Books that make me cry…and why that’s ok.

When I was a kid, probably about ten or eleven, my mum sat on the hard wooden floor in my bedroom and read The Lord of the Rings to me and my younger brother. For much of the book I sobbed my little eyes out. From the moment Sam has to leave the pony, through each harrowing description of death and deceit, I balled. Gandalf falling into the Abyss? Almost. Broke. Me.

And that’s why I love the Lord of the Rings. Because it had me by the heart.

Little Woman is my favourite book of all time (that may say something about me) and when Beth dies…I can’t talk about it.

The Animals of Farthing Wood…a group of animals making their way across England to a wildlife sanctuary. What could go wrong?

The point is, getting emotionally involved in a story is what makes it worth reading. In many of the books and programs that my own children now enjoy conflict of any kind is kept to a minimum. Races always end in a tie. Arguments always end in an apology. Naughty, rude, little piggies characters always end up gently reprimanded and then jump in muddy puddles are given ice cream. And this is fine for now because B1 and B2 are only 4 and 2 years old.

But I’m looking forward to the day when we can enjoy a good book together…and cry over it.

p.s. Thanks Mum, by the way.

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