Recollections

RECOLLECTIONS AROUND THE DUCKPOND
— The Fans of Charlaine Harris —
BY BEVERLY BATTILLO
Fan clubs are very dangerous things. I should know; I started one, and my life
will never be the same.
My story began fifty years ago with my best friend Ellen and I playing our
favorite game—school. Since Ellen was four years older, she got to be the teacher,
and a terror she was! As the hapless student, if I didn’t learn my spelling words,
Ellen would energetically apply her ruler to my backside. I was soon a most
exemplary student and kept my excellent study habits for the remainder of my life.
The greatest tribute to Ellen’s tenacious teaching style was that by the time I was
five years old I could read at first-grade level. Doors began opening in my mind,
and reading became my greatest pleasure and one I pursued voraciously.
Ironically, Ellen now works for the IRS and continues, at least metaphorically, to
apply her ruler.
Reading became my addiction. I took another quantum leap in junior high
when I registered for a speed-reading course. Now I not only read a lot, but I read a
lot really fast. In addition, my ability to completely block out all activity when
reading was a talent that drove my parents totally crazy. If we ever have a nuclear
war, I doubt I’ll know it until the universe is completely annihilated and I complete
whatever I happen to be reading and find angels playing harps all around me.
My taste in literature has always been rather eclectic. If it’s in print, I’ll read it,
whether biography, romance, mystery, cereal boxes—I’m sure you get the idea. I
can’t say my reading has led me to any great revelations or astounding insights. My
life in general has remained boringly normal. I have discovered many friends in
books—ones that I revisit again and again with great pleasure—and I marvel at the
talent and imagination of those who can create worlds within worlds for us to
enjoy. It wasn’t until late in life that I discovered something that led me to stray
from my steadfast and steady existence.
My first breach into a different world came in 1964 when a favorite teacher
introduced me to the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings
were literature the likes of which I had never experienced—a realm filled with
astounding characters and a new language of its own. Dipping into fantasy a bit in
later years, I happened upon a book by a new writer named Laurell K. Hamilton.
Hamilton’s first book, Nightseer, caught my fancy, and I still believe it to be one of
her best works. I discovered Hamilton’s Web board and began to explore her Anita
Blake series. These books were part of what was being described as an emerging
new fictional genre. Booksellers didn’t quite know where to put them—some
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