My love of reading was killed in school, we had to go through the speed reading class. Why read if you can't take the time to mull over what the author is trying to say. Just made no sense to me. I got back to reading from a friend, she recommended Phyllis Whitney books. Unfortunately her books are almost impossible to find, after her death.
You know me... never pass on a good argument, so I did that in College. Whenever, the professor would ask, "what do you think the author was trying to say?" (based on a simple sentence) I'd have to ask... why isn't it possible that there was no hidden meaning in any of it and the author was just trying to tell a story. It's amazing that I passed some of those classes because I was the cause of many a anger laden facial redness. I just always thought that the need to find hidden meanings was total bull. Sometimes, depending on the author and the topic, yes there was a moral there someplace. But, not in every single thing that they decided we needed to experience.
I never had much interest in reading until my Junior year in High School. My book reports and the like were usually of Ian Fleming... James Bond type literature. Then I stumbled upon a book called "Wind from the Carolina's" by Robert Wilder.
Suffice it to say that this very thick book (no pictures
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) captured my imagination. I was able to put myself in it and experience what everyone else was experiencing in the story. Opened my mind and triggered my curiosity. I find it so ironic that after reading that book around 51 years ago, I now live in the Carolina's, however, to be honest it really doesn't take place in the Carolina's after the first chapter. In fact, I just finished reading it for at least the 12th time and I still find sections that I have forgotten about so it still offers surprises to me.
I talked about it with my 14 year old grandson and now he wants to read it, and he has never wanted to read anything that wasn't related to sports. It hasn't been in print for many years now and my vintage copy is getting a little brittle, but, if he can get the same thing out of it that I did, I will take the chance that the teenage clumsy will stay away for as long as he needs to read it.