my childhood was hard but because the other worlds in those books were so fantastically exciting. The books helped me understand the world, learn what it was I most valued, and ultimately have a mighty great time doing it.

    My big Eureka! moment also came with Lord of the Rings when I was 10 or 11. I had started it with my dad but soon the one chapter a night got too slow for me so I began taking it to school and reading on wet lunch breaks and the like. I flew though the last 400 pages or so and loved every single minute of it.

    This sort of thing continued for the first year or two of secondary school before being overtaken by computer games (football management games proved the death of reading for me) and staring inanely at sport on the TV. I wasn’t a particularly sociable teenager so it wasn’t girls or alcohol which was responsible for this, probably just the overriding sense that reading wasn’t the cool thing to be doing. Still, I had a 25 minute train journey to school every morning which had to be filled with something and I occasionally read during this (Christian Jacques Ramses series and a few others) but reading was more to fill time than anything else.

    During GCSE’s and A-Levels revision I read my set texts again and again. I must have read Lord of the Flies and Edith Wharton’s Age of Innocence 4 or 5 times so that come the exams I loved them in an intellectual sense even if I didn’t in an emotional sense. And all this enforced reading took its toll. When it came to university I didn’t want to be told to read any more classics so I applied to study history.

    A month before I started university I was sitting around home quite bored and decided to give Harry Potter a go. 6 days later I had read the first 4 books in a haze of adventurous excitement and for the next year or two everything I read was overshadowed by love of those books. Not that I remember successfully reading much else, other than a complete re-reading of Lord of the Rings, that is. I had a tough time personally and remember going to the campus bookshop one morning when I hadn’t been able to sleep all night and buying the boxset which I then went back to my room and read one after the other again in about 8 days. I would read fansites and get breathlessly excited just discussing what might happen next, watched the movies slightly obsessively, and even used to buy the candy. (Yes, I was 19 or 20 at the time!)

    That summer I had the reading, and life experience (I met the wonderful woman who later became my wife), which changed me. Having found another amazing fantasy world through Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials I read Milan Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being and found intellectual, post-modernist, adult fiction which made my mind swim with ideas.

    I would talk with Megan about the books we liked for hours. She had been a complete bibliophile as a child and read all the classics which I hadn’t so she was like a beacon of the person I wanted to become. She opened my mind to all sorts of new reading possibilities and I hungrily devoured them. But as university got closer to the end, and then through my masters, I found that I was reading too many history texts to think about fiction. The longer this went on, the more I looked forward to finishing with education so that I could read for pleasure once more. For about 6 months I spent my time planning what I would read when I had free choice once more.

    And then, the day I handed in my masters dissertation I sat in the union bar and looked out the window to see that Waterstone’s was seeking temporary booksellers. I applied, was interviewed, was not chosen. Not at first anyway. But after the first, second, and possibly third candidates turned it down they offered it to me and I jumped at the opportunity.

    The 4 years I spent at Waterstone’s were a veritable roller-coaster of literary discovery. Being surrounded everyday by so many wonderful books is an experience I shall never forget. But it ended in February of this year when I got a new office job and since then my reading mojo has definitely taken a downturn. This saddens me greatly, but I don’t know to get it back.

    Great article and thanks for inviting comments. It has been fascinating to sit down and think coherently about the evolution of my reading life and I’ve made a few discoveries along the way. Whether at the very heart of my life or simmering quietly on the back burner, reading has always been at the heart of my life and it is something I am incredibly grateful for.

  3. Nikki.
    July 4, 2009

    I personally have been rather constant throughout my life. I’ve loved reading since I was able to do it and that passion has never gone away. I’m only 19 so I suppose it could yet change, but so far there have been no major periods of time without books. I do go through stretches of a few weeks where I read less than usual, but that’s it really.

    As a child I went to the library every Wednesday afternoon (here in Belgium school ends at 12 on Wednesdays) and these days I still go at least once a week. In high school I had exhausted the local library’s selection so I would endure a 90 minute bus ride to the nearest big city’s library every week. On top of that I buy insane amounts of books, it’s almost an addiction. You can probably scratch the ‘almost’.

    Growing up I was a huge Roald Dahl fan. I actually taught myself English when I was about 9 by first reading the English version of ‘Matilda’ and then moving on to other English books, so that when I started learning the language at school when I was 14, I already knew everything the teacher had to say. I also loved Anthony Horowitz (still do, to be honest). Groosham Grange especially and later the Alex Rider books. Oh, and the Artemis Fowl books by Eoin Colfer! I’m still absolutely in love with those novels (and Artemis himself, to be totally honest). As most people my age, I didn’t escape the Harry Potter craze. I devoured all the first 4 books and after that I pounced on every new book that was released. My sister will never forgive me for dragging everyone to a Barnes and Noble at midnight when we were on vacation in California for the release of the 6th book. Before Harry Potter though, there was Lord of the Rings. I first read it when I was 12 and re-read it a few years later. I love books like that – that open up a whole new world. That make you look at things in new ways, that make you dream and wonder. It seems almost socially unacceptable to admit you enjoy reading ‘fantasy’ books such as those, but I will never give them up just because of that. I can’t.

