I was looking back at the books I read in Year 6 today, and I’ve come to a horrifying conclusion. I must have been an awful reader. I don’t mean with the complexity of the books in that they were too simple, but that they were maybe too mature for a ten year old. I mean, I read Eva Ibbotson’s The Secret Countess right at the beginning of the year, and there is certainly some inappropriate stuff in that. The main problem is that I never questioned any of this stuff, I just ignored it and kept reading, so that I ended up reading about droit de seigneur without having any idea about the meaning, or about the implications for the character. This disappoints me, because I like to think that I am better than that, and that I actually care about the meaning of stories. I do now. Maybe I didn’t then.

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