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It was a late summer evening. The sun had already disappeared behind the Jura mountains, but it was not dark yet. I was lying in bed, only covered by a linen bedsheet, for the nights were still pretty hot that time of year. My head was comfortably resting on the bolster and I was holding a book in my hands. "Was geschieht bei Killekopp?" (What is going on at Killekopp's?) was its title and the cover showed two boys, one 7, the other 10 years old maybe, hiding amidst fabric rolls. The older is holding a telephone receiver. In the back you can see a man wearing a beret slipping by. Killekopp's is a fictive department store where some strange things unfold. This was by far my favorite book at that time and I don't recall how many times I read it since then.

On that evening, however, it was the first time. I just had become acquainted with Peter and Hannes, the two boys in the story, and their dream of that impressive tent -- too expensive, of course -- they would like to have for their next family vacation. When the door to my room opened and my mom kissed me good night. She took the book and put it on the bedside table, then she went to my sisters' rooms and also wished them a pleasant night. She then joined my dad down in the garden where they enjoyed the evening together chatting. I could hear them through my open window, but I didn't pay attention as I had taken back the book and was completely immersed into the story. When day turned to dusk, I turned on the light and kept on reading.

Suddenly, the door flung open and my dad stood in the room, shouting at me, why I was still reading instead of sleeping. Resignated, I put the book away and turned against the wall. My dad turned off the light and left the room. From that moment on I knew, I was screwed if I turned on the light, because my parents would see it from the garden. This is why, the following evenings I would still read, just without light, forced to put back the book when I couldn't make out the letters any more.

Later, as a 6th-grader, after discovering the school library, I would devour book after book, namely a whole collection of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's stories (Sherlock Holmes, and others). I would read them on the entire school commute, in the train but also when walking on the sidewalk. Some people wondered, how I could read without even bumping into other pedestrians...

Nowadays, the pleasure of reading hasn't faded. I love printed books, the smell of paper and ink and over all, the feeling of progressing when turning the pages. You can figure out that I would rather not read books on an electric device... I now rarely buy books because I have so many in my library that I haven't read yet. Also, my children read a lot of books in school, which I read as well in order to be able to discuss them together.

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