I know I could cheat a bit and make a list of my favorite childhood books, but since the focus is supposed to be on revisiting old favorites, I'm not including any books I've reread in the last couple of years. All the books on this list are included because, as with any reread, I would love to see how my opinion of the text has changed, and how this shifts my relationship with the text and my view of the world.
Both, The Coffin Quilt (1999) and In My Father's House (1993) by Ann Rinaldi
While Time Enough for Drums will always be my favorite Ann Rinaldi book, quite a few of her novels have had a big impact on my life and on my reading habits. While I've always loved historical fiction, it wasn't until I started reading Rinaldi's books that I realized just how much I loved them. Her books shaped everything from my understanding of period dress, to family dynamics, and the politics of the American South. For me, books like Cold Mountain and the more modern Prodigal Summer ring with echoes of Rinaldi's books.
The Green Book (1982) by Jill Paton Walsh
After reading The Space Ship Under the Apple Tree (possibly twice) and hating it for reasons I can't recall, I thought I was doomed to hate SciFi forever. While I certainly didn't realize it at the time, the wonder I felt while reading The Green Book (particularly at the end), paved the way for my love of SciFi, as odd and specific as it might be.
Felicity: An American Girl (1992) by Valerie Tripp
I can't say if my love for these books was in part due to my love of the time period or if my love of the time period grew from my love of these books, but I do know that either way these books where the portal through which I learned to love a lot of other things; I learned to crochet (the first time), set a table for a dinner party, and became aware of the role of technology in society (by contrast) because of these books. They also fostered in me a love for simplicity and a curiosity about nature.
The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle (1990) by Avi
This is the only book on this list that I know I've read close to a dozen times, but it's been long enough since I've read it that I'm a little hazy on the details as to why. The ending in particular, has stuck with me though, the sense of a shared secret between Charlotte and the reader, that feeling of knowing the truth despite what everyone else might think.
After the First Death (1979) by Robert Cormier
I've read this book exactly once and hated it. I appreciated it, but I hated it. Unlike One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest which I disliked because of the reading experience itself, After the First Death I disliked because it did nothing for me. I wasn't invested; I couldn't relate.
A String in the Harp (1976) by Nancy Bond
I don't remember there being any sort of fantastical elements in this book as the blurb claims. In fact, I don't remember much about the story itself. What I remember is taking this book home from school at the end of the year feeling intimidated by its size but proud (I can't remember if I was given the book, if I was allowed to pick it out, or if I won it, but at 10, I don't think that distinction made much of a difference). I know it took me a while to pick it up, months or years I'm not sure, but given that seeing it on my shelf still makes me smile I would love to be able to say more about it as a story.
Dicey's Song (1982) by Cynthia Voigt
I remember checking this book out of the library and begrudging the cover for its unattractiveness but loving how deeply the book made me feel. It was one of the few books that I related to in inexplicable ways at a young age.
The Bell Jar (1963) by Sylvia Plath
I loved this book when I read it and I loved it even more as I listened to my classmates whine about how much they had disliked it. The latter was more a feeling of vindication rather than love, having had disliked most of the books we read that year in school, but my love for the novel itself was something else. The world it presented was recognizable to my teenage self but it was also grown up, skewed and twisted in mysterious ways. The book was something I understood and yet I didn't, and I loved that about it.
Lord of the Flies (1954) by William Golding
This was another of the books I read for that rather ill-fated English class. While it's possible I liked the book while reading it, I abhorred it by the time we finished discussing it. The only thing I can remember now from the class discussion is the cartoon pig head someone glued to a drinking straw and taped next to the clock. That's not the greatest endorsement for a text, I know, but it is enough to make me curious about how I would feel about the book after a reread.
Both, The Coffin Quilt (1999) and In My Father's House (1993) by Ann Rinaldi
While Time Enough for Drums will always be my favorite Ann Rinaldi book, quite a few of her novels have had a big impact on my life and on my reading habits. While I've always loved historical fiction, it wasn't until I started reading Rinaldi's books that I realized just how much I loved them. Her books shaped everything from my understanding of period dress, to family dynamics, and the politics of the American South. For me, books like Cold Mountain and the more modern Prodigal Summer ring with echoes of Rinaldi's books.
The Green Book (1982) by Jill Paton Walsh
After reading The Space Ship Under the Apple Tree (possibly twice) and hating it for reasons I can't recall, I thought I was doomed to hate SciFi forever. While I certainly didn't realize it at the time, the wonder I felt while reading The Green Book (particularly at the end), paved the way for my love of SciFi, as odd and specific as it might be.
Felicity: An American Girl (1992) by Valerie Tripp
I can't say if my love for these books was in part due to my love of the time period or if my love of the time period grew from my love of these books, but I do know that either way these books where the portal through which I learned to love a lot of other things; I learned to crochet (the first time), set a table for a dinner party, and became aware of the role of technology in society (by contrast) because of these books. They also fostered in me a love for simplicity and a curiosity about nature.
The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle (1990) by Avi
This is the only book on this list that I know I've read close to a dozen times, but it's been long enough since I've read it that I'm a little hazy on the details as to why. The ending in particular, has stuck with me though, the sense of a shared secret between Charlotte and the reader, that feeling of knowing the truth despite what everyone else might think.
After the First Death (1979) by Robert Cormier
I've read this book exactly once and hated it. I appreciated it, but I hated it. Unlike One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest which I disliked because of the reading experience itself, After the First Death I disliked because it did nothing for me. I wasn't invested; I couldn't relate.
A String in the Harp (1976) by Nancy Bond
I don't remember there being any sort of fantastical elements in this book as the blurb claims. In fact, I don't remember much about the story itself. What I remember is taking this book home from school at the end of the year feeling intimidated by its size but proud (I can't remember if I was given the book, if I was allowed to pick it out, or if I won it, but at 10, I don't think that distinction made much of a difference). I know it took me a while to pick it up, months or years I'm not sure, but given that seeing it on my shelf still makes me smile I would love to be able to say more about it as a story.
Dicey's Song (1982) by Cynthia Voigt
I remember checking this book out of the library and begrudging the cover for its unattractiveness but loving how deeply the book made me feel. It was one of the few books that I related to in inexplicable ways at a young age.
The Bell Jar (1963) by Sylvia Plath
I loved this book when I read it and I loved it even more as I listened to my classmates whine about how much they had disliked it. The latter was more a feeling of vindication rather than love, having had disliked most of the books we read that year in school, but my love for the novel itself was something else. The world it presented was recognizable to my teenage self but it was also grown up, skewed and twisted in mysterious ways. The book was something I understood and yet I didn't, and I loved that about it.
Lord of the Flies (1954) by William Golding
This was another of the books I read for that rather ill-fated English class. While it's possible I liked the book while reading it, I abhorred it by the time we finished discussing it. The only thing I can remember now from the class discussion is the cartoon pig head someone glued to a drinking straw and taped next to the clock. That's not the greatest endorsement for a text, I know, but it is enough to make me curious about how I would feel about the book after a reread.
* This post is part of Top Ten Tuesdays run by The Broke and the Bookish. For more prompts or to see other submissions check out their blog.
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