The middle of the last century was evidently not a good time to be a child, such is the rash of books describing what one national bookseller now categorises on its shelves as “Tragic Childhoods”. I have read a few of these, the determining factor in my choice being not the degree of tragedy displayed on the back cover of the books but whether I am actually interested to read about the author for other reasons. Having just read and enjoyed Sutherland’s How to Read a Novel, with all its insights into the publishing industry, I decided to read The Boy Who Loved Books, partly because the title could equally have applied to me a good many years ago.
Fortunately, despite the hardship of Sutherland’s early life, the label “tragic childhood” does not apply to this autobiography. This is mainly because Sutherland does not blame anyone for what happened to him, nor does he like others explain later tragic years (there were none) to the lingering effects of his undoubtedly difficult childhood. In fact, the book is humorous and amusing, and more in the style of V S Pritchett than Dave Feltzer. This book will not make you shudder at painstakingly described cruelty and abuse.
Sutherland was brought up mainly in Colchester with periods of time in Leith and London, but the setting is mainly Essex, a rural county where even the Colchester had more of the countryside than the city about it. Poverty was Sutherland’s lot for a great part of his early life, but in later years, after his mother’s relationship with a wealthy Argentinian the money flowed a little easier, with weekly “ten bob notes” appearing through his teenage years.
There are many interesting sections of this book, not least the period Sutherland spent in an Edinburgh tenement, his time in National Service in Aldershot and later in Germany, and his subsequent descriptions of life at Leicester University which at that time had a poor reputation not entirely consistent with its actual excellent academic life.
I enjoyed the book. It is a “good read” and has a generally cheerful feel to it. Sutherland seems to be quite content overall with how his life has run its course, and the book is a reflective and gentle look back on times which were undoubtedly difficult to live through.
