The very first book that I could recall reading was, awkwardly enough, the twelfth night by William Shakespeare. I had just turned ten years old and had been in the United States for about three years so my English hadn’t been good. My father thought I could learn the English vocabulary faster with the help of his favorite English writer and poet, William Shakespeare. Just like father, like daughter, I soon became obsessed with Shakespeare and his works starting from the twelfth night. It wasn’t odd for me to like that kind of literature because up to that point of my life, I hadn’t read any American children books that I could compare it to. I didn’t feel unusual, liking Shakespeare at that particular age because it felt nice to enjoy educated talks with my father.
As it turns out, Shakespeare was more fascinating than I had ever imagined seeing that I still can’t find a book more entertaining and scandalous as the cast of the twelfth night. Identical brothers and sisters, love affairs and of course the conventional awkward jealousy being told in 17th century rhythm and dialect was a thoroughly enjoyable read. What ten year old wouldn’t love hearing stories of dukes, lords, ships, and deceit in the earliest form of literature? The twelfth night is still one of my favorite stories from William Shakespeare. I was envious of Violas courage and Olivia, so cunning and beautiful, was inspiring to me and my unsolicited mind. I understood the dynamic between the characters before I knew the drama of life and society. There is a lot to learn from reading adult fiction at such a young age as my entire world became more of a fantasy adventure. Adult fiction is powerful because of the diction and ironic wordplay used that for younger audience, with their limitless imagination, could visualize something bigger and better than themselves. It’s one thing to imagine fairy tales and happily ever afters but it felt bigger than life to apprehend the affairs of men and 17th century behavior.