Today, my
worst fears about one of my favourite childrens book writer was confirmed. I saw the
autobiographical movie Enid where she was played by my favourite actress Helena
Bonham Carter. She was a selfish wretch and an adulterer. A child who never
grew up, waiting for her father who never came home. She was a child herself
that’s why she wrote those wonderful stories, but she was a horrible mother.
Bam! Childhood ruined. I idolized her, I loved her books, I read almost all of
them, she made me want to read more. She introduced me to fantasy stories and
escapism. Am sorely disappointed that
the woman she really was is different from the woman I envisioned who wrote all
those wonderful tales. I cried for my loss and for hers too. She had dementia
later in life. She wrote 759 books. All those stories in her head, amazing.
