Is there such a thing as an ‘innocent reader’, one who has no prior knowledge of a book’s genre or author, expectations, subject knowledge, or some idea that that book will ‘fit’ their tastes?

Debra Adelaide contends that she, indeed, is such a reader. While the act of reading can be heavy with all the above, she invariably opens a new book with no expectation other than that she will be transported to a wonderful new world. So strong is that feeling that when she finds a book she admires, or loves, she has the feeling that it was written for her alone; that the author peered into her heart and articulated her deepest thoughts and desires. While her publishers describe this book as part-bibliomemoir (wonderful word!) and part-user’s manual, many readers will also feel that this book was written especially for them.

Adelaide shares a joyous, and sometimes moving, glimpse into her reading and writing world which cannot be divorced from her own story of life, death and family.

Books have long played an important role for this author and academic, starting with her own suburban family’s collection of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books; to the realisation at the end of her schooling that, although a voracious bookworm, she lacked real guidance in reading. With several successful novels under her belt, Adelaide teaches creative writing at university, has been a book reviewer and a book editor.

Her essays in this book give a clear-eyed view of what her students should NOT do while aspiring to be writers. To reinforce that, she quotes one of her hero authors, the late Thea Astley, when speaking at the 2003 Byron Bay Writers’ Festival: ‘Who here wants to write a book?’ (Hands flew up) ‘Well, piss off and go home and write one.’

I didn’t do that, but at the end of this beautifully-written book, I just wanted to read it all again.

Reviewed by Jennifer Somerville