I watched a TV movie about Enid Blyton this weekend. And I'm crushed.
The Wishing Chair, and The Faraway Tree were the first 'novels' I ever read. And whenever I think of them I get all nostalgic and mushy in my belly. I borrowed every single Enid Blyton book I could find from my local library after reading them. I became obsessed. Because they whisked me away into worlds I'll never ever forget.
But you know why I'm crushed? Because this GENIUS author, who I idolized, and respected, this author who had written over 400 books for children, who was the J.K Rowling of my time, and sold over 500 million copies (and still sells around 4 million every year) ... had children of her own ... and she treated them like dish rags! I'm devastated!
For example, she'd spend her free time replying to fan mail, and send her kids out to play with their governess. She never spent time with them. Ever. She would invite her fans (little kids) over for indoor picnics and tea parties, and not include her own children. She'd send them upstairs to sit in the nursery until the parties were over. She wouldn't let them see their father when they divorced, despite knowing exactly how horrible it was to be without her own. Basically, she was a selfish cow who spent 24 hours a day glued to her desk and didn't give an inch of her time (nor love) to her kids. And I'm SO SAD!
So today I'm mourning the loss of my childhood idol ... I don't think I can ever think of her in the same royal light again.
Have you ever been crushed by biographies of those you admire?