This Is Why I Loath The Daily Mail

So last week the Daily Mail ran an article on the teen book trend of 'sick-lit'. 'Sick-lit' being books that have some themes of self harm, cancer, depression, and death. Covers quite a wide range, really. 
If I may interrupt for just one second: AAGGHH. Just a little pre-stress scream, before I go and re-read the article. I suggest you do the same. You'll need a good pre-stress scream before you read the article. 
Now, understand that one of my favorite hobbies is going on the Daily Mail's website, and crying over it's own, specialized brand of stupidity, but I think this rather pushed the boat out. It's an almost perfect combination of the Mail's general opinions of 'Clever people are scary' and 'books are for weirdos'. I looked at the comments on this post, expecting a lot of outraged mumsnet goers, crying over their babies, but I was rather pleased with the mob screaming a rather loud "Get a grip."
I first heard of the article in a tweet for Maureen Johnson (@maureenjohnson), a very well respected young adult author, and good friend of John Green (realjohngreen), who's book, The Fault In Out Stars, the Mail seemed to find particular joy in ripping apart, and spoiling. 
The general message of the article is "reading will break your children, due to all these IMMORAL BOOKS ABOUT DEATH THAT ARE NOW VERY FASHIONABLE". Ooh, dear. 
For a start, I'd just like to back up The Fault In Our Stars. It's an incredible book, which, AMAZINGLY, has some themes outside of cancer. Like, y'know, love. And triumph over hardship. Good, nice messages, and proof that sometimes you do have to fight for love, and that life can be hard, but it's worth it in the end. Things that would want my non-existent children to know, to be honest. 
So, yeah, article. "Children's book expert Amanda Craig is among those concerned about these books. She has been sent about 12 teen sick-lit books over the past year, but she feels so strongly she will not review them." Not that I want to judge, but if she won't review them, then I'm not sure she's a very good expert. I've read quite a few of the books mentioned in the article, and they're really not that bad. Apart from Red Tears, which was, if anything, boring. So I apologize if I'm inclined to not trust Ms Craig's opinion. I may trust her more of she  actually had one. 
But then on a rather different scale, there's, "When the Mail approached Penguin, the firm declined to make a statement..." Good. Hopefully with a muttered, "Piss off." 
I'll leave you to take your own stance on the article. Just know that if you agree with it, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

Books I Grew Up With

This is currently a trending topic on twitter, and due to the amount I read, I thought I really should blog about it.

I can't for the life of me remember the first ever book I read. It may or may not have been one of the Magic Key books they used in school, to teach us to read, but I'm pretty sure I was reading long before that. The first book I can ever remember being asked to read aloud to my teach was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Me being me (of course) I always actually really liked the White Witch. I thought she had a certain tasteful glamour about her. I loved how she knew what she wanted, and how to get it. In a (slightly evil) way, she's been a pretty big influence.

Another old favorite was Alice's Adventures In Wonderland. I still have my mothers old copy of the book, which is now held together with a lot of elastic, as most of the pages have fallen out. I went to my schools one and only fancy dress day as Alice when I was about six, wearing a lace apron Mum had sewn for me the night before. I mostly blame this book for how I turned out - with a no-holds-bared imagination and a slightly sassy response to rabbits. Alice was also my first literary crush. (Plus I get to say that I was into the playing cards/tea party thing before everyone else.)

Finally, I think it's very important that I mention the Harry Potter books. When I was (roughly) seven, Mum bought me the film of The Philosophers Stone. Needless to say, I loved it, and she almost instantly presented me with a box set of the first four books, which I consumed like wildfire. I can remember being eight, and reading The Chamber Of Secrets in two days, then jumping up and down along a train carriage in celebration. I bought the fifth book the day it came out, then promptly had to put it away for six months, due to being terrified of the first chapter (I sneaked a peek at the ending). There's way too much I blame this book for to list them all. I think it goes unsaid that it very much helped to shape who I am now.

So, it's mostly due to those three that I came out this way; with an irresponsible lust for author-dom and the inability to not blurt out stupid/weird/mentally scarring sentences. I stopped reading for a while last year (I discovered fanfiction), but over summer I launched myself back into the book world with no intention of coming back out. I finished Animal Farm this afternoon. I may not read quite as much as I used to, but I sure as hell aren't about to stop. A x

(Apologies for the sheer amount of crap on my shelves. There are books underneath it, promise.)

Holiday (The First)

I've been in St. Ives! For a week, with the family, and it was lovely.
We stayed in a holiday cottage that was literally on the beach. If you fell out of a window, you would hit sand. It was awesome.
There was a large alcove, with two chairs and walls made of windows looking out across the sea, and I spent most of my time there, reading. I got through One Hundred And One Dalmatians,  Let's Pretend This Never Happened (by Jenny Lawson - @thebloggess, an amazing woman), and through most of The Night Watch (by Sarah Waters, check out the BBC dramatization).
I will follow later with pictures, I got some really nice stuff while I was down there.

Also - reminder to myself - I need to blog about Fifty Shades of Grey, holiday and Cath Kidson.

17/06/2012

I was at Dads all day today, cause, y'know fathers day. Thus, unproductive. I slept until Dad woke me up, in an attempt to avoid the company of the household (mean), then we went out for lunch. It was unhealthy. I didn't care.
So anyways, I took the dog for a walk when we got home, which was lovely. She was behaved, which was weird. The weather was lovely, and there was a hell ton of plants, which is enjoyable. It was (roughly) two miles long, with a moody cocker spaniel. Not bad for a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Got home, was depressed, so I read a book from when I was small, then went to the park to go on the swings for an hour (weeeeeeeeee).
And now I've started knitting some new hand warmers :3
Hey, I could be doing a lot worse
A xx