The first time I read The Lord of the Rings.
I was eleven years old, when I first read The Lord of the Rings, and it changed my life. I’d been a sporadic reader up until that point, occasionally reading a book when bored, or reading something to appease my parents. But I soon realised as I slowly made my way through all three volumes over a long hot summer in the mid-eighties, that The Lord of the Rings was different. This was a book that I loved. So much so, that from that point on I became an avid reader. I was then always known to be the boy with a book in his hands, desperately wanting to recapture that feeling of complete immersion in a world far removed from my own. Be it fantasy novels or historical, throughout university and beyond, the sight of me carrying a book or with a novel stuffed in a coat pocket or bag was so common that it was only remarked upon on the rare occasion it was missing. The attraction of escapism is obvious, but this wasn’t …
