HALLIE EPHRON: In 2025 Susan Stamberg died. She was, one of my favorite people, a true role model for women writers.
She was a nationally renowned broadcast journalist, the first woman to anchor a nightly news program ("All Things Considered"), whose gravelly voice and raucous laugh were instantly recognizable. She was one of NPR's founding mothers, and she died soon after retiring from an illustrious 50-year career.
In 2007 I asked her if she'd consider writing a foreword to the then forthcoming 1001 BOOKS FOR EVERY MOOD. To my great joy she agreed.
It was so generous of her and I adore the piece she wrote.
"SO MANY BOOKS, SO LITTLE TIME" by Susan Stamberg
The pink couch in my parent’s living room was a refuge, growing up on 96th and Central Park West in Manhattan in the 1940s and 1950s. That couch was the launchpad for my adventures in literature.
Now, as a journalist it behooves me to inform you that in truth the couch color was more rose than pink. And it was more a loveseat than a couch. But since some day I intend tattoo the motto “Never Let Facts Get In the Way of a Good Story” on a bicep, the small couch was pink because that’s how I remember it.
As a little girl I fit it neatly—head to toe, lying flat, shoes off, throw pillow under my head. Perfectly prone, I would read. And read. And read. First, after staggering home with a wobbly tower of slim hard-covers, on the pink couch I went through the entire Children’s section of the New York Free Circulating Library at Amsterdam Avenue and 100th Street.
And when I finished the Children’s section, I moved on—the tower of books getting heavier, and wobblier—to two of the day’s real steamers, A Rage to Live, and Forever Amber. The librarian noticed I’d strayed too far from The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew, and prevented any further checkouts of “adult” literature.
Eventually, I moved out of my parents’ house, away from the couch.
But my reading habits were by then ingrained, and I could turn a stiff wooden chair, an airplane seat, a park bench into that pink reading place.
Hallie Ephron is like the best, friendliest, hippest librarian you ever met. Her taste is exquisite, her writing’s a hoot, she’s done her homework, and it’s very clear that she loves, loves, loves books. She knows obscure ones like Dori Sander’s novel Clover, and prompts us back to classics we haven’t considered in years—Katherine Anne Porter’s Pale Horse, Pale Rider, W. Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage.
Hallie has fine factoids, too. Is it really possible that Bridges of Madison County eventually out-sold Gone With the Wind? Or that Flaubert and his editors were put on trial because Madame Bovary was, in the mid-nineteenth century, deemed morally offensive? How quaint! How current!
I bet there’s a pink couch in Hallie Ephron’s background. It probably sits in her Milton living room right now. And for her, as it was for me, that couch is less about literature and more about transportation—a passport out of the house, and into the Dust Bowl or West Egg, Long Island or the Edmont Hotel in 1950s New York where Holden Caulfield took refuge after being thrown out of Pency Prep.
HALLIE: Of course Susan Stamberg was right, although our couch in our Californa living room was not pink, it was a shiny red and green jungle print.
My memory is of sitting nestled up against my mother as she read one of the OZ books to me. Or Eloise. Or Anne of Green Gables. Stories with little girls who are strong and defy stereotypes.
Do you have memories of someone early in your life reading to you, or some special place that gave you a head start on a life filled with books?
The couch was brown plaid rather than pink; our mother read to Jean and me . . . cuddled up on that couch we experienced the excitement in the expectation as Mom opened the book and then we were captivated by the story . . . .
ReplyDeleteI know my mom read to me (and my sister before me) because she told me she did. I’ve seen a photo of my dad reading to both of us when we were little (Mom took the picture, of course), but I feel fairly confident that Mom did the bulk of the bedtime reading. I am a voracious reader because of my mother’s influence. I, unfortunately, have no conscious memory of being read to at all. (Insert sad face emoji here.) — Pat S
ReplyDeleteStill... it's probably true. That and genes.
DeleteLike Pat S, I know my mom read to us, but I don’t remember it. I was reading for myself pretty early, starting with Richard Scarry and never looking back. I remember our copy of THE FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS.
