![]() ![]() The biographies of people I had never heard of also held potential, more so than those of famous people I had heard of. A cookbook or something explaining the chemical elements of the earth’s crust in layman’s terms even I could understand, were equally as valid as the novels. Now, I allowed myself to choose anything. At school I had won a book voucher after excelling in history, and had set out to buy a history book only to be disappointed and resentful of the limitations this put on my choice. I didn’t know what I would choose when I walked into Waterstones on the West end of Princes Street. The rest – well, the prosaic details of life needed paying for. I gave myself permission to buy one beautiful new book with some of the fee. I also hated knowing that much of this glorious money which felt somehow special would soon be swallowed up in rent, bills, food and bus fares. A companion for the book which I had reviewed, so it wouldn’t feel so lonely – part of its own story with no friend to share its tale. The hard clean pre-release copy was a reward in itself, but I was keen to spend at least part of my fee on something which would last. The novel I had reviewed, a Young Adult book called Red Ink by debut novelist Julie Mayhew, was beautiful – the story of a young girl’s journey of discovery from the outskirts of London to the heady melon fields of a Greek Island. ![]() I bought this book with the money from my first book review for the soon-to-be-deceased print edition of The Independent on Sunday. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |