Old books, old friends

This morning I caught myself giggling truly delighted when I saw some old book cover - it was blast from the past, some guilty pleasure that I used to read when I was still young and budding, precocious (and voracious) reader back in adolescent days. I usually never take seriously when people talk about “good old days” because times were always the way they always are - sometimes difficult, sometimes nice, it always depends on point of view anyway. Most of the people idolise younger days because they simply had less worries and obligations - I had similar conversation with tax driver recently about the expression “time passes so fast”, well its simply because as adults we have so many things on our minds as opposed to those long, never-ending days of childhood when homework and TV were our main preoccupations - so looking back, yes I was younger but not necessary happier and if anything, adulthood gave me certain balance where I understand and accept what makes me happy. As a kid, I was constantly told that I am spending pocket money on nonsense (books, LP albums) and guess what, I grew up into older version of the same person who still gets the biggest kick out of books and music, so what. I usually don’t even separate these two hobbies, but if I reflect than literature was my first love in chronological order - music came slightly later.

Like so many kids of my generations, I was obsessed with public libraries - who had money to buy and collect all those books - and weekly pilgrimage to these public libraries was my real school, where I learnt everything about adventures of The Tree Musketeers, Count Monte Christo, Tarzan and Winettou. Just like today, publishing used enticing covers that usually had absolutely nothing with book subject, quite a few times I discovered that what was inside the covers was completely opposite of what picture promised. A quick look at titles published during my childhood shows that good old times were illusion indeed - publishers scrapped he bottoms of any barrels available and we were fed everything from WW2 memoirs, cookbooks and astrology to best-selling authors and depressing homegrown classics that were oh-so-obligatory in schools (and made kids hate the books instead of loving them). What I want to mention today were the books that were obviously not for me, cheap thrills and guilty pleasures that excited me at the same time when I was actually supposed to read historical sagas about our glorious past - just like today, there were always titles popular I guess with housewives, secretaries and mousy spinster librarians and I soaked them all in because they were so much more thrilling than anything around me.

Harold Robbins and Sidney Sheldon for example, I can’t even tell one from another because in my mind its all the same now - thrillers with suspense and sex, honestly I can’t recall one single plot or what was all about (Alfie?) but back than I used to gulp one title after another in passionate succession. Erica Jong was such a favourite for the longest time and although she was chiefly known (notorious?) for her than-unheard of description of sexual lives of her heroines, I found her extremely entertaining and funny, all that sex probably just went above my head because I didn’t even understand what she was talking about. Our own Croatian Zagorka with her quasi-historical saga about witch hunts was probably one of the very first passions, though today I probably wouldn’t touch her even if its the only book on deserted island and even than I would rather play with stones on the beach. But she planted a seed of lifelong fascination with historical novels where heroines fall from one danger to another and voilà, you can imagine my thrill when I discovered Anne & Serge Golon (now I know it was only wife, the husband collected the money and fame just by association) with their fabulous, unforgettable Angelique who was kidnapped, raped and sold in slavery from one sequel to another and she was constantly getting more and more beautiful the more hardships she went trough. I actually stumbled upon Angelique recently again and gleefully added her to my library just for the sake of old times - after all, what is Diana Gabaldon than simply modern version of same idea. Juliette Benzoni with her Catherine was very much same thing. Than of course, there was the whole bunch of royal biographies about famous women from the history and I read them all like there’s no tomorrow, Stefan Zweig biographies of Mary Queen of Scots and Marie Antoniette were the best of the bunch but I do remember deliciously trashy Fanina about Roman Vestal Virgin who also went trough slavery, kidnapping and all sorts of calamities before she came to happy ending. Byzantine empress Theodora, hell yeah. Who had time for Dostoyevsky when I needed to know new details about harem conspiracies? Looking back now, I just laugh and smile and it makes me happy when I even see these old book covers - sure, I grew up and my interests might have slightly changed and expanded into different genres but obviously this is who I was and what rocked my world back than. In fact, even much later when I considered myself grown up and adult, serious person, there was the whole list of irresistible, trashy cinema biographies like The Divine Feud that exploited probably blown-up competition between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford and I just could’t put it down. So much about sophisticated taste. 

That I even left this kind of literature behind me is a wonder, considering how long have I enjoyed reading trashy best sellers.This is probably the reason why I feel its my duty to read the famous classics every now and than - but you can bet that behind every collection of poetry or celebrated classic, I have some delicious guilty pleasure stashed away just in case. To be perfectly honest, I am really intrigued to check out Angelique again and to see how would I like it now. Here are some of my favourite book covers from that times.