(Judy Blume Doll, from UneekDollDesigns)
The remnants of devastation from reading A Little Life are
almost out of my system. Thank goodness, because I was beginning to feel a bit
haunted!
I did finish two books last week: Charming Billy by Alice
McDermott and Here by Richard McGuire. Hopefully I’ll have reviews up for those
shortly. I have also started Susan Engel’s The Hungry Mind: The Origins of Curiosity in Childhood – so I’m adding a little bit of nonfictiony sauce on what has
otherwise been a spring full of fiction.
I have two other books on my leaning stack for this week. In
the I’m-late-to-the-party category, Hilary St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven
finally came in from the library. It arrived just as I was finishing A Little
Life, but I just couldn’t take on dystopia after reading such a sorrowful novel. I also want to read Euphoria
by Lily King. Both of those novels just came out in paperback, so I’ll let you
know if they’re good choices for your summer reading plans.
But the big news is that I’m going to go see Judy Blume on
Thursday! I can’t explain how giddy this makes me. I have such a visceral
memory of reading and re-reading Blubber under my covers in elementary
school. For young readers at that time,
it was rare to find the real world of childhood in a book. Blume’s novels
allowed me to “get lost” in reading for the first time.
I think that Judy Blume’s books are now seen as
“literature,” but I don’t think that was always the case. My memory is that a Judy
Blume novel was not something you’d find in a leveled book bin in your
classroom or stamped with a seal of high adult regard. I read Judy Blume on my
own, somewhat obsessively, furtively.
I keep coming back to Momster’s question about her eleven
year old’s summer reading. It’s no secret that reading is good for you, like
kale. But this week I started thinking about the kind of books I did read as a
child – Judy Blume books included – and I’m guessing that not a single one of
them would have fallen on an approved summer reading list.
I have wonderful memories of riding my 3 speed to the drug
store to buy paperback books. Crappy paperbacks! They cost a couple of bucks
and were maybe 200 pages long. If I had a friend with me, we’d each buy one and
then trade.
Here’s one that I remember reading:
(Did boys look like that in your school?? Gah! Chest hair! I’m thinking
that he may have been held back…)
I’m fairly sure that my mother didn’t puff up with pride at
this particular reading selection. I’m also certain that the books I
picked weren’t aligned with my reading level. In short, they weren’t kale. But oh, did I
read like crazy!
I wonder if I became such a good reader – and more
importantly, someone who LOVES reading – because adults and their agendas
stayed out of it.
Judy Blume is in her 70s now. I know that she’ll
have an audience of nostalgic middle aged groupies – grown-ups whose memories
of summer reading do not include sticker charts and incentive plans and
progress toward higher scores on next fall’s Fountas and Pinnell Benchmark Assessment.
And YES, I most certainly plan to read Blume’s new novel for
adults, In The Unlikely Event. I'm guessing I won't be able to get it for $2 at the drugstore, however.
(It's Monday! What Are You Reading is hosted by Book Journey. I'm winging it while she's on hiatus)
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