Old authors for young readers
Created | Updated Dec 23, 2003
When I was much younger I read many things I wasn't supposed to, because they were above my reading 'level'. The same thing is happening to my eleven-year-old daughter. She blew out accelarated reading programs at her grade school two years in a row. Why? I've been taking her to the library, the bookstore, my office, the living room ever since she was born. Simple fact: you don't read, your kids probably won't.
When I was a kid I didn't think much about authors. I went right past the title page to the good stuff. But I had somehow this strange idea when I was reading a book that had children in it that the writer had to be detailing recent experiences and thus had to be young. Later, when I thought I had cast off most of my prejudices, I was shocked to find that the author of 'I, Robot', one of my favorite books as a twelve-year-old, was ancient.
I had been reading paperbacks that were often bereft of their covers. The book exchanges I found in the back rooms of various barber shops and veteran's clubs were not picky about their stock.
One day I picked up a dust-jacketed hardback at the library and saw my favorite title and happened to look at the back of the jacket. Um. Whose dat? The author's grandad? I read the note under the picture and learned, well, you guessed it. I had been reading an old book by an old man! That was the day I learned to read copyright pages.
I am engaged in Bristolling up a small library in a small church. It hasn't been handled with any vigor for ten years.
I've had some people look at the collection, particularly the children's and youth's sections and talk about 'needing some more modern books for these more modern children'. I had the mother of a rather 'modern' nine-year-old girl offer to donate the
Laura Ingalls Wilder 'Little House on the Prairie' collection out of the misguided sense that the books had something to do with the television series. Hey, I'll take what I can get. I did manage to rid myself of a couple copies of 'The Robe' and one of 'Ben Hur'. I don't mind fiction in a church library, but, please. The C.S. Lewis and the Mark Twain, I kept. The Bunyan went, but I'm going to get a better edition. I might even get some Dorothy Sayers. I know I'm going to sneak in some GBS, but no Joyce.
I thought I'd had all my balloons popped until I started reading a series of wonderful books a couple of years ago and went to look up the author and was shocked to find out he'd died the week I first bought one of his books.
I don't know why that should have bothered me. After all, I read the Bible.
This Christmas, after you've gotten your springoff the latest bright thing that won't last past Boxing Day, head for the used book stalls, dig up some interesting stuff and thrust it into their hot little hands, telling them they can even read it while eating.
Don't tell them about the copyright paqe. I won't strenously suggest it, but you might also obscure the picture on the dust jacket. Some truths can wait. Oh, and hide the obituary section.
When I was a kid I didn't think much about authors. I went right past the title page to the good stuff. But I had somehow this strange idea when I was reading a book that had children in it that the writer had to be detailing recent experiences and thus had to be young. Later, when I thought I had cast off most of my prejudices, I was shocked to find that the author of 'I, Robot', one of my favorite books as a twelve-year-old, was ancient.
I had been reading paperbacks that were often bereft of their covers. The book exchanges I found in the back rooms of various barber shops and veteran's clubs were not picky about their stock.
One day I picked up a dust-jacketed hardback at the library and saw my favorite title and happened to look at the back of the jacket. Um. Whose dat? The author's grandad? I read the note under the picture and learned, well, you guessed it. I had been reading an old book by an old man! That was the day I learned to read copyright pages.
I am engaged in Bristolling up a small library in a small church. It hasn't been handled with any vigor for ten years.
I've had some people look at the collection, particularly the children's and youth's sections and talk about 'needing some more modern books for these more modern children'. I had the mother of a rather 'modern' nine-year-old girl offer to donate the
Laura Ingalls Wilder 'Little House on the Prairie' collection out of the misguided sense that the books had something to do with the television series. Hey, I'll take what I can get. I did manage to rid myself of a couple copies of 'The Robe' and one of 'Ben Hur'. I don't mind fiction in a church library, but, please. The C.S. Lewis and the Mark Twain, I kept. The Bunyan went, but I'm going to get a better edition. I might even get some Dorothy Sayers. I know I'm going to sneak in some GBS, but no Joyce.
I thought I'd had all my balloons popped until I started reading a series of wonderful books a couple of years ago and went to look up the author and was shocked to find out he'd died the week I first bought one of his books.
I don't know why that should have bothered me. After all, I read the Bible.
This Christmas, after you've gotten your springoff the latest bright thing that won't last past Boxing Day, head for the used book stalls, dig up some interesting stuff and thrust it into their hot little hands, telling them they can even read it while eating.
Don't tell them about the copyright paqe. I won't strenously suggest it, but you might also obscure the picture on the dust jacket. Some truths can wait. Oh, and hide the obituary section.
