What this project is about

From 2001 to 2003 I was lucky enough to study part time for a Masters degree in children's literature with the University of Reading (UK). For my dissertation I was going to write about Philip Pullman and C S Lewis, but I became increasingly fascinated by what people wrote about Pullman. He was credited with an awful lot of power to impact children's lives - negatively! I found myself wondering if some of the critics realised that they appeared to be attributing more power to Pullman to influence child development than the Bible or other religious teachings.

At a similar time, I found myself reading Spufford's The child that books built. I was excited by the idea his title represented. But, the more I read, the more I felt the book was mis-titled. A much more appropriate title seemed like it might be something like The books the child built. The more Spufford talked about the ways in which he changed as a result of his reading, the more it seemed to me that he was describing the ways in which he targeted the books that interested him and the aspects of those books on which he chose to focus his attention. The child, it seemed, in Spufford's narrative, was an active shaper of his own destiny.

So now, ten years later, I've decided to revisit my fascination with children's literature and its perceived capacity to contribute to the adult the child reader becomes. I hope to read about children's literature, child development, censorship, bibliotherapy and anything else that seems like it might be fascinating and / or illuminating. But I'm no academic. So I will also be exploring my own memories and feelings and seeking the memories and attitudes of others.

So, does the book shape the reader? Or does the reader shape the book? Shall we find out?

Sunday, 14 July 2013

Escape

The world is too loud, too bright
overwhelming
A book calls to me
Even as a universe expands before me
the world shrinks
then disappears

The words disappear off the page and a doorway to a new world opens. Here, friends embrace me warmly and adventure calls. But there is no intrusion. Even as I mourn my inability to touch, to taste, I delight in the ability to hold this world at a distance. In these worlds, no response is expected or required. I am free to observe, to love, to be - and to turn away. I can fill my mind with wonder, inspiration and delight - and offer nothing in return. These friends ask nothing, need nothing; my world is safe.
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1 comment:

  1. Jaisy28 August 2013 at 11:28

    What a delight of a poem,Helen!!
    Keep on keeping on....

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