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Title: The book I read under my blanket with a torch...78 times!
Review: This was my all time favourite when I was a child. And I had wished I was a boy so that I could become an Indian tribe leader when I'd grow up... I used to wear my hair like Winnetou (the one I imagined) to the greatest disapproval of my teachers in the school (you know, bird feathers, and stuff...) And also, this book served as a cure. When I was ill, lying in my bed, my mom would bring me all sorts of pills, but I wouldn't heal until I read a chapter from Winnetou. After a while, I started knowing it by heart, in Hungarian, though. I even went to Radebeul (a small town next to Dresden, Germany) to visit Villa Shatterhand, the house of Karl May. There is a small exhibition, it's worth to go and see it. Winnetou and Old Shatterhand are alive, forever in every child's imagination. Uff, I have spoken.
