The weekend before last, I went to a fete in a small village not far from where I live. It was a typically English affair; loads of families with dogs, stalls groaning with plants, tables laden with household bric-a-brac (mismatched teacups, weird porcelain figures and squat glassware), cottage industry craftsmen and women selling handmade jewellery, soaps and cheeses. I had a great time wandering about chatting to people I knew, eating ice cream and watching the various entertainers perform, including a rather fabulous fire juggler. But the best thing about that fete for me? The attraction that held me for absolutely ages? The stand filled with used books.

Secondhand bookshops and stalls, to me, are the most seductive of creatures. I spot one and it’s a pretty safe bet that you’ll not get a coherent sentence or any sort of conversation out of me until I’ve picked through every rack, box and shelf at least twice – and then a third time to make sure I’ve not missed out on something marvellous that’s been hiding in plain sight. Needless to say, I walked away from that fete with a bagful of paper treasures and, of all things, ‘browsing sunburn’. (Yep, the great golden orb was actually out that day. Virtually unheard of in Britain because if there’s one thing you can count on in this country, it’s that any outdoor event you host or attend will be drizzled, rained and poured upon.)

What did I buy? A load of children’s books, including a vintage copy of Stig of the Dump, and a very tatty but lovely interpretation of Jack and the Beanstalk. The pre-loved gem that pleased me most, though? A dog-eared copy of Judith Krantz’s Till We Meet Again.

What?! I hear you say. Eighties bonk-buster trash? Jane! How could you?

Oh, dear readers, with ease. With ease. You see Till We Meet Again was a landmark book for me. A tome that marked a milestone on this wonderful journey through books and words that I’ve been on – and will be on – for the rest of my life. Seeing it sitting there at that fete reminded me how much it meant to my fifteen-year-old self and my decision to part with the princely sum of thirty pence and buy it was a no-brainer. I had a great time that evening, perusing the text and re-reading certain scenes that I remembered standing out to me over twenty years ago. And, interestingly, those same scenes appealed to me as much, in my mid-thirties, as they did way back when. Which got me thinking:

What would my reading life look like if I mapped it out?

In other words, which books have had the most influence on me at different stages of my life? Are there any discernable patterns and themes that come through when I look back at the titles I’ve got a soft spot for? Are there certain books that I chose as a child that alluded to the stories and genres I now enjoy most as an adult or (more scarily) certain aspects of my mature personality? I have to say, my literary imprint is surprising (and revealing), to say the least.

Behold, Jane’s Life in Books, ages four through twenty …

 

The Tale of Peter Rabbit – Beatrix Potter
Age read: 4
This is one of the first books I can remember reading all by myself. I loved Beatrix’s illustrations but also the element of danger; would Mr McGregor catch Peter and turn him into rabbit pie?

 

Where the Wild Things Are – Maurice Sendak
Age read: 4
This should have scared the cr*p out of me but, for whatever reason, it didn’t and I adored it. Naughty Max and all those terrible beasts who wanted to eat him? Deliciously dark and inexplicably appealing.

 

The Blue Fairy Book – Andrew Lang
Age read: 6
This book sat on a shelf at my grandparents’ house and I used to pull it out every time I visited them. It had a blue cloth cover and was filled with deliciously dark fairy stories that I just couldn’t seem to get enough of. The one that stood out, though? Blue Beard. That awful moment when his new wife disobeys him and she discovers what’s behind the locked door …

 

Black Beauty – Anna Sewell
Age read: 7
I was horse-mad and this book totally fed my obsession with ponies. However, I think the other reason that Black Beauty appealed was that the emotions expressed in it were so raw and honest. Sewell didn’t shy away from the difficult stuff – cruelty, sickness and death were all strong themes. And I liked that. Liked that the story had the power to make me both smile and cry.

 

The Halfmen of O – Maurice Gee
Age read: 9
The Halfmen of O? Maurice who? If you’re a Kiwi (or an ex-pat Kiwi like me), I’d be willing to place money on you having read this. Halfmen was my first ‘true’ experience with the fantasy genre and the captor/captive plot line: Susan Ferris, the female protagonist, is dragged into a cave by an old tramp and transported to another world, O, where she is held captive by a brutal race known as the Half-Men. This book, the first in a trilogy, is about her cousin Nick’s attempts to save her and bring her home.

