What kind of reader were you when you were younger? Were you that person who devoured every single book you could lay your hands on, or did you reread just the few books you really loved? I was both; I finished all the books my small-town library had to offer and reread those I adored. One of my particular favourites was Cornelia Funke’s Inkheart trilogy, and I reread them whenever it was available in the library. I recently reread them, hoping that I’d consider them just as fun as when I was twelve years old. Want to know whether I did? Read on!
When I read the premise of Inkheart on the back of the book, I knew this would be a perfect fit for my book-loving younger self; for it is about Meggie, who loves books above everything else, and her father Mo, a bookbinder. Meggie soon finds out why Mo never reads books aloud to her: that’s because Mo reads so beautifully, that he can pull characters out of their books and into the real world. When Meggie was five years old, Mo accidentally lured the villains (and a hero) of the book Inkheart away from their home, but put his Meggie’s mother inside of its pages. And that’s how it all starts…
Oh, how I loved Inkheart when I was younger! I wished I was Meggie, who had her favourite books bound beautifully by hear father! I wished I was Mo, who made a living out of fixing books! I wished I was Elinor, the initially grumpy but eventually kind aunt of Meggie who spent her entire fortune on old books! I wished I was Dustfinger, who could dance with fire! I wished I was Resa, Meggie’s mother, who spent ten years inside of her favourite book! I wished magic was real, and that I could make my literary imaginary friends appear from the pages. I had never been more jealous of anyone, real or fictional.
And then life happened. I grew up, I learned more about myself and about the world. I struggled with pressure both internal and external, and I tried to find out what makes me happy. I also became jealous of people who were more intelligent, more creative, more beautiful and more successful than I was. There were more important things to be worried about than fictional characters, regardless of how much I loved them. So when I reread Inkheart recently, I realised that a part of me had gone.
When I was younger, I just loved stories. I didn’t care about how a book was written, as long as many things happened. Now that I’m older, I realise that Inkheart is a series in which too many things happen. There are too many characters (and I used to love them all!), but they lack depth, and the places the protagonists visit are described in great detail (and once upon a time I could picture myself living there), but they never stay anywhere long. I kept thinking Funke’s editor should have been a bit more harsh and leave out redundant elements. It feels awful to admit it to myself, but I think what remained after reading the Inkheart trilogy was a sense of disappointment. The problem is that I’m not quite sure what it was that disappointed me.
Could it be that I expected more of my favourite book when I was a child? Could it be that somehow, I felt like Funke had betrayed me, and made me believe she had written a glorious book which in fact it wasn’t, not really? Could it be that, now that I’m older, I know how books work and can pinpoint the things that don’t quite work in Inkheart? Or have I simply grown cynical and demanding, have I become a literary snob?
I think the real reason why I didn’t really feel that connected to Inkheart anymore is because along the way, I have stopped believing in magic. I know that my favourite literary characters don’t simply rise from their books so I could befriend them. I have long since realised that I can never visit these magnificent literary wonderlands because they simply do not exist. I know I will never go on a true adventure.
Knowing this is not necessarily a bad thing, however. In fact, I am only more determined to read more children’s books. That’s because I have just realised there’s another reason I love books: it’s because I want to become reacquainted with my younger self. I want to fall in love with books again, and be jealous of their characters, and feel like they’re my friends. I don’t want to think of all these grown-up issues such as paying mortgage and fixed contracts and how much I can drink without having a hangover. I’ll just keep looking for young, careless Elke, and I won’t rest until I’ve found her.
What did you think of Inkheart? Which characters would you love to read out of their books? Which books have you outgrown? Please let me know in the comments! Also, don’t forget to follow me for more book-related posts!
The Open Book 