I’ve been collecting books for as long as I can remember, but once upon a time my horizons didn’t stretch much beyond Enid Blyton, even then I had a definite preference for anything set on an Island, regularly rereading my favourites. When I was 11 I discovered ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’ and read it 17 times (not kidding) in a row. A year later I had moved on to Dorothy L. Sayers and Georgette Heyer, both of whose books have had repeated readings. By the time I was 13 it was Gavin Maxwell, and now my original copy of ‘Ring of Bright Water’ has fallen apart with wear.
It’s by no means the biggest problem I have in my life, but it’s taking some thought.