Considering I bought three recipe books and Child C (the autobiography of the foster child who suffered great physical / emotional abuse at the hands of his carer, which was in the news about a year ago, I believe) this afternoon, I am in no position to be buying any more books. I've bought loads which I still haven't read, and I'm trying to work through the bookcase in alphabetical order, which doesn't work when I buy more bloody books. :P I may give up on that, because I really really REALLY want to read White Teeth when I've finished Brighton Rock, and I've got Kim Woodburn's autobiography (another abusive childhood story) and another Tracy Chevalier and two Rosie Thomas and countless others to get through, and I STILL haven't read the final two Harry Potters.
I need to stop buying books. I'm turning into my mother. ;)
I have a horrible fascination with awful-childhood stories, which I think is more car crash syndrome than anything else. Does that make me a bad person? You'd think after working in Social Services - and now the same branch of Legal - I would have had enough, but my morbid curiosity is also what keeps me interested in the job. Working in that kind of environment also makes you sort of... immune, in a way, because you have to be. If you let it get to you, you wouldn't last in the job. And some of the stuff I've typed / read... it's horrendous. Truly horrendous. Not being affected by it doesn't, of course, make it any less awful; you just have to detach yourself or you'd go mad, I think.
I'm obviously not the only one guilty of this type of fascination, or people wouldn't keep publishing the books. Of those I've read, the Dave Pelzter / A Child Called It trilogy are the best - or worst, if you like - of all of them. The writing style of the first one, especially, makes it so much worse. I really need to re-read those, too.
Er... I think I should go to bed. My fingers are attached to some superfluous and over-analytical part of my brain today...