I found an old paperback copy of The Penguin Complete Lewis Carroll this morning, with a little note to yours truly on the first leaf. I think it was a gift from a poet friend of the mothers who I haven't seen in a very long time. Pretty cool though eh? I never actually read it, I think I must have been very young and found it too difficult. Also I don't think my parents were the type to read to us as children, which in it's own way is a good thing I suppose. Anyhow I'm reading it now and I like it just as much as I think I would have if I'd read it years ago.
However, it turns out Carroll wasn't a very amiable fellow, regarding adults anyway, and this I found out before I even got to the first chapter. Why in the world would anyone do that? It's a pity that people feel the need to crush those little illusions you have about really fantastic authors that you grew up reading. C.S. Lewis was a misogynist, and J.M. Barrie was also a bit of a weirdo, or so I read. Both Narnia and Peter Pan have been tainted for me thanks to people poking their noses in where they shouldn't. The next person who researches a famous author would want to be careful.
Feist. No. Likey.
Never will I read a know-it-all introduction again. Scholars, pfft.