Last month Yael Biran broke her elbow in South-East London so she travelled to her local NHS hospital with a book to read while in the waiting rooms. However, the experience was not at all what she expected, so she wrote the following complaints letter.
Brazilian Penguin-Companhia’s Tweet for a Read campaign takes authors harassing readers to a new level. They’re offering a smart bookmark to readers that senses how long it was since you last picked up the book you’re reading and lets the author know so they can tweet you to pick it back up.
Continuing on from What Reading Means to Me, Part I: The Early Years.
- Of Mice and Men (Steinbeck)
- Romeo and Juliet (Shakespeare)
- Macbeth (Shakespeare)
- The Lady of Shalott (Tennyson)
- The Signalman (Dickens)
- An Inspector Calls (Priestley)
The last was a stark lesson in the importance of treating people well, how you’d want to be treated, to avoid being responsible for harmful repercussions of my actions experienced by others.
But it wasn’t until I studied for my A-levels (age 16-18), after choosing English Literature and Psychology, that reading really changed me.
Reading has been ever-present in my life. It’s had a destructive, educational, and inspirational effect.
As a child my favourite time of day was bedtime. Supper was two biscuits and milk followed by fast teeth-brushing and then hopping into my Forever Friends covered single bed while anxiously waiting for my mother to squeeze in and join me. Every time she visited friends and family far away from home, leaving me in the incompetent hands of my father, she would apologise by bringing home Ladybird fairy tale books. Every night she’d read to me in various animated voices, firing up my imagination by breathing life into each character.