Dickens
Dickens is certainly one of my favorite authors. His masterful use of setting and above all his characters have endeared him to me. If I had to, if I were forced to choose favorites among his books I would choose Our Mutual Friend, Bleak House, and A Tale of Two Cities. (If you know who I just paraphrased, virtual chocolate is yours.) There are a few of his books I'm not as keen on: Great Expectations because Estella annoys me more than I can possibly convey online and Oliver Twist just because. But most of his books are familiar friends. His verbosity is intimidating but when you move beyond that you find a word of enchantment open to you.
Laura Ingalls Wilder
My earliest memory of books is bound up with Little House in the Big Woods. I was about four. My father had tried to read Wind in the Willows to me but I was still a bit too young for it. (Unfortunately that early experience has left me cold where Wind in the Willows in concerned. I try to like it, I really do, but somehow it never quite works.) At any rate, he gave up on it and read Little House to me instead. And that I loved. Here was Laura, in some ways so like me (dark haired and little) and her adventures. I couldn't get enough of them. I read them voraciously for years and even after they stopped being my favorite books I would re-read them once in awhile. I haven't recently, partly because they are still boxed up from our move this summer, but I still remember them fondly.
Carrie, Mary and Laura. Not sure of the year.
Source for pictures: Wikipedia
No comments:
Post a Comment