I did indeed. It colored my opinion of Philip Roth for the rest of my life. I can't read him, for that reason and for all the other reasons. Of course it's being cut. I can't imagine T-rump's read a single book in his life, well except for Mein Kampf, so there you have it. xo
This was so delightful, Nan, and echoes my own experience with books. I used to play a “game” that involved me building a mini fort in my room and then pretending I was a mouse in a mouse hole. My little burrow would be filled with pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, snacks, and - most importantly - books. I would spend hours in there, sometimes the better part of an entire day - just reading and nibbling, mouse-like, on the Cheerios that I’d squirreled away in a little orange Tupperware container.
OMG. That's so wonderful! A little mouse in a mouse hole. What a great description. I see it so clearly. I love the Cheerios, too. I think it would be terrific if you took a day like that, soon or sooner! xo
I love this story from your childhood. Precious I listen to it w Abby.
She loves your reading voice and was very engaged all the way throughout. Wonderful story I’m so glad that your dad didn’t punish you but instead extended your reading time.
This is why I think libraries are so very important for kiddos. And librarians, I might add. Books are family, home, education, love, adventure, imagination, peace, and joy for many, many kids who can't or won't find one or many of those things elsewhere. I love you found in books and characters and stories what you could not in real life. It reminds me that writing has a purpose and it can change the world. 💖
I was just writing to someone about my town's children's librarian who was loved by so many for so many years. Writing absolutely changes the world. One word at a time. We have an important responsibility to share ourselves, our ideas, our hope here. Love you very much, my friend. xo
Nan this reminds me of a short piece I recently wrote on this very topic. In my story I describe a night when my parents were also having a party and I also took this opportunity to read late, much much later than I would be allowed to. I was also 'discovered' but our outcomes were somewhat different. So much of your writing resonates with me Nan that I often feel as if I'm reading excerpts from my own life. It's been kind of eerie but I thank you for your frankness, honesty and humour. A great mix!
I love this! How wonderful. Is the story here on Substack? Would you give me a link to your post if it is? I'm so glad you said something about it, because now, I need to know what your outcome was. And if it wasn't as happy as mine was, did it make you change your behavior around late night reading? xo
I so enjoyed this homage to books, this love letter, and many of your childhood favorites were mine, too, like Madeline and Sendak and so many others. I loved the story of how you read by your nightlight after lights out and even when you were caught and "rewarded" you kept on reading til you were tired because that's how we do it, you and I, right? Absolutely the same for me. I devour books to this day, last year I read close to 60 books, the year before that 50, and since i don't want TV or stream anything these days, reading is still my bedtime, all-time-time greatest pleasure.
LOVE this comment, Amy. Yes, lights out just didn't work for me. Every once in a while these days, I nod off while reading, and then, I have to reread whatever I've forgotten the next night. I'm not streaming anything right now. I have very little desire to watch tv, would much rather read or do some art project...but on April 10(?) I'll be renewing my subscription to Max so I can watch the new season of Hacks. The best. That's how I watch these days. I have spent so much money on the never-ending Netflix account that I never use...finally cancelled it. I pop in and out of the different offerings as something appeals. I don't think as many books as you, especially now that I'm on Substack. There's so much to read here! xo
I remember my mom reading Bible stories to me and my brothers when I was very young. I also remember walking to the library on Saturdays - also with my three brothers, but never with an adult - bringing home a big stack of books, reading them all, and returning for more. Books were my comfort and my escape. And yes, I could definitely lived without that scene. Thanks for sharing this, Nan! xoxo
Hey, Mary! I love that you mentioned the "scene." So ewwww. The library in my town was my special place. The children's librarian, Adrienne (sp?) Fluckiger was this lovely, warm woman who knew all of us. She was kind and interested in us, and I was of the mind that she knew EVERYTHING. At least she did about books. I adored her. One day, I was reading a story in the NY Times by Meg Wolitzer (she was our HS lit mag editor, and I took over when she went to Brown) and she mentioned Mrs. Fluckiger in the essay. It was so exciting to see her name there. Obviously, she made an impression on a lot of kids. Writing about this reminded me of something I'd forgotten. I used to work in my junior high and senior high libraries, shelving books. Training for the years I spent as a bookseller! xo
