Belletrinsic

I have a confession to make. I read children’s books—and I like it. I also have a penchant for fantasy and—dare I say it?—romance novels.

Whew! Now that I’ve got that off my chest, let me explain.

When I was younger, my dad pushed me to read at a higher level than all of my peers. In the fourth grade I was given a reading list of literary classics that I was supposed to read. Titles on the list were at least high school level, though many were college material. (Those I remember included Huckleberry Finn, Johnathan Livingston Seagull, Man’s Search for Meaning, Brave New World.)

As you might suppose, I balked at being forced to read certain books because my dad said so. It wasn’t that I couldn’t read those books at that age since I’ve always been an advanced reader; it was more that I wasn’t allowed to choose the books I wanted to read. Plus, I was forbidden to read the popular series for my age group: Sweet Valley High, The Babysitters’ Club. So publicly I read his books, but at school and in secret, I read what I wanted to read.

Years later, I still felt the stigma of reading children’s books or those not considered serious literature. Fantasy, romance, and science fiction were frowned upon, though my mother was a devoted reader of all three. But since I showed such promise in school and reading, I wasn’t given the choice.

And then came an epiphany. Right before I graduated from college, I realized that I can read whatever I want, and no one has the right to judge me for it. If I want to browse the children’s section to revisit the stories I deeply loved as a girl, I can. If I want to pick up a purely escapist fantasy novel, I can. And if I want to submerge myself in a story solely involving romance, I can. No one has the right to tell me what I can and can’t read.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love literary fiction, classics, and poetry. I often delve into them and enjoy it. But I take umbrage at the implication that I was less of a reader and wasting my time by reading fluff. I’m now at the point where I love reading all kinds of books and share recommendations for books encompassing all genres—without feeling guilty.

I don’t worry anymore about people giving me weird looks when I buy children’s books for myself. It still happens, but I don’t worry about it anymore. Instead, I feel sorry that they’ve limited themselves to “proper” or “adult” books. They are missing out on some of the most beautiful and poetic stories I’ve ever read. What does it matter who the intended audience is so long as the book is engaging, well-told, or just pure fun? It doesn’t, so enjoy whatever books you will without embarrassment. Reading is reading, and that’s the most important part.

*Disclaimer: My dad isn’t a bad person, but he did make a lot of mistakes doing what he thought was best for his children. He has since relaxed his stance and even encourages me in writing for young adults.

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