I’m sure you guys all think I’m going to put Sherwood down here
but no…
The book I would wipe from my memory to experience again would be Eragon.
Because now, with all my sophisticated GCSE-course English skills, I can’t read it without noticing Christopher’s 15-year-old follies. I can’t enjoy the adventure without groaning at some of his mistakes.
But don’t get me wrong, The IC is still my favorite fantasy.
I’m not wishing I could forget it.
I’m wishing I could read it without having to really read it. Without having to think, just reading.
I’m wishing for the excitement of opening the first page without knowing what the next will say.
I’m wishing for…
I don’t know what I’m wishing for. Ignorance? Freedom? The capacity to just read a book for once, read it without scrutiny, without judgement?
I can’t wish for that, because my career as a book blogger would be over before it even began…
Maybe I’m just wishing for a do-over. A time warp. A chance to go back to that time when Eragon held so much excitement, so much escape. Back to the time when it wasn’t just a necessity, something I needed to do to read the rest of the series (which I love).
Back when the pages were fresh and the spine uncracked and only the front cover lay between me and a world of wonder…
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