A bookseller. What a dream job. I worked very briefly as a book publicist, enough to see how it was all about games and connection and a fair amount of backstabbing. My husband was a university librarian for forty-five years: academia, even more baked into a similar culture. (I had my own experience with that as well.) You are so lucky to have had such generous adults in your early years. I did not. Found my own way: through books. Thank you again, for being Nan! xoxo
They were generous about some things, and yes, with it all, the dysfunction the lies, they were the best parents they could be, and I'm grateful to them (who have I become?). My bookseller days were a mix of absolute heaven (indie bookseller) and total mayhem and horror (Barnes and Noble). So happy I had the experience. I did it for years. xo
As someone else mentioned, I don’t remember being read to! But my mother was a voracious reader and instilled that in my sister and me. My father was not much of a reader (as an adult I bought him a few books as gifts until he finally said flat out he didn’t like reading). Mom’s mother was not a reader, but her father was. They didn’t have many books at their house; I can remember reading the dictionary there because it’s as the only book I could find. My guess is she read to me until I was old enough to do it for myself and maybe that’s why I don’t have any memories of it. I admire people who have such clear memories of childhood because so many of mine are hazy for whatever reason.
Thanks for this wonderful comment, Jamie. Books are everything. As many memories of childhood I have, I've got lots and lots of gaps. Things are starting to come back to me though, as I write. It's very exciting to be reminded of things I'd long forgotten. xo
Thank you for that. One of the reasons I started a substack in the first place was to write stories about my life. Mostly I’ve just been doing it privately but when I do, I remember things I’ve forgotten. I want to do it partly for therapeutic reasons. I want to do more of it, I keep getting distracted by other things. Story of my life. No pun intended haha!
The distractions are real! I'm trying to get into a practice of writing something every day. Not an essay, but even getting my ideas down for new stories, snippets of sentences that pop in, so I don't lose them (so easy to forget those GREAT inspirations that pop into one's head!). I do the bulk of my writing on the weekend, but have found that as each essay comes, as each week passes, I longingly look forward to and am extremely covetous of that time with me. My friends and family have almost stopped asking what I'm doing on the weekend. They're learning there's really just one answer. I'm writing! xo
Thank you - that is great advice. I keep saying I’m going to write on Sunday, which is a more spacious day for me. But I take Mounjaro on Saturday and that makes me tired and headachy on Sunday. I just made that connection today - that I keep thinking I’m going to feel like writing on Sunday. I have at least started journaling daily. And I joined a writer’s group a friend started. That’s already helping.
It's funny, I don't remember being read to. By either parent. Both my parents were big readers, though. In my fact, my mother became the town librarian. Books were always strewn around our house. All my siblings love to read, as do I. So guess my parents instilled this love of reading one way or the other. It could just be my memory is shot.
I too love reading, Nan, and was lucky to grow up in a family of readers. But for once, I decided I'd enjoy listening to the audio of this one. You tell your stories well.
I love this one, Nan. I think I've already told you that I was in the same audience at the same event, and it was every bit as magical from my seat. I wish we'd met! Maurice Sendak was a family friend and my personal god. A small stack of his signed books is among my most cherished possessions. (Ha! I just read down the comments and I see you already mentioned this very small-world connection. Love!)
I'm so happy to be able to share these stories in podcast form and also to be sharing them with the readers who subscribed later in my tenure here. I love the connection. I'm just going to believe we were sitting really close to each other in that auditorium. Oh, Maurice!
Wonderful! You painted such a great picture of yourself under your desk reading with the nightlight. I could see you illustrated in a children's book just like that! And the Maurice Sendak event must have been off the charts! Wow! Lucky you.
