I
picked up The Twins at St. Clare’s by
Enid Blyton when I was around six. I remember struggling to understand the
language and expressions used in England, and reading out the book in what I
thought was a British accent. Pat and Isabel O’Sullivan, the youthful
protagonists of the St. Clare’s series, seemed almost elderly to me. The Twins at St. Clare’s was one of my
first introductions to chapter books. Even back then, I used to write a lot
(mostly poems about nature and the universe, among other topics); however, reading the words of other writers
wasn’t an experience I’d indulge in often. After devouring the first book, I
was satisfied—and hungry. I searched my entire house until I had uncovered the
other books in the series and arranged them in order on my desk. Then I sat on
my bed, and read the series intermittently over the next few weeks.
I
made friends I still haven’t forgotten—Hilary Wentworth, Claudine, Carlotta,
and so many others. I left the world behind to join midnight feasts, watch
lacrosse matches, and giggle at harmless tricks played by the girls on their French
teacher. I was entranced; I had never
realized that words on a blank page could transport people to a happy, fictional
world. I was exposed to almost every emotion through the St. Clare’s series: happiness, grief, malice, anger, pride,
disappointment. And because of this, I was able to empathize with my peers
better—whether it was the jealousy of a friend or my classmate’s dejection at
losing a competition. I learned how to handle disappointment—because Blyton
taught me that it would eventually get better. I learned how to string simple
words into coherent sentences. I learned.
Not
long after, I came across The Five
Find-Outers, a series of fifteen mystery books. It took me a while to
acquaint myself with these new, charismatic characters—for it was also the
first time boys were being featured as protagonists in Blyton’s books. But
despite my initial discomfort, and my struggle to find the last few books in
libraries, I completed the series before primary school ended. The plot of each
book was fairly straightforward—some crime or the other would be committed in
the neighborhood of the five find-outers (which included three boys, two girls…
and a dog), they would investigate (with one boy, Frederick ‘Fatty’
Trotteville, being the brainiac of the group), they’d make some friends and
‘enemies’ along the way, and would ultimately solve the mystery. They’d prove
disbelieving adults wrong, and would persistently show their neighborhood that
children can be as perceptive as adults, if not more. Even back then, I could
resonate with that sentiment.
But
my relationship with Blyton’s books didn’t end there: I read the Malory Towers series, The Adventure series, and The Famous Five books. I inhaled her
style of writing; in fact, my mother would even say that my writing was
reminiscent of Blyton’s style. I discovered hidden waterfalls and underground
cities with The Adventure series, met
young girls from the Malory Towers
series whom I can still relate to. The protagonist of the latter series,
Darrell Rivers, became more and more relatable as I progressed into middle
school—for she too had a younger sister and friends somewhat similar to mine. She
also enjoyed learning. Nevertheless, when I started reading First Term at Malory Towers, I couldn’t
understand how Darrell and her friends could be considered so young—since they
were several years older than me.
Blyton
introduced me to a genre of writing I had sparsely considered—fiction. Some
time ago, I found a story I had written in second or third grade: about a
penguin that goes time-travelling with her pet. Although the story was far
removed from the plotlines of Blyton’s books, I could catch traces of language
that were inspired by the dialogue of Pat O’Sullivan, Sally Hope, Elizabeth
‘Bets’ Hilton, and the rest. Blyton offered me a gentle transition from simple
books to longer books—books with vivid descriptions, benign plots, and happy
endings. It was all very idealistic, and nothing like the real world. But when
you’re still in single digits, you’re in no hurry to escape the bubble you’ve
conjured around yourself. You want to live in a world where problems can be
resolved within a few pages, where innocent children can triumph over
manipulative adults, where people don’t always have to have ulterior motives.
Blyton
provided me with a safe world… a place where I could explore, question, hope.
A
few weeks ago, I was looking straight ahead at the pile of papers, essays, and
academic books on my desk. Glossy files leaned against each other, bursting
with worksheets, randomly organized diagrams, and a few poems still in their
initial stages. My laptop shined bright and demanding. But despite the enticing
glint of a screen with work that needed to be completed, I found myself looking
to my left. To my left, where I saw a small blue book. On its cover, a girl was
riding a horse; and I could see the words ‘Third Year at Malory Towers’ etched
on it. Smiling slightly, I picked up the book and reentered a world I had never
really left. The word ‘Ambedo’ (a moment you experience for its own sake;
Source: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
popped into my mind, and I realized that the future could wait for a second.
Within
minutes, I had reacquainted myself with friends I had made in primary school. I
only read a few chapters—but that was enough to make me realize how much I had
been craving the comforting tones of Blyton’s books. I wanted reality sprinkled
with idealism and innocence, emotions deprived of chronic negativity,
situations without sinister undercurrents. It was lovely to read about girls,
whom I now find exceedingly young and precocious, with problems and concerns so
divergent from those faced by today’s youth. I feel like pieces of those
characters helped me grow during a period of important character
development—the age when we’re trying to identify ourselves as individuals, but
are unsure of how to do so.
While
rummaging through old boxes and shelves, I found the rest of the St. Clare’s and Malory Towers series, as well as a few books of the Adventure and
Mystery series. I doubt that I’ll find the time to read all of them. But that
said, it’s comforting to know that there’ll always be a way for me to meet the
person I was all those years ago.
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