Flaming Dangerzone

Pages bound together to hinge on one side

When I was four years old, my father tried to start teaching me to read. I didn't like it and more or less refused to learn it. Until I started watching movies on television, also with my father. Not understanding English at the time meant that I had to rely on the subtitles to understand what was going on; that was what drove me to learn to read.

I've liked books ever since I learned to read. My father's library was small but respectable and I had already consumed most of it by the time I was ten. The first book I called *mine* was a Portuguese edition of the Odyssey that my mother found by the wayside. The hardcover book was badly damaged. The back cover was missing, the colours in the front cover were washed out, the edges worn out, and the whole thing was a bit wet from the rain. I brought it to school to read once and one of my teachers offered to fix it for me. She cleaned it up, reinforced the bindings and replaced the back cover in a matching colour. This episode changed how I thought about books in a way that most people describe as a "problem".

I kept reading books; for a long time I had more time to read than I had money to buy books. Libraries didn't appeal to me: I wanted to own the books I read. I wanted to own them and read them and keep them in pristine condition. I still do that to this day.

Here I will try to talk about my reading experiences, sometimes in a review-like manner, sometimes in a very spoiler-like manner.

  • 09 Oct 2015 » Breach and the Breach
      [SPOILERS] where I examine some of the open questions in The City & The City