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Lucy Mangan: Bookworm
Mar. 2nd, 2019 06:44 pmIf you were only going to read one memoir of childhood reading, it wouldn't be this one, it would be Francis Spufford's The Child that Books Built. But if you are someone who reads memoirs of childhood reading, you probably aren't going to stop at one, so why not enjoy Bookworm as well? It isn't as well constructed as The Child that Books Built (which is quite suspiciously neat in its construction). But it is overflowing with good stuff, enthusiasm and humour and warmth. Also with occasionally extraneous matter (I didn't feel I needed Lucy Mangan's overviews of the history of children's books, and if I had needed them, I would probably have needed more than she gave).
Bookworm is the portrait of a happy family. From a very early age, Lucy reads, and is encouraged by her father, who brings her books: her mother and sister do not share this passion, but work round it. The adult Lucy reads to her own small son the books that she owned and loved in childhood - often the very copies she owned, which is impressive - and experiences the feelings of her child self as she does so. This is irresistible.
The internet is full of reviews in which the reviewer cries: "I love this book, it describes me exactly!" But what I find fascinating about the book is how much I recognise in her description of herself as an infant bookworm, and yet how exactly it does not describe me. Yes, like every other reader of the book I am delighted by its enthusiasm for overlooked treasures, things I thought no-one but me had read (in my case it was Antonia Forest's books about the Marlow family). But I am intrigued by the absences, the books she doesn't mention. I can't help suspecting that somewhere on the internet, there is a conversation about the books that Lucy Mangan didn't read.
( Maybe this is the place... )
To be fair to Bookworm, this is less a criticism, more the conversation I would like to have had with its author. There's an alternative post, in which I read you some of my favourite passages, but a better idea would be to read it yourself.
Bookworm is the portrait of a happy family. From a very early age, Lucy reads, and is encouraged by her father, who brings her books: her mother and sister do not share this passion, but work round it. The adult Lucy reads to her own small son the books that she owned and loved in childhood - often the very copies she owned, which is impressive - and experiences the feelings of her child self as she does so. This is irresistible.
The internet is full of reviews in which the reviewer cries: "I love this book, it describes me exactly!" But what I find fascinating about the book is how much I recognise in her description of herself as an infant bookworm, and yet how exactly it does not describe me. Yes, like every other reader of the book I am delighted by its enthusiasm for overlooked treasures, things I thought no-one but me had read (in my case it was Antonia Forest's books about the Marlow family). But I am intrigued by the absences, the books she doesn't mention. I can't help suspecting that somewhere on the internet, there is a conversation about the books that Lucy Mangan didn't read.
( Maybe this is the place... )
To be fair to Bookworm, this is less a criticism, more the conversation I would like to have had with its author. There's an alternative post, in which I read you some of my favourite passages, but a better idea would be to read it yourself.
