I was putting some books I enjoy on my profile today, which got me thinking about books I like and why I like them. One of my favorite authors is L.M. Montgomery. I would never tell this to someone in publishing or someone in higher education or, say, print it on a blog for all the world to see (wait a minute . . . ). But anyway, she is. The reason I like her is because she wrote books that I want to live with for a while and read again and again. They’re wholesome, a characteristic not necessarily considered a merit by true literary types, but I thoroughly enjoy a book in which I am not likely to turn the page and find myself in the middle of a crime scene or an illicit, adulterous affair. One of her characters, Emily, wrote a book once that was published, and a critic said it was, “A story that will not corrupt its readers.” Even Emily’s elderly family members in the book recognized the comment as less than favorable, and I have always wondered if some critic said that about one of Montgomery’s books at one time. There is so much in the world to corrupt us already, plenty on the news to scare us, plenty in our daily lives to cloud us. Don’t we want books at least sometimes that show us the best of life instead of the worst? Evidently I do – the books in my profile will prove it. There aren’t many modern ones there. Although I grew up, my library never did. I’m trying to branch out but finding so far that I don’t like the grownups very much. Maybe I haven’t tried hard enough. Maybe, even though I switch toothpastes every time I go to the store and practically live for new things (see previous post), maybe when it comes to reading, I just can’t change.