I have a confession to make: I love childrens books. LOVE them. Would rather read them than adult books. Not modern ones, they have to be classic childrens books. Among my favourites are the Little House on the Prairie series, the Anne of Green Gable series, the Little Women series, Winnie the Pooh, Wind in the Willows, the Swallows & Amazons series, the Just William books, What Katy Did, The Wishing Chair and Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton, and anything by Carol Ryrie Banks.
I was thinking about it last night, while listening to Wind in the Willows, and knitting. There’s something so very comforting and reassuring about childrens fiction. The writer aims to entertain, to soothe, to amuse, but never (as is the case with so much adult fiction) to impress or shock. There’s an innocence about childrens fiction, and a simplicity that soothes our muddled up adult minds. And very often childrens authors capture the quirks of human nature in a way that more sophisticated adult fiction fail to do. Can you read Winnie the Pooh, or Wind in the Willows without instantly identifying yourself with one of the characters?
So are you like me, do you turn to childrens books when you need comforting, soothing, reassuring? If so, which ones, and why?