What books did you love growing up? What is the first romance book you read and loved? Who is your all time (go way back now) favorite author? Romance author?
Some corners of the Interwebs have designated Thursday “Throwback Thursday.” This is the first of what I hope will be a regular series of posts about my own reading history. I’ll focus on fiction of course (Thomas Merton and various obscure historians being a poor fit for this blog).
The Bobbsey Twins and biographies— tons of biographies — are the only memories I can dredge up from my earliest reading. Children’s fiction in the 1950s held little interest for me. One clear memory is the day I walked into the Worthington, Ohio, public library and turned left (toward the adult area) instead of right (to the children’s room). No one challenged me. No one questioned it when I came home with a satisfyingly thick book. What a glorious feeling!
I also remember that first book I took out: Jane Eyre. It absorbed me completely. I had discovered a love of fiction. I had discovered a love of story. And, though I didn’t know it yet, I had discovered a love of romance. The trials and triumph of Jane stay with me to this day. I loved her dignity and strength. I loved her independence. Let’s face it, I loved Mr. Rochester. I read it over and over throughout my teens, always happy to sink back into Jane’s world. My dog eared paperback copy sits on my bookshelf to this day.