Pollyism of the week

I’man imposter, I fear. I also fear they’ll know it. I’m not smart enough to be in a grown-up book shop, but I’m going to pretend I know what I’m looking for and maybe the very smart people at the counters, who look like moonlighting poets, won’t notice I’m wandering aimlessly from Feminist Literature, through Civil Rights, past Ancient History and accidentally ending up in the Kids section.

I feel safe. I find myself deciding between Richard Scarry’s Busy,BusyWorld and What Do People Do All Day ?. Ah yes, I am a grown-up bookshop interloper.

Children’s books make me happy. They remind me of my wonderful childhood, which was neither privileged nor beautiful, but filled with family love, and at least here I know some of the authors and recognise titles.

I was an avid reader as a child. Mum had me reading Agatha Christie mystery novels at seven. I read Aldous Huxley’s Brave NewWorld at 13 and fell in love with biographies at university. I recall reading Patty Hearst’s novel about being held hostage and feeling like the most educated 18-year-old on earth.

However, when I had children, I somehow forgot to read. Well, I didn’t forget to read. Perhaps I didn’t have time or my brain went a little mushy and squishy. I really only read snippets of magazines while sitting on the loo. I did read constantly to my children because my mum had read constantly to me.

I remember my aunt, who was a teacher, saying that the greatest thing you can do for a child is read to them. She was right. I read for hours to my children daily, even making up wild, silly adventures that would have them giggling and squealing with delight in their bunk beds. I would end on a cliffhanger each night despite them begging me to continue.

Now I’m reading adult books again. I’m trying to make up for years and years where the only reputable author I knew of was J.K. Rowling. So here in “big people’s book shop”, I head to the grown-up section. Cooking. Good. Cooking I can handle. I pick up Nadia Lim’s EasyWeekNight Meals and decide that’s a great start. It’s not really a book with a story, though, is it? It’s like lots of very short stories with beautiful pictures.

I move to New Releases and find a book about empowering women. Good. Yes, I want to empower women. Not a novel, though. Not a biography. I pick up the book and move on to the Recommended section. The moonlighting poets must have suggested these books and they all look cool. Some even have blue and pink hair. I pick up a book that’s apparently amazing and written beautifully. My work here is done.

I come home with my cloth bag of books. I’ll need to find my reading glasses, but I’m determined to begin.

Three hours later, Nadia has taught me to make divine thyme-stuffed chicken with butternut and spinach, with a creamy mushroom sauce. My family is happy and raving.

Tomorrow I’ll tackle the books without pictures. I almost promise I will.