Caitrin Armstrong's story about Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit

Once upon a time when I was small(er), every book I read changed my life. I have been fairies, frogs, princesses and pirates. I have been to Narnia, Nibbleswick and Nazi Germany. Reading could transport me anywhere and I loved it. And when I first started high school I still really enjoyed reading. Judy Blume, Paula Danziger and Lois Duncan made at least some sense of the confusing world of adolescence- I also enjoyed a few books for grownups too. Then came exams and everything changed. I’m not sure exactly what it was that killed my enthusiasm; whether it was the amount of reading, or the fact that most of it was really dull, or whether it was because I had to deconstruct every book to answer essay questions, but whatever it was my enthusiasm was dead.

It is therefore maybe surprising that I decided to study English at University. I was once told that you shouldn’t study English Literature if you don’t love books. I disagree. If you are good at writing essays on books then you will do just fine. If you love books because they transport you to a different place then you might not cope so well. Thankfully that pleasure had been all but killed off by the time I got to University and I got through most of the books on my course, sometimes with grim determination and sometimes with genuine interest, but I didn’t go home and pick up a book for the sheer pleasure of reading until the summer, when I had months and months of essay- free time when slowly but surely, reading became fun again.

In the summer of my third year I (unusually) bought my reading list ahead of time. On one particular sunny August day, I picked up one of the books on the way to my summer job at a gift shop. I chose it from the pile because (shock horror) I liked the cover and recognized the title ‘Oranges are Not the Only Fruit’. I started reading it underneath the counter and became totally engrossed. I snuck chapters in throughout the day and finished it off walking home across the Meadows, bumping into tourists along the way. The book not only appealed to me because it made me think; I liked it because, even though it was sometimes difficult, I was somewhere and someone else for a while. That’s what I love most about reading.

Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit is not my favourite book, but it helped to remind me that I actually enjoy reading when I needed reminding. Whenever I think about it I remember how great it was to re-discover the pleasure of getting lost in a story, and I know that this is not something that everyone has. It’s always good to know how lucky you are.