 

The Valley of Horses – Jean M. Auel
Age read: 11
This one belonged to a friend of mine, Julie, who was as much of a bookworm as I was. We were at the age where sex was a common topic of conversation and she’d promised me that this had some decent shagging in it. I remember ripping through its not inconsiderable number of pages in a matter of days but, interestingly, I found that the sex scenes in it appealed less to me than the hardships suffered by the characters. Reading this made me realise how much I liked plots that featured life or death situations, man versus the elements.

 

A Town Like Alice – Neville Shute
Age read: 11
My mum bought me this from our local secondhand bookshop. It had a red leather cover and a built-in bookmark made of gold ribbon. She saw it on the shelf and said ‘You’ll like this’. Man was she right.

World War II. Jean Paget, a British expat, is taken prisoner by the Japanese. Unable to decide what to do with her and the other women and children in their possession, the invading forces decide to march them through the Malayan jungle, supposedly to a suitable camp. The weak die, the strong keep going. And in the middle of all this an Australian POW, Joe, takes a shine to Jean and tries to feed her and her companions – with disastrous results. Brutal, romantic … I wanted to move to a farm in the outback after reading it.

 

Defy the Eagle – Lynn Bartlett
Age read: 14
Defy has a slave/master storyline of epic proportions; Jilana, a Roman noblewoman, is captured by a barbaric Celt, Cadaric, and forced to serve him as he and his countrymen wage war against the Empire. Shackles, human sacrifice, loads of bloodshed. I must have re-read the scene in which Jilana is tied to the back of Cadaric’s wagon about a billion times; that fact that she was forced to depend on him for everything, despite her initial hatred of him, only added to the appeal.

*A full review of Defy the Eagle can be found here.

 

The Wild Hunt – Elizabeth Chadwick
Age read: 15
Bought in the bargain bin at my local bookstore. My friend S and I went halves and we took turns reading it. The plot? An arranged marriage in which fifteen-year-old Judith, who is terrified of men, is forced to wed Norman nobleman, Guyon FitzMiles. Feuding, fickle kings, loads of sword fights and, of course, sexual discovery. I have continued to buy Elizabeth Chadwick’s books over the years based on the strength of this one. Her attention to historical detail is second to none.

 

Till We Meet Again – Judith Krantz
Age read: 15
Borrowed from the library. Rediscovered at the fete. The scene I read over and over again as a teenager? The one in which Bruno has sex with Sabine de Koville. At fifteen, I didn’t know or understand why this particular encounter appealed to me so much but in retrospect it’s pretty damn obvious. The encounter is a D/s one. It’s not named as such, doesn’t feature any ‘equipment’ but the power-exchange dynamic is crystal clear. And hellishly hot.

 

The Flame and the Flower – Kathleen Woodiwiss
Age read: 16
Found in my grandmother’s spare room! Hideously OTT cover, this book is often credited with founding the romance genre. So un-PC it’s not funny (yep, it’s from the hideous ‘rape plot’ era) but shamefully readable. Not least because it has (you guessed it) an element of captor/captive to it. (Are you beginning to see a trend in my reading habits?)

 

Delta of Venus – Anaïs Nin
Age read: 16 (I think)
Lightbulb moment! My first encounter with ‘pure’ erotica and the point at which I realised how powerful and beautiful the genre could be. This book helped me to understand the importance of the brain when it comes to sex and sexuality. That what turns us on can often be unexpected and unusual.

 

Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
Age read: 16
Tried reading this at age ten. Hated it. Then revisited it in my teens and fell for the clever, witty writing. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read this book over the years; it speaks to the romantic in me and, for that reason, never loses its appeal.

 

The Bone People – Keri Hulme
Age read: 17
One of my all time favourite books. I tried to read it at age thirteen and wasn’t ready – gave up after three chapters. Age seventeen? I devoured it. The Bone People earned me a scholarship grade in my final year exams (it was the title I chose for my fiction essay) and I went on to study it at university, too. Sad, beautiful, and the the way Hulme plays with language is exquisite.

 

So there you have it, the landmark books of my youth, part one. Is it what you expected? Completely different? Can you see echoes of Chintz in my choices? And I’m curious; what does your reading life look like? Which books appear on your timeline? Can you see your current self in the titles you have selected the way I can?

Part two later this week …

 

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