Lucy Mangan

I can't actually review this book dispassionately. Obviously Lucy Mangan wrote it for me. This particular bookworm is only a little older than my eldest child. Her mother is only a little older than me. As a child, her reading choices were my reading choices (apart from Enid Blyton. I wasn't allowed to read her books, and on odd occasions that I came across one, I saw no reason to disobey my mother's wishes. What bilge). And as she was a child of the 80s, her reading choices were my children's reading choices: or mine, in their early years, obviously. And what riches there were to mine!

This book is quite simply a nostalgic memory fest of all the books, so many of them now classics, that enriched both our childhoods - and in my case, the early motherhood years as well. The true friends and teachers that books become for the bookish child is so well celebrated here. They give the lie to a certain grandson's infamous exclamation last year - 'Books? They're so 1950s!' You're wrong Alex. A well-loved book is a friend forever.… (més)

The author was funny, but the spoilers, my goodness! There were virtually no warnings. Why?! Why do readers spoil books for other readers?

At about 54%, the author mentions that she's going to talk about [b:Anne of Green Gables|8127|Anne of Green Gables (Anne of Green Gables, #1)|L.M. Montgomery|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1615094578l/8127._SY75_.jpg|3464264]. I haven't finished that series yet, and I don't want to read the spoilers that are apparently inevitable with Mangan.

I'm so disappointed.… (més)