English Literature undergrads usually have a certain set of motivations for being in that lecture hall at 9 am; it may be the refined country houses of Austen or the Beowulf-esque land of Tolkien in which their love of literature flourished. But for me, it was nothing so cultured; it was the books of my childhood which page by page cemented a love of reading. And when asked the all-important question for an English student, “What’s your favourite book?” I will always look toward their creased and well-worn spines rather than the increasingly large pile of anthologies currently populating my university desk. So here we go, the five books that built an English student:
The Secret Seven, Enid Blyton
This fearless band of child detectives, less popular than their not-so-distant cousins the Famous Five, live in a quintessentially British village and operate their investigations out of their garden shed. This simple yet charming version of the whodunit structure sparked my love of crime novels and is to blame for the not insignificant portion of my bookshelves occupied by Agatha Christies. The Secret Seven’s dog, Scamper, has also worked his way into my life. When a small Labrador puppy arrived in my household 13 years ago, the choice of name was obvious. Over the years, it has been shortened to Scamp due to his sock-stealing tendencies and general disregard for obedience, necessitating his name being yelled a fair few times a day.
Kensuke’s Kingdom, Michael Morpurgo
The Amazon age band may say ages eight to eleven, but I reject the premise that you can outgrow this book. Morpurgo’s tale of friendship and survival grows with you, the tensions of war just tangible at the edges of his words. The two central characters, Michael (a boy who incorporates elements of the author himself) and the grizzled Kensuke, are united by their isolation on an island that contains no one other than a dog called Stella Artois and a family of orangutans. Without major spoilers, the climax of the novel is relatively happy for Michael Morpurgo (I’m still getting over the ending of Private Peaceful, a book I read more than a decade ago).
How to Train Your Dragon, Cressida Cowell
If you had all the original books in primary school, along with the dragon playing cards at the back of each, you are officially cool. On discovering there was an animated movie, I remember being absolutely convinced that it wouldn’t be as good as the books. Ten years on, in an impressive turn of hypocrisy, it is my all-time favourite film that I refuse to shut up about and could honestly write a dissertation on as the perfect book-to-movie adaptation. Now they have released a live action, adapting the adaptation, I have developed yet another grudge against DreamWorks. Did I still cry in the cinema watching it though? Yup. So maybe give me a decade, and I will be able to get on board.
The Golden Compass, Philip Pullman
This was a pretty compulsory read considering my family named me after Pullman’s protagonist Lyra. However, she rapidly became one of my favourite fictional characters for reasons beyond our shared name. Lyra’s adventures with her daemon Pantalaimon reveal a consistent strength and stubbornness as she navigates the collision of worlds that she didn’t even know existed. This book effectively chucked me headfirst into the world of fantasy that I now love so much; so anytime someone asks me: “are you named after that Philip Pullman book?” I am happy to say yes.
The Colour of Magic, Terry Pratchett
In my opinion, any book that can convince you that a turtle called Great A’Tuin floating through space with four elephants balanced on its back with a disk-shaped world atop of them is reasonable, has to be a work of pure genius. I have listed just one of the books because Terry Pratchett was a busy man, and as much as my passion would allow me to summarise each of his 42 novels, I don’t think my word count would. I was first introduced to the Discworld series by my dad, and since then, have been unable to resist the fantastically ridiculous world Pratchett constructed. I am so close to convincing my friends to read the series, I reckon selling them will only take a few additional hours of enthusing about the orangutan librarian who can communicate multitudes with a simple “ook” and the wizards who are more proficient in bureaucracy than they are at magic.
So in conclusion, if you are about to begin an English degree and are concernedly staring at novels such as Middlemarch, so large it would be better suited as a door stop than reading material, remember the books that built you.
Words by Lyra Coulthard
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