Jan
23rd
Seg
23rd
Read One Book a Week
It started in Belgium. One sizzling summer in a third-floor flat, my parents came strutting through the lounge to find their fat little fellow merrily leafing through a copy of War and Peace. I was two years old. Impressed? You shouldn’t be. To say that I had read and digested Tolstoy’s loathsome work at such an early age would be a half-truth, because the reality is this: I wasn’t reading it. I was eating it.
