In full? Probably the Swallows and Amazons books. The first book was my dad’s childhood favourite and he bought me a copy when I was eight or nine. I was sure I wouldn’t like it and I only started reading it when I’d exhausted my other options (and in the middle of the night too, so my dad couldn’t see me reading it and be all “I told you so! I knew you’d like it!”). The first chapter was tough going, but then the story took over. Next thing I knew, it was ten past one in the morning and I’d just got to the night sailing scene, and my parents had spotted that my light was on. They let me finish the chapter, but it was torture having to try and go to sleep with the rest of the book unread. I insisted on saving my pocket money for the full set. (My dad is still periodically I-told-you-so’ing about this three decades later.)

As a child I started to collect the Just William series, but it took years to complete the collection and I can’t remember when I managed to buy all of them. I was an adult when I finally managed it. Some were out of print and very difficult to track down. I still love those books. They’re a terrific comfort read when I’m not feeling well, and the stories are the perfect length to be on a bathroom bookshelf.

I had a similar experience when I was in hospital as a teenager. A teacher gave me one of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I read it because I was beyond bored, and there was one story in there that particularly incensed me - a teacher gets her students to write down all the things they’re unable to do, makes them bury the lists in the playground, and holds a funeral for ‘I Can’t’. They create a tombstone for I Can’t and hang it on the classroom wall. After that, whenever a child said they couldn’t do something, the teacher would point at the wall and remind them that I Can’t was dead.

One of the biggest lessons I had to learn as a disabled kid (and just a human generally) was that everyone has limits and it’s more than OK to respect those. If I insist that my car is really a convertible submarine and insist on driving it into the Irish Sea, the car will not be inspired to develop these new capabilities. People are no different. Of course there will be times when self-doubt and low self-confidence keep you from things you could do, and of course it’s a good thing to overcome the feelings that hold you back, but there will be plenty of other times when saying ‘no’ is liberating rather than restricting.

In my old job I used to deliver teacher training from time to time, and I’d always tell participants to make sure they never tried to encourage any child with, “There’s no such word as can’t”…unless they could tell me, hand on heart, that they believed themselves capable of landing a principal role in the Bolshoi Ballet by next Wednesday. There was always laughter at that, but you could almost see the realisation dawning for some attendees.

I scrolled down to find the people saying Ulysses because I knew I couldn’t possibly be alone in this feeling.

Ulysses. So far it’s the only book I’ve DNF’d. I just couldn’t bear it a second longer. It made me wonder if Joyce was trying to pull an Ern Malley.

I have special memories of Bad Girls. It was the first Jacqueline Wilson book I’d ever read, and I stumbled on it at the time I needed it most. I was quite close in age to Mandy and I was also being badly bullied at school. It was a horrible lonely time, and it felt as if Wilson had seen right into my head and based Mandy on my own worries and hopes.

I quite often hear people being dismissive about Wilson - her writing is too ‘easy’, it’s too repetitive, it doesn’t push children out of their comfort zone. While some of that may be true, especially the recycling of plotlines and character types, I think the critics have missed the point. Children themselves are often repetitive in how they play and what they like to do, and they do that because the repetition brings them something important. A kid having a difficult time could pick up any of Wilson’s books and on some level think, “Someone gets how I’m feeling. This is just like me!”. Other kids might be gently nudged into thinking about ‘weird’ classmates in a kinder way. I love how skillfully she’s able to assume the perspectives of children of all different ages too.

I tried to train myself to see through my eyelids after reading that one. I was so disappointed when it didn’t work.

Atlas Shrugged. Virtually everyone I’ve ever met who says they love Ayn Rand hasn’t actually read anything of hers, so if someone had rated it 5 stars I’d assume this was just their way of signalling their political views.

I’d probably react the same way to a 5 star review of 1984, which gets used as an identity badge by people who not only haven’t read the book but who seem to think Orwell’s politics were the polar opposite to what they actually were. I might not swipe left immediately. I’d try asking for their opinion on Homage to Catalonia first.

I had a similar reaction to I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. I was nine when I read it, the same age as Maya Angelou when she was raped, and reading such a graphic account told in the first person by a girl my own age really scarred me.

It depends on the age we’re talking, but The Owl Who Was Afraid of the Dark gave me a fascination with owls that has lasted for the best part of four decades. I moonlight as a volunteer at a raptor rescue centre, and I’m possibly the only medical student in my school to have practised drug metabolism and clearance calculations on prescriptions for a great grey owl.

I was waiting for someone to mention Emily. I loved Anne of Green Gables, but I identified with Emily to the point where I started trying to cultivate her habits, especially the infamous intimidating stare.

“Charlotte was both.”

I cried reading that ending as a seven-year-old, and I bet I would still tear up reading it now.