Not all books are good

I can’t remember the specific book which caused the epiphany: not all books are good. I grew up devouring books. All books. Any books. From my father’s James Herriot to my mother’s Mary Stewart [This Rough Magic and The Moon-Spinners being particular favourites] via Agatha Christie loaned from the library, Shakespeare and Kingsley Amis at school, EM Forster and Virginia Woolf at university, I read it all.

Mary Stewart

my old copy

The epiphany of realizing that not all books were good was disappointing, almost a betrayal. A little like the realization that Mendelssohn was not English and that Fingal’s Cave was not in Scotland.

No-one warned me that bad books got published too.

Mary Stewart


‘This Rough Magic’ by Mary Stewart [UK: Hodder]

And if you’d like to tweet a link to THIS post, here’s my suggested tweet:
Not all #books are good: an epiphany as a teenager via @SandraDanby