I remember I read everything. I’d go the library, borrow any-sort-of books and devour them all while I was eating, in the toilet, everywhere. I particularly liked folk tales, Joan Aiken, Philippa Pearce, Beverly Clearly, short story anthologies, horror and science fiction, but chances are if you gave me anything I’d read it.
Day is fussy.
More than half of what I throw at him, he doesn’t fancy. He doesn’t take a second look at Enid Blyton, the Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Alfred Hitchcock, Roald Dahl and certainly nothing which I used to like as a girl.
He’s also not interested in library fare which kills me because I don’t believe in buying books.
So he just keeps re-reading all the same old stuff. His Tin Tins, Geronimo Stiltons, the Beast Quests, while I keep wondering what else might strike his fancy. You know, try to broaden his horizons and all that.
Then one day I decided to throw all seven Harry Potter books at him and tadah! Success! He loves the whole series although I’m not quite sure why he would prefer it over, say, the lovely Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
* Our motley collection of Harry Potter, on loan from Teng