The right to read trash

The readers bill of rights is pretty clear: readers have the right to read anything. I shouldn’t be surprised, should I, if my daughter’s favourite reading consists of pink trash like Winx and Martine. Of the latter, I will only say that when I asked on her behalf at the local library, I was met with a dirty look, and informed that they didn’t stock anything as old-fashioned as that. Quite right too – the collection I bought today from the local supermarket consists of edifying works such as ‘Martine does the spring cleaning’, ‘Martine the little cook’, ‘Martine takes care of baby’, … you get the picture. Never mind. I read Martine when I was little, and I still grew up to be a tomboy, then a feminist. Maybe it helps to rub our noses in this stuff when we’re young, so that we recognise stealthier approaches to sexism as we grow older?

Co-reading

This is how Antonia likes to read best: we snuggle up together and take it in turns to read aloud, one page each. So it looks like I’ll be enjoying ‘Martine, the traditional little girl’ all over again.  Mine is a very social kid, and wouldn’t read nearly as much if she didn’t have an opportunity to make it a social activity.

Invasion of privacy

After being able to read quite well for some time, Antonia’s finally crossed over to the point where she can read my emails, regular post, blog posts, other people’s blogs,  newspaper articles, or whatever I’m translating over my shoulder.  For some reason I wasn’t ready for this.  Naturally, I haven’t been able to call my body or my time my own for the last six years or more, and on the whole I coped with that quite well.  Now I’ve lost this tiny bit of private adult space as well, and I’m starting to realise just how much it meant to me.  I’m also freaking out just slightly about the content of some of the things she is reading. There will be readjustments, and it’s really a positive development of course.  The whole point of reading is to be exposed to stuff.