Read Online My Secret Diary by Jacqueline Wilson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jacqueline Wilson
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right through my teens. I didn't
read teenage books: there were no such things
in those days. Well, there was a small shelf in the
library labelled TEENAGE BOOKS, but they were
dull-as-ditchwater career books with ridiculous
titles like Donald is a Dentist and Vera is a Vet .
Donald and Vera were barely characterized
and there was no plot whatsoever. Each book
was a dreary account of how to pursue the
relevant career. I didn't want to give people fillings
or spay cats so I left them gathering dust on
the shelf. (I might have been tempted by Jacky is
a Journalist .)
I read children's books up to the age of eleven
or so and then I switched to adult books. I didn't
just read classics like Wuthering Heights, of course.
I read all sorts of books – some trashy, some
tremendous, some wildly unsuitable.
I spent most of my pocket money on paperbacks
and borrowed three books from the library every
week, sometimes twice a week. If I was particularly
interested or irritated by a book I wrote about it
in my diary, but sadly I didn't record every book I
read. That would have been like writing 'Today I
brushed my teeth with Colgate toothpaste',
something I simply took for granted as part of my
daily life.
I had various favourite books and I read these
again and again. I kept my bright pink Pan
paperback of The Diary of Anne Frank on my
bedside table, with a carefully cut-out photograph
of Anne pinned above my bed. The Holocaust had
happened less than twenty years before. I could
barely take it in. It seemed so unbelievably terrible
that Anne and six million others had lost their lives
because they were Jews.
I thought of her as a martyr but she
was certainly no saint. I loved reading the
passages in her diary when she complained
bitterly about her mother and longed for a
proper boyfriend. But as I said in the first chapter,
it was her diary entries about writing that meant
the most to me and I learned them by heart.
I mentioned my other all-time favourite book in
the first chapter too: I Capture the Castle by
Dodie Smith.
It's the story of Cassandra and her sister Rose,
living in poverty in a dilapidated castle with their
writer father and eccentric stepmother, Topaz; then
two rich American brothers come to live nearby . . .
It sounds absolute toffee, a ridiculous romantic
fairytale, but trust me, it's a wonderful book and
Cassandra is such an endearing and compelling
narrator that you are swept into the story and
believe every single word of it.
I didn't just envy Cassandra her two-guinea red-leather
notebook. I wanted to dab myself with her
bluebell scent and drink green crème de menthe
and swim in a moat at midnight.
I loved reading sad stories. I found The Wind
Cannot Read wondrously moving:
Tuesday 2 February
Morris and Iris [friends of Biddy's] have lent me
'The Wind Cannot Read', by Richard Mason,
author of my favourite 'The World of Suzie Wong'.
I'm enjoying it very much at the moment.
Wednesday 3 February
I finished reading 'The Wind Cannot Read'. It is
a lovely book, but very sad at the end. I almost cried,
and I'm definitely not the sentimental type .
I'm sure I'd remain dry-eyed if I ever tried to
plough through it now, but one book that would
still make me cry is The Story of Gabrielle .
Tuesday 23 February
I went to the library and got 3 books. I have finished
one already called 'The Story of Gabrielle'. It is a
wonderful story of a truly amazing child who dies
of cancer. It is very moving, and I really love and
admire Gabby.
The Story of Gabrielle was beautifully and
movingly written by Gabrielle's mother. I own it
now but can't even bring myself to look at it
because I find it unbearable to read about the death
of a child, maybe because I've known so many
special children who have died of cancer. Over the
years I've made many visits to sick children who
have written to me. They are always very brave so
I try hard to be brave too, though when I get home
I often cry.
I know I sometimes write sad books now. I
read teenage books: there were no such things
in those days. Well, there was a small shelf in the
library labelled TEENAGE BOOKS, but they were
dull-as-ditchwater career books with ridiculous
titles like Donald is a Dentist and Vera is a Vet .
Donald and Vera were barely characterized
and there was no plot whatsoever. Each book
was a dreary account of how to pursue the
relevant career. I didn't want to give people fillings
or spay cats so I left them gathering dust on
the shelf. (I might have been tempted by Jacky is
a Journalist .)
I read children's books up to the age of eleven
or so and then I switched to adult books. I didn't
just read classics like Wuthering Heights, of course.
I read all sorts of books – some trashy, some
tremendous, some wildly unsuitable.
I spent most of my pocket money on paperbacks
and borrowed three books from the library every
week, sometimes twice a week. If I was particularly
interested or irritated by a book I wrote about it
in my diary, but sadly I didn't record every book I
read. That would have been like writing 'Today I
brushed my teeth with Colgate toothpaste',
something I simply took for granted as part of my
daily life.
I had various favourite books and I read these
again and again. I kept my bright pink Pan
paperback of The Diary of Anne Frank on my
bedside table, with a carefully cut-out photograph
of Anne pinned above my bed. The Holocaust had
happened less than twenty years before. I could
barely take it in. It seemed so unbelievably terrible
that Anne and six million others had lost their lives
because they were Jews.
I thought of her as a martyr but she
was certainly no saint. I loved reading the
passages in her diary when she complained
bitterly about her mother and longed for a
proper boyfriend. But as I said in the first chapter,
it was her diary entries about writing that meant
the most to me and I learned them by heart.
I mentioned my other all-time favourite book in
the first chapter too: I Capture the Castle by
Dodie Smith.
It's the story of Cassandra and her sister Rose,
living in poverty in a dilapidated castle with their
writer father and eccentric stepmother, Topaz; then
two rich American brothers come to live nearby . . .
It sounds absolute toffee, a ridiculous romantic
fairytale, but trust me, it's a wonderful book and
Cassandra is such an endearing and compelling
narrator that you are swept into the story and
believe every single word of it.
I didn't just envy Cassandra her two-guinea red-leather
notebook. I wanted to dab myself with her
bluebell scent and drink green crème de menthe
and swim in a moat at midnight.
I loved reading sad stories. I found The Wind
Cannot Read wondrously moving:
Tuesday 2 February
Morris and Iris [friends of Biddy's] have lent me
'The Wind Cannot Read', by Richard Mason,
author of my favourite 'The World of Suzie Wong'.
I'm enjoying it very much at the moment.
Wednesday 3 February
I finished reading 'The Wind Cannot Read'. It is
a lovely book, but very sad at the end. I almost cried,
and I'm definitely not the sentimental type .
I'm sure I'd remain dry-eyed if I ever tried to
plough through it now, but one book that would
still make me cry is The Story of Gabrielle .
Tuesday 23 February
I went to the library and got 3 books. I have finished
one already called 'The Story of Gabrielle'. It is a
wonderful story of a truly amazing child who dies
of cancer. It is very moving, and I really love and
admire Gabby.
The Story of Gabrielle was beautifully and
movingly written by Gabrielle's mother. I own it
now but can't even bring myself to look at it
because I find it unbearable to read about the death
of a child, maybe because I've known so many
special children who have died of cancer. Over the
years I've made many visits to sick children who
have written to me. They are always very brave so
I try hard to be brave too, though when I get home
I often cry.
I know I sometimes write sad books now. I
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