Faithful Reader kidded me the other day about my propensity for reading children’s books. He said, “And how old are you?” I don’t think he meant it too seriously, but he did have a point. I had been reading an excess of them. Children’s books are quick and easy, and I have many, making them perfect targets in the Great Library Purge. That’s why I had been reading them in that quantity, but it doesn’t answer the question of why I own so many of them.
When I start to feel overwhelmed by negativity, I try to read books that are light and fun, and children’s literature is a good source for those books. The world is dark enough without focusing on the negative, which is exactly what so many books for grown-ups do. Children’s books avoid the truly horrific problems, and when they tackle a tough issue, they do it in more easily digestible pieces. They are a buffer against the dark. They recharge my emotional batteries.
My batteries are supercharged now and I feel up to the challenge of reading just about anything. It’s a good thing, because after The Magus come Vonnegut’s Deadeye Dick and Austen’s Persuasion (one of the 10 classics I plan to read for 2008).