    Another huge influence on me has to be ‘Alice’s adventures in Wonderland’. Not only did I read it and read it and read it, I was also heavily influenced by Carroll’s writing style. After first reading it, I started using copious amounts of brackets in my writing, until a teacher wisely advised me against it. I started paying a great deal of attention to the way I wrote because of this story. I have a number of favourite books but this one will always be number 1. Always. It has everything I look for in a book and then some. It’s so odd and surreal, which I love.

    I often used to have these periods where I would be crazy about one particular kind of literature. I.e. I had quite a long Russian period where I devoured anything Gogol or Dostoevsky etc. (No Tolstoy though, I don’t think I’ll ever appreciate him, after reading a shorter story of his that had the worst ending ever). Other times I would read nothing but 19th century French and German authors, especially Goethe (‘The sorrows of young Werther’ is seriously one the best books ever) and Stendhal (‘The red and the black’ is another beauty.) . I’ve always had a thing for the classics, I hardly read anything from the 20th century, let alone the 21st. That’s only changed in the last year or so. Now I’m able to get over my apprehension of anything younger than say, 100 years and try newer works. I’m really glad I did because there are some gems that have been published these last few years.

    I have a feeling I’m getting way off-topic, which seems to be unavoidable when I start talking about books! I basically wanted to say I have always loved reading and hopefully always will.

  4. marygm
    July 4, 2009

    Lots of what you write here, Lisa, feels so familiar to me. I remember so well the physical intensity of the pleasure of reading. I also remember every time I walked into the library I felt immensely rich. All these books were available to me and for free!! It was even better than being taken into a sweetshop and allowed to have all I wanted. I remember the agony of the decision to move from the children’s section to the adult section. I enrolled all of my younger brothers and sisters within days of their birth in order to increase the number of books I could borrow.

    The first book that changed me profoundly was a book a neighbour brought back from a trip to Australia. I was 6 and it was a story about the life of a red kangaroo. Following a whole series of ‘kangourian’ adventures this kangaroo isolated himself to die, alone, old and weak. I was shocked to my core. Stories didn’t finish like this, stories always had happy endings. I cried bitterly and the aplomb with which my mother greeted my explanation didn’t help. It was my first suspicion that maybe life didn’t always have happy endings.

    To be honest I wasn’t a very discerning reader. I had no idea about quality in literature and maybe that’s the big difference between then and now. Before I lived the story completely, I was a character in the book and I had no ability to stand back and assess it. Now I find that there’s a part of me that holds back and observes the unfolding of the novel dispassionately, with a critical eye. This was even more true when I was writing. For the past while I’ve put writing away while I look after other things in my life and my whole-heart involvement in reading is coming back.

    I’ve also become very fond of non-fiction. I like the way the message is the most important thing and style is its servant. For me, fiction finds its way to the head via the heart first but non-fiction enters through the head and then finds its way to the heart.

    Nice piece, Lisa.

  5. Tom Vowler
    July 4, 2009

    Great post, Lisa.

    My reading mojo didn’t even begin until my mid-twenties. Having a parent who taught at the school I attended, I quickly adopted a drop-out, un-intellectual persona that allowed me to retain a degree of popularity. Books were simply alien. They didn’t line the shelves at home and nobody, as they say, gave me literature.

    A long-term illness drove me to read, I suppose; there’s only so much TV you can watch. And so, at the ripe old age of 25 an influencial friend tossed Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and Kafka’s The Trial my way – pretty much my first books, give or take a few standard texts at school.

    Since then it’s been a race to catch up. I suppose I’ve read several hundred novels in the last ten years or so, but it now seems strange to start so late. I try to remember what life without books was like. Rather bland, I suppose.

  6. annebrooke
    July 4, 2009

    Wonderful post, Lisa! Weirdly it was reading that got me through my adolescence. Without Jane Austen & Dickens, I’m not sure I’d be here at all!!!


  7. kirstyjane
    July 4, 2009

    I think University really put the kibosh on my reading mojo. I was an absolutely insatiable reader before that but the sheer amount of reading I then *had* to do just to get through the coursework tired me out. My reading habits never quite recovered – for one thing, the stuff I read for leisure is now overwhelmingly either comedy or light fiction. I suspect this is a necessary balance to spending so much time with extremely tough subject matter.

