Starts off with The Edge Chronicles but ends up with a rant on human curiosity, sorry

I’m going to sound like an advert in this, but who cares?

The Edge Chronicles. Cheesy. Action. Often lacks humour. Illustrated. All the things I usually avoid in a book (although a small serving of each is perfectly acceptable). 

So why is it that I cannot seem to go more than a year or two without re-reading the entire collection?


I remember being 10. My best friend handed me an orange book, draped with a terrifying, horned monster and detailed font. And I remember dying to read it- sneaking looks at it under the table, rubbing my fingertips over the raised writing in maths, pretending I was blind and reading braille, and the tantalizing title I deciphered: The Curse of the Gloamglozer. That night I was hooked. No, more than that: I was Quin. I lived in the Edge and every time I opened the book it felt natural. Even now, I can recite by heart the opening two pages (allowing for changes when we get to Twig’s story). 


The only other time I’ve felt like this was with Harry Potter. But for some reason, I almost want the Edge to be real more. Which, coming from a self professed and life long Potterhead, is cause for concern. Maybe it’s because the Edge is just so much more unknown… what is beyond the Deepwoods? I crane my neck when I look at the map because there must be something more. And if it’s the Edge, there must be something else further on! Something for it to be the Edge of. 


With Harry Potter and The Hunger Games (but not Divergent – again, what is beyond the fence?) The world already exists in an entirety. We know where things are. Where people stand. Particularly with The Hunger Games, where everything is divided into such neat districts. So maybe that’s why the Edge Chronicles has so much appeal – I just want everything, finally, to be laid out for me in print – divide the world into neat chunks that I can wrap my head around. 


This has a point, I swear.


Basically, it’s all about natural curiosity. Someone once told me that a child of 5 asks 500 questions a day, but, by age 18, they will only ask 3. Maybe it’s because we already know the answers to everything. Maybe it’s because we have better things to do with our time. But as that age approaches, I really hope that it isn’t because everything has already been discovered. Because I like my natural curiosity. That’s the best way I learn, asking and storing away the answers for future reference. Surely there really are no negatives to asking questions.


I think that the real reason we stop asking questions is because we suppress our natural curiosity. It isn’t cool to seem stupid, or ignorant, as if we never learnt anything or we’re simply really childish. Well, if you ask me 500 questions a day, I hope you know that I won’t judge you. I might get annoyed at the constant chatter though. But, seriously, embrace the five-year-old in you and ask away.

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