Since my late teens, I’ve read widely motivated by people who seemed to know everything. The list of people who inspired me and forced me to question everything I knew includes rappers and authors, but the most authoritative figure in my literary adventure is beyond doubt, the incredible Stephan Fry.
I hate the repetitive melodies of tolling bells and lacklustre lyrics of Christmas songs. I hate tinsel, dangling from plastic trees and draped across the ceiling like Poundland chandeliers. I hate Christmas films, Brussel sprouts, and I’ll never understand the significance of holly. And if one more shoves a piece
“You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.” Oscar Wilde first published the philosophical The Picture of Dorian Gray in a magazine in 1890. However, the editor considered the account too indecent for his magazine’s
Last month, I drunkenly dragged my friend into a bookshop despite his protests. I picked up a handful of books, and he thrust a thick 600 pager onto my pile. It was a fantasy novel. My friend assured me it was a good read, but having held it, I decided
I was nine or ten when I started reading a book with a red background and the protagonist’s name in yellow capital letters. The front of a red train raced from the page. The painted destination read Hogwarts Express. A bewildered cartoon figure with thin circular glasses and a lightning
My mum gave me this bestseller as a Christmas present last year, but I didn’t rush to read it. I had plenty of books to make my way through, and the other book she brought seemed more appealing. I picked up the other book, and from the first line, I
For anyone who loves to read, the physical form of a book is sacrosanct and regarded with the utmost respect. I had a friend who cared little for the physical quality of the numerous books he repeatedly read. His copies had pages torn or missing. Front covers ripped in two,