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February 03, 2000
Books make me all warm and fuzzy
I'm still thinking about the childrens books list from yesterday's entry. Joanne sent me a little list of her favorite books from childhood -- we both loved "The Little Prince," even though the ending is quite dark. (I didn't realize that the little prince commits suicide when I first read it. I don't remember what I made of the ending when I was a kid, but I do remember rereading it when I was much older, and grasping what the ending meant, and being very sad.)
So since yesterday I've been wishing I could get back into the childrens room of the public library in North Aurora, Illinois (that's the library I remember going to first; there have been many others since then, of course) and revisit the books I was so enamoured with.
Joanne and I also both loved Madeleine L'Engle's books. I still have most of them, and reread them every couple of years. My older brother and I fought over the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, and the Lord of the Rings trilogy (which I also reread about once every two years.
(I'm very leery of the movie they're making of The Lord of the Rings, but that's a new entry altogether.)
For about two years I was obsessed with Anne McCaffrey's Pern novels. I keep meaning to go back and reread them, to see if they still hold the same magic for me that they used to. I remember staying with my grandparents during the summer, and my grandmother taking me to the library so I could get an Anne McCaffrey fix.
Of course I loved everything Judy Blume ever wrote. The idea of censoring her books infuriates me (well, the idea of censoring ANY books makes me see red...) because her books strike such a chord with young readers -- boys and girls alike. There's a reason why she is so beloved, and it's not because her books are dirty.
My fondest memories of my childhood involve my mom reading to me -- we read The Secret Garden aloud, a little every night. (I sometimes wish I was little so we could do it again. I think Barry might object to my mom tucking me in and reading to me every night, now...) and we started off reading Beverly Cleary together, until I started devouring her books on my own.
I still love E. B. White, and Roald Dahl. S. E. Hinton was my idol all through junior high. I remember my fifth-grade teacher reading "Where the Red Fern Grows" aloud to the class, and even the boys cried.
There's just too many books for me to list. I think one of the best things my parents did for me was letting me read whatever I wanted -- or at least try to. They would tell me if they thought a book was "too old" for me, but they wouldn't take it away from me. Definitely not the sort of parents who would bully a school into taking "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" off its library shelves -- or Harry Potter, for that matter. I've just read all three Harry Potter books, and I loved them. They have that quality that makes them destined to be lifelong favorites of the kids who read them -- not only are they entertaining, but you can relate to the character, and you can lose yourself in the story. I don't think I'll ever understand why that is threatening to people, or why parents are convinced it will harm their children.
So. I'm not doing a poll or anything, this is strictly out of my own curiosity -- what books did you love?
Posted by Mary Ellen at February 3, 2000 06:27 PM