Yes, parts of my childhood were fabulous. My parents believed in exposing us to the arts, and things like theater, music, books, and museums factored largely in my experience of growing up. I'm very grateful to them for that. xo
Yes, indeed! I have a friend whose parents were close friends of his. And when I originally published this piece a year ago, she told me she was in the audience that same day. We only met 14 years ago. Wild world. A shtetl in some ways. I love that. xo
Oh what a glorious solution on your dad’s part, fostering that joy of reading 📖
It was loving and generous, that's for sure. xo
You read Portnoy's Complaint at 11?!! Hahahahaha!!
Just read that federal funding for libraries is being cut. Of course. What have we come to?
I did indeed. It colored my opinion of Philip Roth for the rest of my life. I can't read him, for that reason and for all the other reasons. Of course it's being cut. I can't imagine T-rump's read a single book in his life, well except for Mein Kampf, so there you have it. xo
This was so delightful, Nan, and echoes my own experience with books. I used to play a “game” that involved me building a mini fort in my room and then pretending I was a mouse in a mouse hole. My little burrow would be filled with pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, snacks, and - most importantly - books. I would spend hours in there, sometimes the better part of an entire day - just reading and nibbling, mouse-like, on the Cheerios that I’d squirreled away in a little orange Tupperware container.
I’d love a day like that now.
OMG. That's so wonderful! A little mouse in a mouse hole. What a great description. I see it so clearly. I love the Cheerios, too. I think it would be terrific if you took a day like that, soon or sooner! xo
Scout. ❤️
Yes. Harriet, too, for me. Scout was wonderful. xo
I love this story from your childhood. Precious I listen to it w Abby.
She loves your reading voice and was very engaged all the way throughout. Wonderful story I’m so glad that your dad didn’t punish you but instead extended your reading time.
💕
Ah! I’m so happy Abby likes listening. That makes me so happy! I love recording them. Thanks for sharing it with her, Prajna!
This is why I think libraries are so very important for kiddos. And librarians, I might add. Books are family, home, education, love, adventure, imagination, peace, and joy for many, many kids who can't or won't find one or many of those things elsewhere. I love you found in books and characters and stories what you could not in real life. It reminds me that writing has a purpose and it can change the world. 💖
I was just writing to someone about my town's children's librarian who was loved by so many for so many years. Writing absolutely changes the world. One word at a time. We have an important responsibility to share ourselves, our ideas, our hope here. Love you very much, my friend. xo
Love you, and your stories, and your ideas very much. 🫶
Nan this reminds me of a short piece I recently wrote on this very topic. In my story I describe a night when my parents were also having a party and I also took this opportunity to read late, much much later than I would be allowed to. I was also 'discovered' but our outcomes were somewhat different. So much of your writing resonates with me Nan that I often feel as if I'm reading excerpts from my own life. It's been kind of eerie but I thank you for your frankness, honesty and humour. A great mix!
I love this! How wonderful. Is the story here on Substack? Would you give me a link to your post if it is? I'm so glad you said something about it, because now, I need to know what your outcome was. And if it wasn't as happy as mine was, did it make you change your behavior around late night reading? xo
I so enjoyed this homage to books, this love letter, and many of your childhood favorites were mine, too, like Madeline and Sendak and so many others. I loved the story of how you read by your nightlight after lights out and even when you were caught and "rewarded" you kept on reading til you were tired because that's how we do it, you and I, right? Absolutely the same for me. I devour books to this day, last year I read close to 60 books, the year before that 50, and since i don't want TV or stream anything these days, reading is still my bedtime, all-time-time greatest pleasure.
