When I was younger, I would spend hours absorbed in a good (or, occasionally, bad) book. For as many summers as I can remember, I would plough through books at a rate of knots to complete the local library’s Summer Reading Challenge; I still remember the elated feeling when I finished first one summer. And then, somewhere between Holes and Lord of the Flies, books became a means to an end: passing exams. Along came university, with its mile-long bibliographies and modules with a mélange of interesting and not-so-interesting set texts. (Sorry Boris Vian.) In the holidays, I dipped in and out of my well-thumbed paperbacks; a welcome respite from inventing dozens of meanings for a sentence that, in all probability, only held one for the author. I spent much of last term trying to find my feet and make friends (little headway made on the latter); this term, when I’m not dashing across campus from one class to another, I’m usually scouring the library shelves for another promising read (or reading said promising read in the staffroom). As such, I’ve decided to start a quarterly feature celebrating my favourite reads.