Why can’t we inherit a love of books?

I remember my favourite series of books as a young child.  Angela Sommer-Bodenburg’s ‘The Little Vampire’ series wasn’t like the trashy movie, it was about the relationship between two boys.  The human boy, Tony, was an only child whose parents worked long hours.  The vampire, Rudiger, was overshadowed by his stroppy adolescent brother (Lumpi) and cute little sister (Anna).

My children only read Horrid Henry or The Simpsons comics.  I have copies of Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, Treasure Island and Harry Potter, but they don’t even touch them.    My father subscribed to Readers Digest and had a huge collection of the short stories which I read at their age.

I should be grateful that my children prefer to play chase or ride their bikes.  But part of me wishes they loved the written word as much as I do, and would curl up at night with a novel.  Instead my son plays with his Lego and my daughter reads comics.

Maybe seeing me studying will encourage them or shall I get them a copy of ‘The Little Vampire’?


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