In which Lyra rants on books. What else is new?

I re-read The Flying Classroom today. I am always so very happy to find that I still love a book on re-reading that I loved as a child. Too many books that I positively adored when I was younger turn out to be rather trite when I look at them now, fifteen or ten or even just seven years later. Mallory Towers or St Clare's or Secret Seven, for example, or most of Enyd Blyton's writing, for that matter. I'm almost embarassed to admit how much I was obsessed with those books (although I still like some of the Adventure series), because, when I read them now, after (at the max) one hour of reading I am nothing if not disappointed. Serial work, always the same characters, always the same events; not only in between the different series, but even within one series; without, actually, something to tell (save 'be good and selfless and humble and obedient') and without soul. I didn't notice that as a child, but I do notice it now.
Or Vicke the Viking (so, little Wickie DOES exist in English! Only the anime apparently never made it to the English-speaking world, so nobody knows the books...). It's... okay, but Vicke was my first literary crush (and I SWEAR IT WAS NOT THE RED HAIR) back in the day, I read the books several times and watched the anime with a kind of religious obsession, and now... well. Disappointment.
Or there are series like Wolly Cosmopolly. Never heard of it? You didn't miss a thing. Totally worthless. And yet, I loved these books. I could name many others, but it would be depressing really. We all know that our taste changes, but to come to the things you looked to as some sort of model ("I want to write books like that when I'm grown up!") and to find them entirely disappointing is... painful. Did I really have such poor taste and feeling for words when I was a child?

It goes like this with several books I admired as a child and re-read now. And it makes me cringe to find yet another childhood love crumble to ashes under the merciless gaze of the obsessed literature student I have been turned into (although it does soothe me somewhat that the same happens with some works of world literature that I read now *cough*ScarletPimpernel*cough*). So, whenever I rediscover a once-favourite book that I can read now and still get absorbed in and still enjoy, that is written in a way that isn't patronizing and not downgrading and not in the least childish. Astrid Lindgren is, of course, a paragon, the best proof for books that are children's books through and through AND excellent books as well. I don't know who decided that children's books don't have to be well-written. THEY SHOULD BE. (Again, I'm aware that many grown-ups read books that are written even worse than Mallory Towers with glee, but I must admit that these books generally make me want to live back in the Middle Ages when books were hand-written and precious and not abused for penny dreadfuls.)
Tonke Dragt's books are of the same category - at least some of them; De brief voor de koning ("The Letter for the King"; but I couldn't find out whether there is an English translation or not, so I'll go for the original title) wasn't quite as good now as it was back in fifth grade when everybody absolutely had to have read it, but that's just because the boring place names annoy me now (blame Tolkien), the story is still gripping and good. And now, Erich Kästner. I shouldn't actually be surprised to find out that his children's books are actually good books, after all, that was what he meant to do, but well, it makes me happy to find now that he succeeded.

Is there a point to this rant? Probably not. I'm just musing.
But I guess it comes down to my beloved jewels-glass-and-sand image.
It is good to find some of the jewels that I collected when I was a child still shining, not turned into cheap coloured glass.

[But I do have to say, with my mind of today, that there is very obviously Justus/Nonsmoker, and, quite possibly, Johnny Trotz/Martin Thaler.]

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( Mut ohne Klugheit ist Unfug; und Klugheit ohne Mut ist Quatsch... )

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*headshakes*

I am far too easily amused.

So, we have established now that a flight -anywhere- costs an arm and a leg. Unless you want to get from Thangorodrim to Mithrim, one way. That only costs a hand.

*headdesks*

You slay me, DF, you slay me.
Thanks go to Claire and Julia.

Jokes aside, I somehow do have to get some flight money again. Anyone want to give me a job?