Are you the same person that you were as a kid? If you’ve changed then does that make you someone new? Because my job consists of reading books for children, I like to pretend that I’ve a more finely honed and developed sense of what kids like than people that don’t have my job, but isn’t that a flawed concept right there? If I’m not the same person I was as a child, why should I have any reason to think that I’ve a better read on their preferences than anyone else? I don’t always have these thoughts. I spend more time than I’d like thinking about what makes a person and how that person is an entirely new creation at different stages of life.
*spoiler alert on the whole darn review, basically* Walden Pond Press (an imprint of Harper Collins)
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