When I was eight, mum read me EB White’s classic, Charlotte’s Web. We took it in turns to cry. Hers were the tears of a mother fearing leaving her babies, and mine were the tears of a kid feeling everything for Wilbur the pig when his beloved friend Charlotte died.
When I was 10, Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia broke my heart. Huddled under blankets, I read late into the night, between gulps of tears. I had to know if Jesse would survive his grief and guilt after his best friend, Leslie, drowned in the river.
