I read all the Nancy Drew books I could get my hands on when I was a kid, even if only a “few” of them made it with me to adulthood:

Yes, I loved these books. I loved the comforting predictability of the background elements and the intrigue of the mysteries. I loved Nancy’s “sporty little roadster” and her chums mild Bess and tomboy George. I loved her motherly housekeeper Hannah and her lawyer dad who treats her with both love and respect. I loved the silhouette of Nancy with her magnifying glass on the older editions of the books. And I especially loved Nancy herself. She was clever and beautiful and brave, with a strong sense of right-and-wrong and a driving need to know the truth. I even loved her “flaws”: she could be reckless, and she could be proud — or perhaps that’s not the right word, but she seemed so confident, taking it for granted that people would do as she asked. And I loved that although she appreciates the attentions of college-boy Ned, Nancy never seems to get boy crazy and always puts her investigations first; thwarting criminals is her first love, and I respected her for that.

Three of the books I remember most strongly are The Sign of the Twisted Candles (in which there is a schism between Nancy and her chums Bess and George over a contested will), The Secret of the Golden Pavilion (in which the gang goes to Hawaii), and the more recent Captive Witness in which Nancy helps a professor rescue children from behind the Iron Curtain (which was especially intriguing to me as a child of the 80s, growing up during the Cold War).

I read a lot of fairy tales and mythology when I was young (and still do!) but this one stands out in my memory as one of the most vivid collections, with some of the most intriguing, imagination-kindling tales. Just looking through and reading the names was a treat.  Lidskjalf. Skidbladnir. Mjolnir. Yggdrasil.

This book introduced me to the Norse creation myth, in which Ymir the frost giant and a hornless ice cow are the first creatures to come into existence, born at the meeting-place between the frozen waste of Niflheim and the inferno of Muspelheim. And where do the next creatures spring from? I was used to odd origins after the Greek myths, but I never would have expected jotuns to spring from Ymir’s armpit, and a troll to sprout from his feet! And what is the noble origin of the Aesir, the Norse gods? They get licked out of the ice by the cow. It’s hard not to be intrigued by stories like that.

This book is packed full of cool mythology and interesting tales; like the Greek myths, they were particularly interesting to me as a kid because the gods were so flawed and human. Despite the fact that Loki is constantly held up as the bad kid of the group, it always seemed to me that the rest of them weren’t particularly estimable either. I always felt a little sorry for Loki, especially reading tales like “Loki’s Monstrous Brood”. There’s Loki, playing with his three young monstrous children, and in comes Odin to tell him the kids are going to bring disaster to the world and so they have to be sent away. And of course they do end up bringing disaster to the world, but one wonders if they might have turned out better had they not been exiled. Especially the poor Fenris wolf, who is dragged off and tricked into his chains by the Aesir.

Meanwhile Hel, “pale as death on one side, black as peat on the other”, gets sent to the border of Niflheim to rule over the dead. It’s hard for me to expect her to be sunny and happy after that…

Gravely she welcomed all who had died of sickness or old age, but she did nothing to make her guests happy in her vast hall. The walls of the hall were a wickerwork of winding serpents; on the roof sat a soot-black cock who never crowed but was silent as death. Pitfall her doorstep was called, sickbed was the name of her lair, her knife was called hunger, her platter starvation.

~ D’Aulaires’ Norse Gods and Giants

I was a relatively well-behaved little kid who didn’t like getting into trouble, but I still loved reading this book (and its sequels), in which Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle helps distraught mothers cure their children of bullying, whispering, never picking up, and other “problems”. The books are a bit dated in some respects (most noticeably to me in the cookie-cutter family structures, with the moms all staying home fixing after-school snacks and the dads all earning the money) but otherwise I still find they have a lot of appeal.

Each book in the series is divided into chapters: one cure per chapter. Some of the cures are quasi-magical, like the candy that makes the whisperers lose their voices. But even the more mundane cures are quirky and over-the-top and lots of fun to read about. For instance, the kid who won’t take a bath is allowed to get so dirty that radish seeds sprinkled on his skin sprout and start to grow. Or the Slow-Eater-Tiny-Bite-Taker Cure (one of my favorites) which involved the use of successively smaller and smaller sets of dinnerware.

