When I was younger, I would devour book after book after book and the vast majority would be fiction. I would never consider looking for non-fiction books to buy, asking for them as gifts or getting them out of the library. I had a few, such as my trusty encyclopedia which I would happily sit and flick through but my main interest was always reading stories. That all changed rather suddenly in my early twenties. Whilst I still very much enjoy fiction, I’ve found myself reading more non-fiction than ever before. I have a long list that I want to read and I find myself gravitating towards non-fiction new releases in bookshops.
World Book Day comes around every year and as an adult it appears to have very little importance. Other than my colleagues who have spent the week trying to find suitably creative costumes for their children to wear to school that day, for many adults World Book Day comes and goes without any significance. I’ve written before about why I think that should change. However, I recently attended a talk given by a number of booksellers on the theme “the books that made me” and in the limited number they discussed, each of them started with a book from childhood. It got me thinking about the books which had had an impact on me throughout my life so far, but particularly the number of children’s books which had helped to lay that groundwork.