Later Childhood
One of the absolute joys of chapter books is the independence you’ve gained. You can read. On your own. And your parents, though they might miss the snuggle at bedtime, are free from the tyranny of the inevitable “read it again!” that so defines the life of the pre-literate child.
Another America opened up when our teacher at the Rudolf Steiner School, Barbara Palesty, read us The Little House in the Big Woods. No longer in 1970s New York – picture dirty streets and graffiti-covered subways – I was transported to 1870s Wisconsin, and the world of a working family – everyone did their share – as they planted, harvested, then ate all their own food. A particular sense memory was the description of a holiday breakfast – bacon, coffee, and griddle cakes that Ma made into “pancake men” – that was my introduction to writing about food. I was also enamored of the long cotton prairie dresses Laura and Mary wore. So much better than the pleated polyester mini-skirts of the current day.
Mrs. Palesty may have read a few of the books, or the whole series – I’m not quite sure – but my own children read each and every one. And we still discuss them. When winter gets intense, I think of Laura, feeling “dull and stupid”; in my case, though, I have heat and enough food. In hers, there was none, and food was reduced to plain bread because massive snow drifts had stopped the supply trains from running.
Other notables from this era include The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett, about an orphan and her adventures in an English garden, and Mandy, written by one Julie Andrews Edwards, about another orphan in a similar setting. I loved identifying the back cover black-and-white photo of the author as the one and only Maria Von Trapp from the bursting-with-color Sound of Music.
A special mention goes to The Cricket in Times Square, a small masterpiece by George Selden, with illustrations by the glorious Garth Williams, he of Little House books fame. For a New York child, nothing could be more delightful than the tale of Chester Cricket of Connecticut, adopted by Mario, the son of Mama and Papa Bellini, who run a newsstand in the Times Square subway station. It seems Chester has found his way to the Bellinis via the picnic basket of some day trippers to the country. “What ensues is an altogether captivating spin on the city mouse/country mouse story, as Chester adjusts to the bustle of the big city. Despite the cricket's comfortable matchbox bed (with Kleenex sheets); the fancy, seven-tiered pagoda cricket cage from Sai Fong's novelty shop; tasty mulberry leaves; the jolly company of Tucker Mouse and Harry Cat; and even his new-found fame as "the most famous musician in New York City," Chester begins to miss his peaceful life in the Connecticut countryside.” -- Goodreads
And then there is From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, a fantastic tale of running away to the perfect setting. For Claudia and her little brother, said setting is the Metropolitan Museum of Art. How they board a train from — again —Connecticut, manage an overnight stay in the museum, and come in contact with one Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, is the stuff of dreams. Who wouldn’t want a night at the museum? I loved this book and apparently so did many others. It won the Newberry Medal in 1967 and was a Time Magazine Best YA Book of All Time (2021).
But what about Nancy? As in Drew. I knew I was a reader when I devoured one book after another and prided myself on eventually attaining the whole series. I still have it. In addition to the satisfaction of acquisition -- children are acquisitive by nature -- there was an addictive quality to the Nancy Drews that I got swept up into. Get lost in one tale, finish, move on to the next. Then look at how nice they look on your shelf.
The small army of writers, under the pseudonym Carolyn Keene, was onto something – formulaic writing -- when they created the characters, setting, and dialogue of Nancy’s girl world, where adventures and independence ruled the day.
My favorite Nancy Drew story is not one written by the Keene team, but told by a dear friend: She asked for one for her birthday, and a backpack arrived with the collection inside. “Best birthday gift ever!” she said.
Next week, the paperbacks of adolescence.