By Ashley Lister
This week’s theme of desert
island discs genuinely scares me. One of the things I savour about reading is
the excitement of discovering something new each time I approach the unfamiliar (and familiar) pages of any given title. Imagine the horror of only being able to read the same paltry
handful of books again and again and again. I believe, no matter how good the book, the joy of reading a
favourite tome would quickly be bleached to the ennui of monotonous repetition.
Also, desert islands give me the willies. From what I’ve
seen in documentaries they’re filled with dangerous pirates, man-eating spiders
and a rather disturbing lack of lavatories and KFCs. Faced with these levels of
deprivation, I think it would be facile for me to start worrying about which
books I might fancy taking so I could be choked on the boredom of words I once
loved.
So, instead of discussing the literary merits of various
titles, I’m going to talk about the books I’d take for more practical purposes.
Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler
Soft, strong and thoroughly absorbing. I have no intention
of reading the inanities of the twentieth century’s most hateful monoflorid nutjob.
But, even on a desert island, I suspect I’d need something with which to wipe
and Mein Kampf looks like a thoroughly Charmin’ alternative to regular toilet
paper.
(NB – if I can’t find a copy of Mein Kampf, I’ll happily take the manifesto of the BNP).
Lord of the Rings
Whilst desert islands are renowned for being sunny, night
time eventually falls on every piece of land. With night comes the need for
fire. And with fire comes the need for something that should be burnt.
This is where the Lord of the Rings stories would prove useful.
Admittedly, there are some passages that are so dull they’d be likely to
extinguish the flames. But, overall, I think this is the only way this book will
ever honestly be described as “…a scorching hot read…”
Fifty Shades of Grey
(the trilogy)
I don’t particularly care for seagulls. One of them once
pooped on me. I believe there are lots of seagulls on most desert islands. And
I think it would be handy to have something disposable that could be hurled at
the seagulls. If my aim is good enough, I could knock fifty shades of grey out
of the little bastards.
There is only one book that I would want to take on a desert
island for reading purposes. This is a book that I’ve read repeatedly over the
past forty plus years. To me the content never grows wearisome. It’s called Five on a Treasure Island by Enid Blyton
and this is the final passage of that book:
Then, with a bound he
was on the bed, and snuggled himself down into the crook of her legs. He gave a
sigh, and shut his eyes. The four children might be happy – but Tim was
happiest of all.
‘Oh, Tim,’ murmured George,
half waking up as she felt him against her. ‘Oh, Tim, you mustn’t – but you do
feel so nice. Tim – we’ll have other adventures together, the five of us – won’t
we?’
They will – but that’s
another story!
For anyone reading that passage with a knowing smirk on
their lips, perhaps you’ll understand why, even if I was suffering the
austerity of a desert island, I could enjoy reading this title again and again
and again.