ReplyDeleteWhen we got new living room furniture in the 80s, I gave up one of the twin beds in my room to squeeze in the old brown tweedy armchair that rocked and swiveled. I would sit there rocking for hours and reading, traveling to Narnia and Middle Earth.
Isn't that odd? I don't remember being read to, either. Maybe because I was child #3 (of 4)? I don't know how old I was when I learned to read, but it might have been quite young. My grandfather, who was great at accents, read Brer Rabbit to us (which is now probably rightly considered racist), which I loved.
DeleteI think it probably was when we were too young for the memories to be saved.
DeleteI do remember my mom reading to me when I had the mumps. I am sure it happened much more regularly than that, but that is the memory that sticks with me almost 60 years later. None of my 3 siblings, just me and mom on one section of the brown sectional couch. (On the flip side, when 3 of us had chicken pox at the same time we each had our own section of the brown couch and I remember watching Jack LaLane on TV.)
ReplyDeleteI have vague memories of going to the library when I was very young. I also remember saving up my allowance for the Scholastic book orders at school. In junior high I rode my bike to the library. (Different town; different library) I read 20 books in order to earn a free paperback in the summer reading program. I was always reading…the cereal box at breakfast, the jokes in the Reader’s Digest magazine, Erma Bombeck and the comics in the newspaper, but books I mostly read in bed at night and still do. I still have a Richard Scarry story book that was a gift from grandma when I was 4 years old.
My parents were both readers. Mom would escape to the patio and lie in the sun with a Reader’s Digest condensed book. Dad read in bed at night.
Brenda, you're making me realize that I don't remember ever seeing either of my parents reading an actual book. Newspapers, magazines, they read those daily. And they both had books at the bedside. It probably just wasn't something I'd notice.
DeleteWhat a wonderful piece, Hallie, and such lovely (and well-deserved) tribute to you. Had you met Stamberg prior to asking her for the foreward? I'm a true NPR junkie, and admired her ever since I first listened to her.
ReplyDeleteI was also the kid with the towering stack of library books. My mother always read in the evenings - usually crime fiction - in her chair in the living room. I remember not being able to sleep and sneaking into the living room, quiet as a mouse, to sit next to her and read my book. I assumed she hadn't noticed. As adult when I told her that story, she laughed. "Of course I knew you were there. If you couldn't sleep, what better thing to do instead than to read?"
What a great memory, Edith! These memories are sparking nostalgia here.
DeleteThat's so sweet, Edith.
DeleteI vividly remember my mother reading poems to me from her collection of books. I particularly recall her reading The Harp Weaver and Annabel Lee. They were extremely sad poems and I was not a mature 4 year old. We both would weep, especially when "Her highborn kinsman came, and bore her away from me..."
ReplyDeleteWe would sit snuggled in her big chair because it was the one she could get out of without help.
On the other hand, my grandma read me story books, so did my mom. I loved being read to. I loved fairy tales.
I did not learn to read early and struggled at first, but got the hang of it soon enough. My son, on the other hand, learned to read from watching Sesame Street and knew his alphabet and the sounds the letters made before his first birthday. In any case, it would be fun to hear what he remembers because I read to him constantly.
Ooh, how lovely! My mother recited poetry at the dinner table. She could do all of Vachel Lindsay's THE CONGO. (Boomlay, boomlay, boomly, boom.) And Edward Arlington Robinson (Whenever Richard Cory came totown...)
DeleteWhat a lovely tribute, Hallie! My Mom read to us at bedtime. I don’t remember much of the early ones but ai do remember lots of Louisa May Alcott, and Caddie Woodlawn, and Mistress Masham’s Repose as we grew older. And the library. We had a wonderful one when we lived in Massillon, Ohio.
ReplyDeleteI wore out my Caddie Woodlawn and LMA.
DeleteLibraries! We owe them such a debt of gratitude.
