I must have been eleven years old when I read a full-length novel, for the first time. I remember it was on of those Secret Seven series by Enid Blyton. Though others of my age had a craze on Famous Five, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, I regarded Secret Seven closer to my heart. In the years that followed, Agatha Christie's were my second memorable collection of fiction.
I wonder how rich my dad should have been to have taken me to Nungambakam Landmark and Mount Road Higginbothams every weekend in the 1980s! Ages eleven to seventeen were when I have skipped food, remained awake through nights and talked insanely about the crush I had for a few of the characters. However, until recently, I didn't know Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie were women. Yes, I assumed them to be male authors all along.
For all the memorable moments of imagination, such authors have blessed me in my formative years, I dedicate this post on World Book Day, by bringing up their faces for readers like me who often overlooked the person who held the pen behind our childhood reads.