One of the things I remember best about these books was that quite often (though not exclusively) the stories were told from the point-of-view of the mothers. This was interesting to me, as a kid — seeing the parent as a person having to deal with problems and find solutions.

This was one of those books I loved so much and had so many good memories of that years later I finally tracked down a copy of my own from a used book-seller (thank goodness for the internet!). It’s a simple, sweet little story about a mouse who finds an abandoned jack-o-lantern and decides to make it his home for the winter. My favorite part of the book is the bit where Mouskin gathers up feathers and milkweed to build his nest inside the pumpkin. I wished I could sleep inside a pumpkin stuffed full of thistledown! It sounded so nice!

It’s also the sort of book that makes you want to go out into the woods and just stand there, under the trees. The illustrations are quite life-like and gently neutral and earthy, and the prose is poetic without being overbearing.

In the woods
there are many tall trees,
and small trees
that reach to grow tall
in the deep shade.
There are low-growing bushes
with berries and seeds
that pop and roll
about the forest floor.

Beneath them all
are tiny paths
that only mice can see.

~ from Mousekin’s Golden House by Edna Miller

This was one of the first really, truly science-fictional books I discovered. A group of teens raised by a sentient spacecraft named Ship are on a journey to find a suitable planet to colonize. I am not a fan of Lord of the Flies but I felt Earthseed explored some of the same questions in a way that resonated more strongly with me and felt more approachable and interesting (and frankly, less grim and hopeless). I read Earthseed eagerly to find out what sort of society the kids would create for themselves, what sort of rules they would establish, and what would happen when things went wrong. In particular, I liked Zoheret, the main character, who doesn’t have any special skills like some of the others, but does have strong opinions and a sense of innate fairness and who is not afraid of a challenge.

I suspect that fans of Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games looking for a read-alike might enjoy checking out Earthseed. It doesn’t have quite the same page-turning quality, but it’s got a strong main character who faces a survival-of-the-fittest environment where she discovers what human beings are capable of (both the good and the bad).

As with many of my old favorites, this book also apparently has sequels that I never knew about at the time! There’s a sequel, Farseed, and according to this TOR page it is “#2 of 3″. So perhaps there is a third on the way?

I don’t think there’s anything quite like the quirky, whimsical world of Oz. I am a big fan of its most recent incarnation: the musical Wicked. But my love began as a kid, reading my way through the original Oz books. My late grandpa was a big fan too, and I have fond memories of visiting my grandparents’ house in Minnesota and running up to the bookshelf at the top of the stairs to see the big old hardbacks with their wonderful covers.

I enjoyed the entire Oz series, but of all of them Ozma of Oz is my favorite and the one I remember best, so I’m going to focus on that here. Most people know the basics of the original Wonderful Wizard of Oz story, and I still find certain aspects of The Land of Oz a little off-putting (plus, no Dorothy). But Ozma of Oz is full of fond memories for me:

No-nonsense Billina the hen, washed ashore with Dorothy on a strange and magical shore. The dinner-pail tree. The Wheelers. Tic-toc the mechanical man. The disturbing princess who choses a beautiful new head to wear each day from her collection, as easily as she might chose a pair of shoes. Ozma’s procession across the desert on the magic carpet, endlessly rolling out before and rolling up behind her. Dorothy’s triumph over the Nome king, and Billina saving the day.

Who doesn’t love a story about a masked outlaw who helps the defenseless in their time of need?

I think I first picked up Jackaroo thinking it would be a fantasy with magic and all that. As it turns out, the world of Gwyn the Innkeeper’s Daughter is only fantastical in that it matches no real historical place. But I quickly found plenty of adventure and mystery, albeit of a somewhat quieter, perhaps grimmer sort than some of my other favorites. Gwyn and strong, silent Burl the stable-hand are sent to wait on a Lord and his son as they map the wildlands on the border of the Kingdom. Much of the book explores the troubles of land divided by knowledge, wealth and power. I loved seeing Gwyn learn about her world, through her relationships with the young Lordling and with Burl and other young men from her village. And I cheered when she finally took action to make a change in the world, venturing out in the mask of the Jackaroo to right wrongs and aid those in need.