DeleteThis is beautiful! I loved Susan Stamberg. Both my parents read to us--I think my first memory is of dad reading Winnie-the-Pooh stories with one twin on either side of him. He was an excellent mimic, so he did voices for all the characters.Mom, the children's librarian, brought lots of books from the library and read to us as well. She also took us to get our own library cards the first minute we could write our wobbly names. She also recited poetry--I remember Old Ironsides and The Highwayman.
ReplyDeleteYou're remiding me of my husband Jerry reading THE WITCHES and other novels by Roald Dahl and making each of the character's voices distinctive. (The witch says CHILDREN IS DISGUSTEROUS or something to that effect.)
DeleteMine is sitting in a platform rocker as my family called it with my sister Janet who was 12 years older than me reading at my bedtime. She was more like a mother to me filling in when our mother’s mental health issues kept her from being able to function. Sadly Janet died two years ago and just like that I was the only survivor of my birth family.
ReplyDeleteOh, Emily, that's a lovely memory. I'm so sorry for your loss. A sister is a precious thing.
DeleteI remember four of us kids sitting around the old pot belly stove fascinated as my mom read a Xmas story she found in the newspaper. She had taken the pictures from the paper & redrawn them bigger in color. She was a painter. Other than that I don’t remember her reading to us but it was a quiet house where everyone read. My mom was a great artist. Her paintings fill the walls of my house.
ReplyDeleteThat's so great, how she combined her own visual storytelling with words.
DeleteFirstly, Hallie, I so sorry for your loss. There are people in this world who leave an enduring and forever impression in our hearts. They weave in and out of our thoughts continuously and we never forget them. Teachers, loved ones, friends and special individuals who helped shape and navigate our goals in life. There are others we may not have even known personally but greatly influenced us in a positive way. What a notable gift in the world of literature and life in general your friend Susan Stamberg must have been and it's clear she left an indelible impact on you. What a sensitive and symbolic writer; she hit every one of my senses reading the above forward. Thoughts of childhood instantly flooded my memory bank and my love of reading books at a young age. Images of both the "Dick and Jane" series and little Golden books...my first introductions to reading...were front and center in my head along with bits of stories that went with them. Especially how they influenced my love of writing. My father once told me he kept all my silly little short stories I wrote from third grade onward and I remembered him telling me that after reading today's blog. You touched a nerve today, Hallie...but in a very loving and positive way. Thank you. Secondly, what a wonderful lasting memory you also have of what Susan Stamberg wrote about you in that forward. Such a beautiful tribute to you as an author, motivator and special individual. Your blog was a splendid way to jumpstart the day.
ReplyDeleteI have to confess, though I was a HUGE fan of hers, I don't think I ever met her in person ... that's how generous she was.
DeleteMy theory: The couch was pink/rose because of all the Mama Stamberg's Cranberry Relish that had been spilled on it over the years. NPR would give out the popular recipe every Thanksgiving and it became a staple of our holiday. I hope that, even though Susan is now gone, NPR will honor her memory (and Mama Stamberg's) by continuing to release the recipe every year.
ReplyDeleteOh Jay, you just beat me to the punch! I am a big fan of Mama Stamberg's Cranberry Relish as well! And I loved listening to Susan on NPR.
DeleteNPR did repeat the recipe this year in tribute to her!
DeleteLong live Mama Stamberg’s cranberry relish…and Susan Stamberg’s reporting! Elisabeth
DeleteHA HA! I did not love her cranberry relish, as I recall. But then I'm a fan of it out-of-the-can.
DeleteJack read to our kids until they were about 10. It was his time to bond with them – he was never home in the day and often late coming to supper, so that was that decision easily made. It did mean that I missed a lot of the interesting early ‘80’s chapter books – Captain Underpants anyone? If I had to read at night, it was a very short version of Good Night Moon, which by the way I hated.
ReplyDeleteSummertime (and the living was easy) and lunch meant whatever under the cherry tree. Following lunch was reading time and DO NOT TALK TO ME time. They all knew it and short of dying, did not talk to me. They did join me in silent reading of to-each-his-own book. They remember it fondly. They also did not die.
