I think we all have what I refer to as comfort food for the soul — little bits and pieces of things that we have accumulated over the years we can latch onto when we need them, things that make us feel better. A piece of music, a picture, a story or even a particular author all have their place in the pantheon of things that help you over the rough spots.

For most of us these were established many years ago, usually when we were children, and it's rare that we ever admit to ourselves as adults that we still have the need to find something that will serve the same purpose. But on occasion, as an adult, you can experience a traumatic event that takes you out looking for something that will replicate the old friends of childhood.

For just as they say you can't go home again, it seems there are times when the things that brought you comfort as a child bring you no comfort as an adult. Whether it's because the trauma you are coping with is a result of that childhood, so anything associated with it is sullied, or because what had magic for you at ten just doesn't seem to evoke the same response anymore doesn't matter; what matters is you want something you can curl up in like a blanket around your soul.

Initially, I tried my old favourites, but they got tired soon, and most were not as I remembered them. Or even worse, my jaundiced adult eye saw all the things I missed as a child; things that evoked reactions that weren't guaranteed to bring me comfort. As a child, you didn't notice that all the villains happened to be swarthy, or talk with strange foreign accents, and that the heroes and heroines seemed to be fighting to preserve the values of the British Empire.

Thankfully, some years after others discovered him, a bespectacled young wizard helped restore my faith in the ability of reading to instill magic. He and his adult author helped steady the earth under my feet when it was particularly unstable. In the four years since then, the ranks of authors and characters have swelled to the level where I'm able to find at least one new work a month that worms its way beneath my skin to make my heart beat a little faster and calm the fire in my brain.