The First Time I Realised I Liked Being Disturbed By A Book
It was a home office, technically a library, and far larger than anything I had ever seen inside a house. I had accompanied my dad as he wrapped up some work, leaving me free to wander, completely mesmerised by the sheer size of it all. Shelves upon shelves of books, all of them big people books . At nine, I hadn’t heard of a single one. Until then, my experience of novels mostly meant Enid Blyton – you know what I mean: Famous Five, Secret Seven, the like. This was a different world entirely. The book that caught my eye was From Doon with Death by Ruth Rendell. The cover was peculiar, to say the least: stark white, a red lipstick with a golden base, crawling with ants. It was slightly off-putting and maybe that was exactly why I reached for it (after climbing onto a chair, of course). I remember hiding it inside my shirt as we left. Is this an admission of stealing? Sorry, I meant borrowing (I’m so sorry, sir). The book smelled rusty. The...