Oh yes, when Jack read to the kids, he read to them all at the same time even with 10 years difference in age, so who knew what the book choice would be. He would lie on the youngest’ bed, often with a duck or a raccoon as well (yes live), and they all just listened – well maybe not the duck. Jack often fell asleep…
DeleteYou hated GOOD NIGHT MOON?! I confess, I loved it. The one I hated was Lyle the Crocodile. It was much too long, and of the course the kiddoes would complain whenever I skipped so much as a sentence or a paragraph.
DeleteThe couch was rose in an embroidered pattern, an excellent hiding place if the dog didn't betray me. I read stacks of library books, eagerly anticipating reaching the heady age of fourteen when I could check out books from the adult section of the library. Shelves and shelves of mysteries!
ReplyDeleteI miss coming home to Susan's hearty laugh during the 5pm NPR news, especially her conversations with Ira Flatow.
She was divine. I miss radio in general. Knowing there NPR was on the dial whenever I felt like tuning in.
DeleteI learned to read at a young age -- definitely before I started Kindergarten. One of my fondest and clearest memories of childhood was walking to the beautiful Carnegie library in Cambridge, Ohio, twice a week with my mother to check out the full number of books they would allow at a time. My mother was an avid reader, mostly of mysteries, and my dad worked out of town through the week for much of my childhood. So Mom and I spent many hours just quietly reading together. We moved away from Cambridge when I was in fifth grade, but sometime well before that the librarians conceded that I had truly read my way through the entire children's section and made an exception to the age limit to allow me to browse in the general fiction section.
ReplyDeleteAnd I remember that thrill, sneaking up the stairs in the Beverly Hills Library to the adult section.
DeleteWhat a great way to start the day, Hallie! Like Susan, I could and did read anywhere. A favorite memory from high school: if you got permission, you could go down to the art room to hang out. Always filled with students chattering away and me, reading. The guidance counselor came to find me once and had to call my name several times because I could tune out all the noise and focus on my book. Growing up in a large, noisy household helped form that habit!
ReplyDeleteI so remember first experiencing "getting lost in a book." It was probably one of the OZ books.
DeleteMy third grade class was reading in the school library. I was startled when my teacher touched my shoulder and said we had to leave. We were having a fire drill and the room was empty and I Had Not Noticed.
DeleteI used to get up at 5 AM and read before school so I had time to sink into a book before anyone else in the house was up. It was always on the living room couch. Then one summer week, my parents housesat for friends who lived a block from the library. Just a block! I walked there every day, returning with a stack of books. I'd lie in the hammock on the screened in porch, and read for the entire day, returning the next day just to do it all over again. Such a great week! My Mom told the latest owners of that house about that week just recently. Over fifty-five years ago, and I still remember it. As to who read to me? I have a pillow with a picture on it, and a revised version of an old poem. It says, "Richer than me you'll never be. I had a father who read to me." The picture is of my Dad, still in his work clothes, as we sat in a big chair together, and he read to me.
ReplyDeleteLesa ~ A simply beautiful and sentimental story about your father. The pillow with your dad's photo and charming poem on it is a true treasure. You are indeed "rich" and blessed with special memories.
DeleteLesa, that is SO SWEET!!
DeleteWhat a wonderful essay, Hallie! Reading it makes her feel very real to me, as if she were here telling me this in person.
ReplyDeleteMy mother didn't read to me but she told me stories, The Little Red Hen is the earliest one I remember. (Much later in life I learned that my mother hated being read to, which I thought was interesting though I knew what she meant, unless the reader could do a good job.) My grandmother, on the other hand, always had books to read to us, most from the library which she visited often.
Besides Little Golden books my first reading material was cereal boxes! I don't recall that my father ever reading to us but he would buy us comic books, something my mother refused to do.
My parents were that way about comic books, too. And today's kids are SO INTO graphic novels! Go figure.
