*Nostalgia alert!*
The other day, I saw a list that someone had compiled, of their 10 favourite books. Now, I doubt I can ever do that. My favourites tend to change over the years, and writers I once obsessed with, seem like interesting but hardly obsession-worthy creatures, once some water has flown under the bridge.
During my years in college and a little later too, I was absolutely crazy about John Irving. After that, it was Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Yes, I know he is a great writer, but somehow I don’t find some of his work that compelling anymore. Until a few years ago, it was Haruki Murakami (my first blog was named after a Murakami novel!), whose work I still like, but I’m sensing that I’m no longer quite that crazy about him. Perhaps its having read too much Murakami, and finding that motifs and ideas reappear a little too often. Whatever. You get the drift - I’m not likely to be compiling a list of 10 favourite books with any sort of confidence.
The favourite books of my childhood, on the other hand, are not very likely to change, and a couple of days ago, I was struck by nostalgia for these companions of my childhood. R’s Mom, a friend of mine, recently wrote about how people laugh at the idea of reading to babies, and at her because she reads to her 16 month old child. Well, all I could think of was how thankful I am to my parents who encouraged me and my sisters to read, and unlike many parents I know, never thought of it as a ‘waste of time’ that was taking us away from academics. So, here are 10 of my favourite books as a child.
The Land of Oz. Surprisingly, I’ve never read the more famous book in this series, The Wizard of Oz, but The Land of Oz was one book I loved to read again and again. So much so that it was sadly worn out, and although we still have it, is almost reduced to rags. Still, I pick it up occasionally when I visit my parents and find myself grinning, especially at the sayings and doings of Jack Pumpkinhead.
Little Women. The heart-warming story of four sisters living in the hard times of the American Civil War, I loved this one for the way it showed such ‘ordinary’ things - the fights, the making up, the amateur plays - and also how each of the sisters was so different and yet interesting. Jo March was my favourite, probably because of her writing, but Beth came a close second.
August, the month of Winds. A Soviet-era book by Vladislav Krapivin, and one which I can still read and enjoy. Written for children, but doesn’t talk down to them. The strong friendship it revolves around was one of the things I liked best then, but thinking back, I can see that the author has done a fantastic job with treating each little boy in the story, Gena, Vladek, Ilya - with utmost seriousness and respect, not just as child prototypes. It’s also a children’s book that doesn’t shy away from discussing death and unhappiness, and I remember this had a big impact on me.
David Copperfield. What were my parents thinking of to get an unabridged pillow-sized Dickens novel for 9 and 12 year olds? I have no clue, but I do remember tracing my finger laboriously over the fine print and finding that if I skipped some of the big words, I enjoyed the story very much. Perhaps it was partly the thrill of mastering a big book, but David Copperfield stayed a favourite for a very long time.
What Katy Did. When I read this again in high school, it seemed somewhat preachy and boring. It’s one of those books which is a little of it’s time and doesn’t quite perhaps appeal to modern readers, but as a young girl, I found Katy’s life fascinating. She trains herself to cope with a debilitating illness and then goes on to become the heart and soul of her large family. The second part in this series, What Katy Did at School, I think reads a little better in present times, but even here, the primness and emphasis on ‘ladylike behaviour’ can get a little tiring.
Heidi. My absolute favourite and a book I probably read 10,000 times! The surly grandfather, the Swiss alps, the goats, Peter the goatherd, Peter’s loving grandmother and Heidi herself - every single thing in this book is just perfect.
How, Why, When, Where. Perhaps the first non-fiction book I read, this was a giant book of general knowledge that one of my uncles gifted us. An American or Canadian book, it was done up with lovely illustrations, including one of royalty in the European Middle Ages feasting on a whole peacock and a swan! (For a long time, I held on to the amazing idea that peacocks were a staple food for Europeans - you must remember, this was in far more innocent, pre-Internet and pre-cable TV times). The book was eclectic - on one page you’d have an account of volcanoes and on another, one of clothing around the world. Apart from having a geologist for a dad, this book was I think responsible for the curiosity I have for learning a little bit of everything.
A Journey to the Center of the Earth. Jules Verne’s fantastic tale of a scientist who discovers a lost world deep under the surface of the earth, this book made me long for adventure and travel. Even today, I half believe that if I can just get to Reykjavik, a life of adventure awaits me!
The Naughtiest Girl. As a primary-schooler, I had surprisingly little exposure to Enid Blyton, the Queen of children’s literature. Part of the reason may have been that while my parents wanted us to read, they also saw reading as an ‘improving’ influence - we were rarely given Enid Blytons, perhaps because they were mostly seen as fun. The Naughtiest Girl in the school was possibly the first Enid Blyton I read, and thoroughly enjoyed.
Ukrainian Folk Tales. A giant book of Ukrainian folk tales with witches and princes and princesses and all sorts of talking animals. Thinking back, I think the slightly sinister nature of many of the stories was what made it such a hit! I still remember vividly the much-loved red cover of this book - the other thing going for it was that it had so many wonderful tales that each time, you could open it on a new one that you didn’t remember reading before.
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