    Music and dance also keep me away from books to some extent these days. It’s not a bad thing at all, I think.

  8. Jackie
    July 4, 2009

    I’ve loved reading ever since I first learned around 6 yrs. old. It has never diminished. Reading has always been an escape; from an awful family life, health problems & being bullied in school, not to mention the terrible loneliness that has plagued me at certain points in my life.
    Up until I was around 13, I only read animal books, mostly non-fiction. At one point I’d read everything with animals in my school library. So I was forced to start reading human books. In my teens liked the Paul Zindel, S. E. Hinton type novels, but I was also reading a lot of art history & religious books. In my late teens, I really got into Russian writing, which fit in nicely with that angst phase we all go through. In my twenties, I read a lot of Classics. Since then, I read a nice mix of fiction & non of all types, around 200 books a year. I simply must read & get panicky if I’m out of library books, it really is an addiction. But where most addictions do harm, reading is one that benefits & enlightens the addict in a wonderful way.

  9. Lisa
    July 5, 2009

    Thank you everyone for all of these responses, which I’ve found absolutely fascinating. Interesting how we can so vividly remember the evolution of our reading.

    Mary, I know exactly what you mean when you say:

    “For me, fiction finds its way to the head via the heart first but non-fiction enters through the head and then finds its way to the heart.”

    That’s a great way of articulating it.

    And P.S. I don’t generally go around leaping off park benches. Well, only on gloomy winter days when I’m in need of some cheering up 🙂

  10. Ceri
    July 5, 2009

    Hi Lisa, great article, I think I am probably about the same age as you as I remember as a young teenager Nirvana/red Hot Chili Peppers then Blur/Pulp taking some precedence over books for a year or two in the early to mid nineties! However, reading, alongside my family has been a real constant in my life, no matter where I have been or what I have been doing and no matter how “crap” my life felt at the time. I remember hiding all my books under my pillow at night when I was about 10 so that I could read by torchlight, nothing much has changed really, I still have a pile of books my my bedside and read by lamplight now! Ceri

  11. Lisa
    July 5, 2009

    Ceri, welcome! On hiding books and reading at night, me too! I would sometimes read with a mini torch under the bed covers if it was particularly chilly or I didn’t want anyone to spot the light and tell me to go to sleep. Ditto Nirvana, Chilis, Blur, Pulp etc. Brings back great memories. Ahh, how time flies…

  12. dovegreyreader
    July 6, 2009

    It’s been life-long for me, I think it was being sent home from school with a letter that did it. My parents were told that the school were going to stop me reading because I was reading too much and I would grow up to be an empty shell. Nothing like that sort of gauntlet thrown down to make me dig my heels in and thankfully my parents took no notice (you didn’t tend to go up to the school and have it out with them back in the 1950s) and encouraged me to read more and widely. I think this was also about them having lost their teenage years and thereby a settled education to the war and no way was this going to happen to me.
    I think the most difficult years for me were the child-bearing ones. Even exhausting student-nurse days were book-filled but three babies in four years put paid to keeping my eyes open long enough to finish a page let alone a book. My reading nose-dived into oblivion which I remember getting really worried about.
    Then I decided to spend the child benefit on books as a sort of compensation for wrecking my body on their behalf and I cheered up no end.
    Who needs shoes when your mother needs books.
    I loved it all really but suddenly getting all that reading time back again as they got older was a luxury I’ll never take for granted again…as I type this, no one is shouting ‘who’s nicked my trainers’ or ‘can you just sew/make/bake/iron/build/ this before tomorrow’ and it’s heaven.
    Oh…hold on…just one I still have on my hands, OH says it’s my turn to put the kettle on…never mind:-)

  13. trilbykent
    July 6, 2009

    Great piece, Lisa!

    I was a pretty voracious reader throughout primary and secondary school – it was only really when I hit uni that I started to lose my reading mojo. I think that it had something to do with the fact that I was spending so much time getting to grips with historical texts, analyzing them for bias or veracity, that for the first time novels seemed somehow irrelevant. Fiction seemed frivolous compared to fact, and so for almost three years my reading became limited to White Papers relating to the Indian nationalist movement, or al-Bukhari’s reflections on the hadith, etc.

    It was only in the aftermath of my first heartbreak, when for a couple of weeks I found it nigh impossible to concentrate on Procopius, that I rediscovered the possibilities for escape that fiction offered. The first novel to re-ignite my reading mojo was Nadine Gordimer’s “The Lying Days” – a terribly moving, involving, inspiring read. I’m pleased to say I’ve not looked back since then (indeed, since devoting myself to writing full-time, I find that there’s no better inspiration than a great book).

