Laurie, thanks so much for sharing this. Those pictures--priceless! The way a hidden book space can become a sanctuary, a place where imagination feels safe and private and entirely your own. I could see that basement room so clearly, and it reminded me how reading often begins as a quiet refuge before it becomes a lifelong companion. There is something so tender about the memory of discovering grown-up books before fully understanding them and loving them anyway. This felt like an ode to how readers are formed in small, ordinary, sacred spaces. I need to somehow create a space like that for myself.
Laurie, this is pure gold. I can't wait for my copy of the book to arrive! Congratulations. We all need (or have) a sacred reading place! The librarian at my childhood branch library in New York City used to go through the motions of measuring me once a year and then would remind me that one had to be so tall (old) to be able to take books from the Adult section, not unlike going on certain rides at Disneyland Thank goodness my mother wrote her a note to say that I was small for my age (I still am). Good memories of how we came to be the readers that we are!
That's kind of astounding that you had to be TALL to read adult books. I once had a bookmobile librarian take a book away from me (short stories by John O'Hara) and say "you don't want to read that one." My mother called and complained.
I can remember being so pleased with myself for reading Gone with the Wind and The Agony and the Ecstasy like a for-real adult. It took me a while to get as sophisticated as John O’Hara!
I think they equated tall with older. And although I wasn't quite old enough by library standards I was equal to the task reading wise, thus the Mom intervention.
You description of the basement reminds me of a big ol house we lived in the state of Maine. It had a lightbulb 💡 turned on with a string we pulled. We kept canned goods in a little room down there and Mom asked me to go down and get something for supper. I didn’t want her to know how frightened I was and would run back up the stairs as fast as i could.
Laurie, thanks so much for sharing this. Those pictures--priceless! The way a hidden book space can become a sanctuary, a place where imagination feels safe and private and entirely your own. I could see that basement room so clearly, and it reminded me how reading often begins as a quiet refuge before it becomes a lifelong companion. There is something so tender about the memory of discovering grown-up books before fully understanding them and loving them anyway. This felt like an ode to how readers are formed in small, ordinary, sacred spaces. I need to somehow create a space like that for myself.
Aw, thank you so much. That book room was magic. I still have some of my father’s old books.
Laurie, this is pure gold. I can't wait for my copy of the book to arrive! Congratulations. We all need (or have) a sacred reading place! The librarian at my childhood branch library in New York City used to go through the motions of measuring me once a year and then would remind me that one had to be so tall (old) to be able to take books from the Adult section, not unlike going on certain rides at Disneyland Thank goodness my mother wrote her a note to say that I was small for my age (I still am). Good memories of how we came to be the readers that we are!
That's kind of astounding that you had to be TALL to read adult books. I once had a bookmobile librarian take a book away from me (short stories by John O'Hara) and say "you don't want to read that one." My mother called and complained.
I can remember being so pleased with myself for reading Gone with the Wind and The Agony and the Ecstasy like a for-real adult. It took me a while to get as sophisticated as John O’Hara!
I remember reading my older sister's copy of MYRA BRECKENRIDGE when I was 10 or 12 years old. did not understand it at all but knew it was dirty.
I think they equated tall with older. And although I wasn't quite old enough by library standards I was equal to the task reading wise, thus the Mom intervention.
Note, I'd probably barely make the height requirement many decades later.
A delightful excerpt! Thank you.
You description of the basement reminds me of a big ol house we lived in the state of Maine. It had a lightbulb 💡 turned on with a string we pulled. We kept canned goods in a little room down there and Mom asked me to go down and get something for supper. I didn’t want her to know how frightened I was and would run back up the stairs as fast as i could.
yes! almost exactly the same.
Later, she admitted to me that she was also frightened to go down there.