DeleteLovely essay. I remember walking to the local library every week with a stack of books and returning home with another stack. Since I was constantly trying to avoid younger siblings, I once hid in the attic (My brother locked me in!). Trees were also favorite hiding spots.
ReplyDeleteYour brother sounds like a challenge. I am so thrilled that my grandson is an avid reader.
DeleteI truly do not remember ever being read to as a child. My memories are of the various reading stages I went through - biographies, gothic mysteries, etc. I would get fixated on this new-to-me genre and absorb everything my school library had. As I grew older, I would walk to my local library branch and check out whatever caught my fancy. Don't remember special places to read, just all those glorious books. Early reading seemed to focus on learning and later, in high school, there was the lovely escapism of fiction books to sweep me away from my upcoming trig test. -- Victoria
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to keep in mind that when a lot of us who are reading this blog didn't have TVs when we were little.
DeleteOh I did love Susan Stamberg and the "mothers" of NPR. Talk about icons! This was such a lovely tribute to her, Hallie. Thank you for sharing it with us. I can't remember life without a book, but I have no memory of anyone reading to me at home. It must have happened as I started reading before I went to school and I'm sure it wasn't just 'in the air'! I could and did read everywhere, from the kitchen table to my bed, to any corner where I could hide from the world and bury myself in another world.
ReplyDeleteNow the TV and the computer are what kids are glued to. Maybe it'll turn out to be fine.
DeleteWhat a lovely memory of and tribute to Susan Stamberg. After she passed away I read two different stories of her amazing life. She was one in a zillion, wasn't she?
ReplyDeleteI learned to read before first grade, and have only the dimmest memory of my mother (?) reading Mother Goose nursery rhymes to me, the oldest. By the time I was five there were two other kids in the house, and Mother worked full time, so if anyone read to anybody it was me reading to my younger siblings.
My preferred reading spot was our stuffed Colonial rocker, sitting sideways with my legs flung over one arm. Super uncomfortable, of course. It was also my mom's favorite chair, so it was not always available.
We read to our girls nearly every night, me doing the reading unless Steve was home. He was much more popular because of his dramatic oratory! He would really get carried away, and I often sat on the steps outside the girls' rooms listening to his hilariously over the top reading. We have some great pictures of this, too. Lovely memories.
Karen, we have at least 4 different illustrated versions of Mother Goose rhymes. And I'm sure we read all of them to our kids. (There's one with a black-and-white checked cover...)
DeleteLoved Susan Stamberg, such a wonderful woman. My mom read to us every night before bed. I'm sure there were some children's literature but the ones I remember are the meatier chapter books. Always asking for one more chapter
ReplyDelete... And I'll bet your mother (or father) groaning...
DeleteI dont remember being read to, although I’m sure it happened. I think it’s because my mother was (and remains today at age 98) a huge reader, so she taught me to read for myself before I was even in kindergarten. I had a spot at one end of the big brown couch in our living room, next to the table lamp. My little sister was banished from sitting there. Over the years it developed a decided little girl shaped “slump” in the cushions, until eventually it was replaced with a new “modern” and uncomfortable Scandinavian-style one. At that point I started reading in my room, a teen age preference in any case.
ReplyDeleteEvery home needs a really comfy reading chair. Squishy.
DeleteI remember my mom reading Dr. Seuss to me, on our ugly brown couch - how I would have loved a pink one! I too went into the adult section at our small town library much too early for the librarian’s taste, and got the occasional talking to about books not appropriate for a girl my age. My aunt often gave me a book of my own for Christmas, and I remember the joy of cracking open my book after all the gifts were open and diving in right then and there, in the corner of my grandparents’ loveseat by the fireplace. “Pippi Longstocking,” “Little House in the Big Woods,” “The Wizard of Oz,” to name a few. I still have these precious possessions! Thanks for this lovely prompt.
ReplyDeleteMelinda you're reminding me of the first Dr. Seuss I fell for: SCRAMBLED EGGS SUPER (super deluxe a la Peter T Hooper...) It's not one you see much today.