This book seems to me to have a sort of grittiness or harshness — it is not what I would call a comfortable read. The world of the Kingdom feels very real to me — almost too real, especially in the edgy relationships Gwyn has with her mother, her brother Tad, and Cam the weaver’s son. There’s too much unhappiness in Gwyn’s world, and although the ending is satisfying, it leaves me slightly sad. But it’s a book I have nevertheless re-read many times.

There’s also a sequel set in the same world, called On Fortune’s Wheel, which I enjoyed as well. And look at that, there are two more books set in the Kingdom world that I never knew about until I looked it up while writing this entry! I will have to check out The Wings of a Falcon and Elske as well.

I loved immersing myself in Laura’s world. Even when she was hungry during the Long Winter or jealous of her sister or being put down by Nellie Olson. It seemed so exciting: living in the big woods, travelling by wagon out west, settling on a claim. This is another from that family of books that make even the little daily routines fascinating. I still have vivid memories of Laura and Mary helping with the butter-making (eating the milk-soaked carrots!), or of Laura helping Pa take in the hay, or of the spelling bee. Those historical details of daily life were probably my favorite thing about these books, and are what still brings me back to read and re-read them.

Laura, on the other hand, has always been a bit enigmatic to me a main character. Unlike my warm reactions to Anne Shirley or Betsy Ray or Caddie Woodlawn, my feelings toward Laura have always been a little distanced. Though I sympathized with her trials and cheered her successes, I always had a little bit of a feeling that she (the author herself, I suppose) was holding me at a distance. In a way it made these books feel a bit more like history books and less like novels to me. Did anyone else feel this way? Or was it just me?

[Two in one day courtesy of the ice-storm that ate up a good portion of yesterday]

These books fall into the “making everyday life seem like an adventure” category, a feat that I find even more impressive since it doesn’t have the added interest of being set in a distinctly different time. The Quimbys live an average trying-to-make-ends-meet life in Oregon, and Ramona’s difficulties involve her bossy sister, being teased at school, and dealing with the embarressment of throwing up in front of her class. I always identified more with serious older sister Beezus, but chaotic, energetic Ramona was a lot more fun to read about. Fortunately the early books are told from Beezus’s point of view and the latter from Ramona’s, so the reader gets to experience both.

There are so many scenes that stand out to me even now. Ramona’s burning desire to squeeze all the toothpaste out of the tube. Beezus trying to be imaginative in art class. Beezus and Ramona cooking dinner for their parents after one too many complaints. Ramona’s ill-fated experiences with a hard-boiled egg fad. Beezus’s glamourous haircut. The trip to the Whopperburger. It was reassuring to compare my own trials and tribulations to the Quimby girls’, and to believe that if they could make it through, so could I.

This book is inextricably linked to autumn in my mind. I’m not entirely sure why that is, since the illustrations and poems are not all autumnal. I think perhaps it’s that fall always feels like the season of nostalgia to me; time to go back to school, time for hot mulled cider and fresh doughnuts and the smell of fallen leaves. So I take this book out and page through it at least once a year, usually around the beginning of October.

Father Fox’s Pennyrhymes captures a lot of that old-timey nostalgia for me, from the opening page with all the fox children in their night-shirts gathered around the hearth listening to Father Fox singing his song, to the general store with its barrels of pickles, to the country fair. The poems range from humorous stories to striking imagery to sad musings. But it really is the illustrations that I love about this book.

In putting together this series of posts, I am also noticing that there’s a common theme to my favorite picture books: they all have complicated illustrations that you want to study and hunt through for all the little details. Father Fox’s Pennyrhymes is no exception. Like the illustrations to the “Country Bumpkin pick a pumpkin” rhyme, where not only do you see the farmer fox bringing a giant pumpkin to his sweetheart who then bakes it into a Valentine’s day pie, but also the crow in the branches outside, longing for a valentine of his own (and getting one).

Thomas Thomas Tinkertoes
Upside down & away he goes!
He’s off to call upon the Queen
In blue & crimson velveteen

~from Father Fox’s Pennyrhymes by Clyde Watson and Wendy Watson