The first book I read where I became aware of the beauty of the written word was a book by Even Hunter (I think) about a blind MC. It followed his life from the time he was seven or so through adulthood, along with his rising career as a pianist. I could have sworn it was called Streets of Gold, but when I recently tried googling it I came up flat.
I was twelve when I read it, purloined from a stack of library books my father had. After that I read everything I could get my hands on by Hunter. Previously, I read books according to the story. This one book gave me a whole new appreciation for the art of storytelling.
So am I imagining this? Does anyone recognize the story? Maybe I have the author wrong.