DeleteWhat a gift to have an essay from one of the greats! Yes. Books. I remember my mother reading us “Tom Sawyer”! I can put myself in the Adriance Memorial Library children’s section. The shelves of orange biographies! At home we had a set of “The Book of Knowledge” that absorbed me for hours. Yes. Books. Denise Terry
ReplyDeleteOrange biographies! What a great memory, Terry.
DeleteMy mother! And although I don’t have a memory of my own, I have the story that her mother and my father told me. In the days after I was born (in 1946 when a week to 10 days were the regular after birth hospital stay), Mother would be found holding me and reading each congratulatory card aloud. I cannot remember a time of learning to read or not reading. Thank you, Hallie, for your words and Susan Stamberg’s introduction. Elisabeth
ReplyDeleteElisabeth, this is reminding me of trying to sound out new words when I was learning to read. The word "so" was a stumper.
DeleteMy mum and I read the Sunday morning comics. My dad took a picture of us reading on the couch. No memory of the color, though.
ReplyDeleteMy first memory of a sofa was when I was older and we moved to a new house. It was blue!
As I recall, my first memory of books was the children’s books in sign language in the English order. Though the signs were borrowed from American Sign Language, the sign language was in English order like when you write in the English language.
That is so interesting, Diana... It never occurred to me that there would be children's books in sign language in the English order... Thank you!
DeleteI really enjoyed Susan Stamberg's introduction piece, and I have a couch, which also happens to be a love-seat, in my life. First though, I can't help but wonder what Susan would be thinking or writing now with the de-funding of public radio and the announcement of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) to shut down its central operations and end its federal partnership supporting public radio and TV stations like PBS and NPR. I can't imagine NPR not existing, and I will donate my little bit for sure. I hope others do, too.
ReplyDeleteNow, I know this answer strays from your question, Hallie, but in mentioning Susan's pink couch, it brings up the fond memories of when we moved into our current home when Ashley was four and Kevin was one. There is a little room between the den and the kitchen, which could be an office, but I crowned it The Reading Room (later my blog would be called this, too). In the beginning, there wasn't much furniture in it, but there was a love-seat that we brought from our first house, and that's where we cuddled up to read or the kids got a blanket and pillow and used it independent of me. One of my favorite pictures of Kevin is when he is between one and two and is lying on the couch with a quilt from his great-grandmother and a pillow behind his head. He's taking a bottle and listening to the recorder with a book on cassette (some of us remember what that is). Kevin ended up taking that love-seat to college with him and had it until he passed. As we went through his belongings, my husband said it was time to part with that couch. I reluctantly agreed, but I cut a large swatch of material from the back of it, and I plan to frame it somehow, with maybe a print of a favorite book of Kev's. This couch memory and Kevin's attachment to it is especially important today, as we leave to go to Lexington (KY) for ten days. This week will be the last preliminary hearing, and next week will be the murder trial of the monster who killed Kevin. So, please allow me this tribute to Kevin's couch before we go. I will still try to be around here some this week, but next week, I'm not so sure.
I think we’ll all be with you next week, there, in the back, just out of sight maybe. Much lovr
DeleteKathy, I am joining Ann in support this week. Much love.
DeleteWe're with you, lending strength, Kathy, every step of the way.
DeleteOh, you will be in my thoughts as you deal with what must be enormous mental and emotional stress. Please take care of yourselves during this rough time.
DeleteWe will be with you, Kathy.
DeleteHolding you in prayer and strength, Kathy.
DeleteOh, Kathy - we'll ALL be "there" with you. (And I'm glad you kept a "piece" of that favorite couch.) Memories of Kevin.
DeleteHolding you and your family in my heart as you face this ordeal. Turn to us here, your second family, at any time for added strength.
DeleteThinking of you at this time, Kathy.
DeleteKathy, we love you so much.
DeleteWhat a wonderful essay and tribute. My dad was my bedtime reader. Anything and everything from Black Beauty to the Book of Knowledge. I was allowed free choice on the book (sometimes chosen from my parents' book shelves because I liked the cover) and he dedicated a half hour to my story every night. It's a wonderful memory. Thank you, Hallie, for rekindling it.
