My bookshelves are full of children’s literature. They teach me more than the philosophers – and inspire joy

From Matt Haig to Roald Dahl, feel affinity, infinity, the finitude of death. I feel life. You see, kids’ books don’t just evoke the child in you – they can awaken the adult that lays dormant like a sleeping giant, writes Kiran Sidhu

'I feel no shame in choosing to take Roald Dahl’s "Charlie And The Chocolate Factory" to bed with me' (Kiran Sidhu)

The background bookshelves of people being interviewed on TV are filled with things of great importance: To Kill A Mockingbird, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, and 1984. Politicians invariably have books on political giants (I have yet to spot a Jackie Collins novel). It’s a clear statement: I am what I read.

As soon as lockdown was introduced, we raved about all the books we now had time to read, showing off images of our bookshelves on Twitter and revelling in one-upmanship. But don’t be fooled. I studied philosophy, and my bookshelves consist of Bertrand Russell’s A History of Western Philosophy, Plato’s Republic and Jean-Paul Sartre’s Existentialism and Humanism. I had an idea of reading and re-reading these books – instead, I picked-up James and The Giant Peach.

I feel no shame in choosing to take Roald Dahl’s Charlie And The Chocolate Factory to bed with me. Or finding joy in opening the flaps in The Jolly Postman. There’s a truth in children’s literature, the same kind of truth I get from reading hefty philosophy books – only the children’s books are far more joyful.

Roald Dahl’s Danny The Champion of The World, about a single parent running a business with a low income, is one of the most grown up books I have read. It’s about finding the wonder in small and everyday things, something we’re all now trying to learn. The book taught me, as a child, and again as an adult, that none of us are protected from life’s uncertainties: unfairness, death and change. It’s a misconception that all children’s books have happy endings and are filled with fluff and stuff.

I find it rather annoying and myopic when someone suggests that children’s books cannot be enjoyed by adults. Art – good art – leaves an aftertaste, a lasting residue. Most things look and read differently depending upon what stage you’re at in your life, and their words will resonate accordingly.

But then some wisdom in children’s books is universal. I recently read The Truth Pixie by Matt Haig. “There will be people you love, who can’t stay forever, and there will be things you can’t fix, although you are clever.” These words speak to the child who has lost their pet or the vulnerable adult who, like me, has lost a parent. And I felt those words by Matt Haig.

I felt affinity, infinity, the finitude of death. I felt life. You see, kids’ books don’t just evoke the child in you – they can awaken the adult that lays dormant like a sleeping giant. We’re all vulnerable to the dark truths of life, whether we’re five or 90. And we learn this one way or another. These words that I found in a children’s book share the same truth as the philosophy of Aristotle or Hume.

When I came back home from university, my parents raised an eyebrow when they saw Bedknobs and Broomsticks thrown in the same box as Schopenhauer’s The World As Will And Representation. But what would other people think? Imagine if my eclectic bookshelf was displayed across a TV screen for the nation to see, just like the politicians and celebrities. Would I feel a slight embarrassment – a grown woman reading The Lion, the Witch And the Wardrobe?

When we become adults, we strive to recreate that childlike intensity of experience and wonder that we get from being children. I’m so glad I have retained mine. Because life is far more interesting when we have open hearts and open minds, when life comes with a sprinkling of magic and a sense of real adventure.

I don’t think you can have an adventure where the byproduct isn’t personal growth. C S Lewis said, “Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” I feel I have finally come of age.