Books used to be a way for me to escape the utter boredom of childhood. I would cry for Lady Oscar, whom no one seemed to remember (it is safe to say that history wasn’t my forte), hunt for old copies of Nancy Drew in car boot sales, and roam around the garden for hours looking for the branch that would give me that perfect feeling Harry experienced when his wand chose him.
As I grew older, I learnt to discern between books, to choose more carefully. I became fascinated by language, especially as I learnt new ones (my English grammar is, to this day, better than my French one, something you must never tell my grandmother). I discovered that I love proofreading, something I have done mercilessly for my friends for years, and I thought, “why not become a translator?” It would be the perfect way to spend my days interacting with text, stories, and language.
What was not to love? Well, translation was not to love. I realised at the beginning of the last year of my bachelor that am not fond of the activity itself. Horror! What was I going to do now? I had just finished my European Studies bachelor but wasn’t a great politician either… So I took a gap year, went to Italy, learnt a new language, ate tons of pasta, and then it came to me: there are more than one way to work with books! I had helped my friends come up with a nice selection of books in English for their bookshop in France (something that wouldn’t be just another “thriller aisle”), and had loved it! My uncle works for a French publisher specialising in comics, and I had always thought it was sooo cool!
The excitement has not left me since. If anything, it has increased! The people teaching us are very passionate themselves, and in an industry where there is always something new to learn, see, or do (and read), it is easy to get carried away. Although I don’t know yet which position I will be aiming for, I try to keep an open mind, and learn about everything.