When I first started reading at the age of fourteen, I kind of lacked a proper selective criteria when it came to books. I read what was popular, when I found a certain title appealing, what my parents kept in their bookshelf. I read certain books because everyone was reading them, because I thought it would make me smarter, a better writer, or a better person. I read books because their covers were beautiful.
And somehow I stumbled upon the kind of books that are not everyone’s cup of tea. They’re rather like a shot of whiskey. Erotic, controversial, the kind of books that you can’t read in public. But you can’t help it, so you must find a quiet place and read.
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