I read a lot. Mostly i don’t have a particular preference to what i read. Like all kids, i started off being read to. Then slowly progressed to reading those books that had previously been read to me.
During what people like to call my pre adolescent ‘formative years’ i read a lot of Enid Blyton. Which kind of instilled this need in me for mindless adventure and whimsical fun. I also read a lot of easy to read versions of classics. You know, the Macmillan variety and those small square books that alternated pages of text with pages of pictures?
During my early teens i remember reading a lot Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, then later on i developed a penchant for science fiction and fantasy, and this continued until my early twenties (im still in my early twenties by the way).
Recently however, there’s been a resurgence in my interest in the classics. It all started about a little more than a year ago i think, when i picked up a random copy of Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms; the story was gripping to say the least and it left me hungry for more.
Since then I’ve progressed to reading a lot of Orwell, some Wilde, Conrad and even more Hemingway. I like their simplistic approach to a mostly complex and multi faceted story. And i also like the way they set out to explore heavy social themes without having need for cheap thrills in the form of endlessly unexpected plot twists.
Right now i’m onto Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. My earlier foray in to Dostoevsky; Notes from the Underground, did not end too well. But Crime and Punishment has got all the claustrophobia of Underground with all the thrills of a crime novel. Im hundred and fifty pages in and pretty hooked.
I never was a contemporary novel man. Though I really can’t think why. Its not that I’ve not enjoyed the few I’ve read like John Grisham, Sydney Sheldon, Paulo Coelho, Dan Brown etc. Iv actually not been able to put most of them down, but they just don’t keep me asking for more after i finish.