  14. Lisa
    July 6, 2009

    Dovegreyreader, I was wondering if anyone would mention how looking after small children affected their reading patterns. Three babies in four years is impressive! Gosh, no wonder you didn’t read much. I can’t believe your school sent you home with a letter for too much reading! Staggering.

    Trilby, that’s interesting. Quite a few people have mentioned to me that fiction can seem frivolous compared to fact, and I can totally see how working with those historical texts at uni would put a damper on novel reading. But there’s nothing like heartbreak to point a reader back to the world of make believe…

    Of course, I’m now VERY curious to read The Lying Days.

  15. brazencreative
    July 7, 2009

    I enjoyed this post, it had me thinking about my reading habits too. When I was younger, I was much more enthusiastic about writing and drawing rather than reading. However, since my gap year and beginning university, I have an insatiable appetite for reading. I love finding new fiction to read but I have also become a devotee of biographies, histories, travel writing, journalism and blogs.

    I also have a young brother who is learning to read, so I have been rooting out all my old books and reassembling my Narnia collection. Being a boy though, I don’t think he quite appreciates ‘The Borrowers’ and some of my other favourites..

  16. Trilby
    July 7, 2009

    Lisa, this is a rather charming 1953 review of TLD:

    Of course, there are lots of reasons that it may have struck a chord with me when it did – the protagonist is in her early twenties, navigating the periolous waters of a cross-racial/cultural love affair – but I think the book has so much to offer on every level, I tend to press in on anyone who will listen at every opportunity!

  17. Lisa
    July 8, 2009

    Thanks for the link, Trilby. Gosh, that reviewer sounded blown away by The Lying Days. I’m sold. Thanks for the recommendation. It’s in the Amazon basket.

    Welcome also to brazencreative (great name!).

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  19. Simon T
    July 9, 2009

    I’ve never had a period when I didn’t love reading – in fact, late teenage years were when I got even MORE excited about it, as I was discovering authors which others didn’t know about and who required scavenging through secondhand bookshops and so forth… the reading euphoria is still going strong!

  20. Stewart
    July 19, 2009

    Always been a reader, ever since reading The Wof by someone when I was six, about a pocket-sized alien that loved salt, and on through the Vlad the Drac books and Blyton’s Adventure series, as well as the Famous Five and Secret Seven. Fighting Fantasy gamebooks were also a reading vice back then. Horror fiction took off when I read Stephen King’s Carrie when I was ten, having picked it up from a jumble sale, and always remember mum’s reaction when she tried to confiscate it from me when she read the opening shower scene. Horror continued on, with detours into crime fiction, and little else. Then toward twenty I was picking up the occasional general fiction book, but never getting anywhere. Persisted and found myself enjoying them more, moved away from genre fiction altogether, and have spent the last two years finding myself cutting my way through world lit. Have more directions to explore, but I’m happy for now. And that’s me, in a nutshell.

  21. hrileena
    July 21, 2009

    I haven’t got to fifty yet, but like you, I lost the ability to simply enjoy reading. Nick Hornby writes that a critical faculty is a “terrible thing”, and I have to agree with him. Suddenly pleasure is so much harder to find.

    I didn’t stop reading, though, in fact I ended up getting a degree in English Literature — but again, like you, I viewed as a chore the reading that I once would have excitedly, and voluntarily, taken on. I think I’m beginning to re-learn the simple enjoyment that comes from reading fiction, and I think what lead me back to it was my exposure, at university, to poetry. See, I’d never read poetry before, and if I ever thought about it, I think I thought I simply wouldn’t be smart enough to get it. It was lucky that one of the first poems I had to study was ‘Don Juan’, because I found that not only could I understand it, I could also laugh at it, and with it. (And for that, and that alone, I shall always be grateful to Byron.) I was also lucky in that I had teachers who understood that their students might find the poetic hill a hard climb, and were unfailingly understanding and patient. One of them encouraged us to read ‘Paradise Lost’, as if it were a paperback romance, skipping any bits we didn’t like. I took her advice…and fell in love with that great epic. I haven’t looked back since.

    To wind this rather long comment up, though, I think the thing with poetry was that because it was so new to me, I approached it without any expectations, good or bad: the way I had once approached all reading. So I started trying to read novels, just because they were there, and I hadn’t read them, not because they were considered ‘great’ works, or because I needed to pass a paper. And it worked! And I am thankful.

    Finally, thank you for writing this great article. I stumbled across this website, and I definitely like what I see. Keep up the good work.

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