ReplyDeleteKait, your dad sounds pretty special.
DeleteI loved that forward to the book about books: lovely memories. My mother said that whenever she sat down I was there with a book. (And she did not sit often; I was the oldest of five all born close to a year apart.) Each Sunday (and I'm not sure when it started) I went across the driveway to my grandparents' house and sat on my grandpa's lap while he read me the comics: Prince Valiant, the Katzenjammer Kids, etc. First day in first grade I was behind the teacher's desk browsing the shelves of books. She said, "We'll be learning to read those this year." I replied that I already could read them--she must have been terrified. By the second week of school I was in second grade. My library experience has lasted my entire life. First all of Nancy Drew, then for some reason all of Zane Grey and then on to Agatha Christie. I've never stopped reading and loving libraries. Annette
ReplyDeleteI love that: reading the comics out loud! My husband, who was a cartoonist himself, had lovely memories of his dad reading the comics to him, too, when he was little. Popeye. Beetle Baily, L'Il Abner...
DeleteMy Dad was in the Army and after he returned from a tour in Vietnam, we moved to Virginia. My parents must have saved up some money while he was gone, because my Mom bought an entire suite of early American-style living room furniture. Sofa, wing-back chairs, wooden coffee and side tables. A roomful of new, matching furniture. That was something for our family! I remember coming home from school every day and curling up in a winged-back chair next to the fireplace (rarely lit) and reading until dinner. In that room, reading in the quiet, I felt like Laura Ingalls Wilder!
ReplyDeleteYour mother sounds like a truly resourceful woman and their marriage a great partnership.
DeleteI was read to from forever ago. Most of all I remember my grandmother reading “Hiawatha” to me. Soothing, rhythmic, beautiful. And “Evangeline”, scary primeval forest stuff. Lots of Poe and Tennyson and Wordsworth and more Longfellow. And Kipling and Louis Carroll and, over and over again, “A Child’s Garden of Verses.”
ReplyDeleteStill today I can remember and recite so many of those poems, prose too.
I wonder if anyone reads poetry to children anymore?
A Child's Garden of Verses with gorgeous black and white photography was my edition. I can't find one anywhere to buy.
DeleteBy the shores of gitchigoomy... This is the forest primieval... OMG such memories etched in my brain, too.
DeleteI'm sure my mother and stepfather read to me at some very early age, but I was on my own literary pilgrimage pretty early. I recently found an original edition of Mary Poppins and snatched it up. I still have a tatty red-cover 1922 first edition of The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories (Mark Twain, of course) that was a gift to my stepfather when he was a boy! My happiest memories of childhood are tied to books Stuart Little, The Prince and the Pauper, Robert Louis Stevenson's poetry. My stepfather was a leftish documentary filmmaker and also a book person extraordinaire and had a huge library and I was welcome to anything I wanted to read from that too. I read anywhere and everywhere: under a tree, on my bed, on the school bus, sprawled on the library rug. To this day, a book holds vastly more interest for me than a movie to TV show.
ReplyDeleteSigh, Mary Poppins. The movies are imhop a travesty. She was so much more interesting on the page than that treacly version of the character on the screen.
DeleteLovely essay, Hallie. I have vague memories of my mother reading the Pooh books to me, and Stevenson's The Child's Garden of Verses. But my grandmother taught me to read very early. As my mom worked, I was a pretty solitary child and I'm sure I read wherever I could curl up with a book. My favorite place, though, especially into my teens, was at the top of our stairs, looking out through the big picture window in the stairwell. I could read and daydream there, but was always connected to the rest of the house by the sounds and smells from the kitchen below.
ReplyDeleteYou are such a writer, Debs! Every one of the senses gets worked in...
DeleteI love this post. Every single word.
ReplyDeleteOhhhhhhh what an icon. Thank you, Hallie.
ReplyDelete