I’ve always been a clichéd book girl. I always had a novel on the go at school, I’d forget to lay the table for dinner because I had my nose in the pages of whatever story I’d started and I always had a stash of Animal Ark books buried under my pillow ready to whip out when my mum thought I was asleep. My mum remembers me saying, aged seven after a particularly strenuous evening at Brownies, ‘Mummy, I’m not cut out for running, I’m cut out for sitting down and reading a good book.’
My bedrooms have always been crammed with more books than I could realistically keep and when I bought my flat this year my first thought was ‘finally, a room I can call a library‘ (Okay, it’s a large walk-in cupboard full of bookshelves, but it’s my library).
I tend to find something to love about every book I read. A lot of time is invested in a book… Why not find something to love about it? So, if you’re looking for harsh literary criticism and one star reviews I’m probably not your girl (my English lit uni lecturers would hate me now). I’m not elitist when it comes to books… I love them, I love reading them, I own a shit ton of them and am constantly buying more. I’ve been told I have good taste, I’ve got a wide range of favourites, so I hope there’s something here for someone, somewhere.