I’m going to London for the day tomorrow, and since the last post was a non-post I thought I may as well do tomorrow’s entry today. It’s about the first novel I remember reading.
Now this is incredibly difficult because I don’t actually remember much of my childhood, and when I do think back I don’t think of it as my childhood, but it’s more that I’m witnessing someone else’s. It’s like I know the events happened, but they happened to someone else. The same thing happens throughout my life, whenever I looked back it never feels like it happened to “me”. As an entity I exist in this moment and in this moment alone.
That being said, I do know that I read a lot of books when I was younger. I’m not sure this was the first that I read but I really loved the Goosebumps books as a child. I’m sure the first one of those I read was about some radioactive liquid that spilled somewhere. The cover was orange, and I loved that the cover of the book was textured so it actually had goosebumps. They were some great stories. I know I definitely read a lot of Enid Blyton as well, and The Chronicles of Narnia, but I couldn’t say in which order I read them.