The joy of reading children's books

Picking up a book that we loved as a child can often bring back fond memories – look at all the people who still hold their copies of Harry Potter dear, or will lovingly show off their battered Enid Blyton, or Animal Ark books.

For me, those books were Linda Chapman’s. I remember my mum buying me the first book in the My Secret Unicorn series (published by Puffin between 2002 and 2007), and as the series was published I’d save up my pocket money the weeks leading up to be able to buy the next book on its release. I would check Puffin’s website, and I fondly remember a particularly brilliant day when I came home from school and the next book in the series was hidden under the covers of my duvet.

This was the series had had me hiding the book under the covers when my parents came to say goodnight, and I’d squint my eyes to read by the light on the landing. I devoured them, thoroughly. I would go into my local Waterstones (then Ottaker’s) and beeline for the children’s section (I actually was in there recently and one of the booksellers said she remembered me doing just that!). Reading brought (and still does bring) me so much joy – and I’m so lucky to have that as part of my childhood.

Filled with magical, or sometimes brutally real worlds, children’s fiction, kid’s lit or middle-grade allows young (and old!) people to stretch their minds, become better and more empathetic people, and lose themselves in the lives of others. How many of us can say that we went to wonderland before bedtime, and continued to travel through the topsy-turvy world when we closed our eyes? How many of us had a feast in Hagrid’s hut, or ventured through the Hundred-Acre-Wood whilst we were fast asleep? The very act of imagining is powered by these stories, running through our heads.

Whilst we’ve been in lockdown, and every time the world feels overwhelming and strange, I find myself turning to these books. And whilst right now I can’t reach for my well-loved copies of My Secret Unicorn, I can find some new favourites, and lose myself in their worlds. The books I’ve been reading this week (namely A Pinch of Magic, When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbitand The Island at the End of Everything) have made me laugh, smile, and cry, but most of all they’ve given me hope. Katherine Rundell, a children’s author herself, puts it best:

“Children’s novels...spoke and still speak of hope. They say: look, this is what bravery looks like. This is what generosity looks like. They tell me, through the medium of wizards and lions and talking spiders, that this world we live in is a world of people who tell jokes and work and endure. Children’s books say: the world is huge. They say: hope counts for something. They say: bravery will matter, wit will matter, empathy will matter, love will matter. These things may or may not be true. I do not know. I hope they are.” (from Why You Should Read Children's Books, Even Though You Are So Old and Wise)

So the next time you find yourself instinctively gravitating towards your usual favourite section in a bookshop or online, why not wander into the realm of children’s fiction, and see what you may find there?