LOVE this comment, Amy. Yes, lights out just didn't work for me. Every once in a while these days, I nod off while reading, and then, I have to reread whatever I've forgotten the next night. I'm not streaming anything right now. I have very little desire to watch tv, would much rather read or do some art project...but on April 10(?) I'll be renewing my subscription to Max so I can watch the new season of Hacks. The best. That's how I watch these days. I have spent so much money on the never-ending Netflix account that I never use...finally cancelled it. I pop in and out of the different offerings as something appeals. I don't think as many books as you, especially now that I'm on Substack. There's so much to read here! xo
I remember my mom reading Bible stories to me and my brothers when I was very young. I also remember walking to the library on Saturdays - also with my three brothers, but never with an adult - bringing home a big stack of books, reading them all, and returning for more. Books were my comfort and my escape. And yes, I could definitely lived without that scene. Thanks for sharing this, Nan! xoxo
Hey, Mary! I love that you mentioned the "scene." So ewwww. The library in my town was my special place. The children's librarian, Adrienne (sp?) Fluckiger was this lovely, warm woman who knew all of us. She was kind and interested in us, and I was of the mind that she knew EVERYTHING. At least she did about books. I adored her. One day, I was reading a story in the NY Times by Meg Wolitzer (she was our HS lit mag editor, and I took over when she went to Brown) and she mentioned Mrs. Fluckiger in the essay. It was so exciting to see her name there. Obviously, she made an impression on a lot of kids. Writing about this reminded me of something I'd forgotten. I used to work in my junior high and senior high libraries, shelving books. Training for the years I spent as a bookseller! xo
A bookseller. What a dream job. I worked very briefly as a book publicist, enough to see how it was all about games and connection and a fair amount of backstabbing. My husband was a university librarian for forty-five years: academia, even more baked into a similar culture. (I had my own experience with that as well.) You are so lucky to have had such generous adults in your early years. I did not. Found my own way: through books. Thank you again, for being Nan! xoxo
They were generous about some things, and yes, with it all, the dysfunction the lies, they were the best parents they could be, and I'm grateful to them (who have I become?). My bookseller days were a mix of absolute heaven (indie bookseller) and total mayhem and horror (Barnes and Noble). So happy I had the experience. I did it for years. xo
As someone else mentioned, I don’t remember being read to! But my mother was a voracious reader and instilled that in my sister and me. My father was not much of a reader (as an adult I bought him a few books as gifts until he finally said flat out he didn’t like reading). Mom’s mother was not a reader, but her father was. They didn’t have many books at their house; I can remember reading the dictionary there because it’s as the only book I could find. My guess is she read to me until I was old enough to do it for myself and maybe that’s why I don’t have any memories of it. I admire people who have such clear memories of childhood because so many of mine are hazy for whatever reason.
Thanks for this wonderful comment, Jamie. Books are everything. As many memories of childhood I have, I've got lots and lots of gaps. Things are starting to come back to me though, as I write. It's very exciting to be reminded of things I'd long forgotten. xo
Thank you for that. One of the reasons I started a substack in the first place was to write stories about my life. Mostly I’ve just been doing it privately but when I do, I remember things I’ve forgotten. I want to do it partly for therapeutic reasons. I want to do more of it, I keep getting distracted by other things. Story of my life. No pun intended haha!
The distractions are real! I'm trying to get into a practice of writing something every day. Not an essay, but even getting my ideas down for new stories, snippets of sentences that pop in, so I don't lose them (so easy to forget those GREAT inspirations that pop into one's head!). I do the bulk of my writing on the weekend, but have found that as each essay comes, as each week passes, I longingly look forward to and am extremely covetous of that time with me. My friends and family have almost stopped asking what I'm doing on the weekend. They're learning there's really just one answer. I'm writing! xo
Thank you - that is great advice. I keep saying I’m going to write on Sunday, which is a more spacious day for me. But I take Mounjaro on Saturday and that makes me tired and headachy on Sunday. I just made that connection today - that I keep thinking I’m going to feel like writing on Sunday. I have at least started journaling daily. And I joined a writer’s group a friend started. That’s already helping.
Journaling daily is FABULOUS. You write everyday if you journal every day!
You're already winning. Enjoy the group, too!
Hi Nan,
It's funny, I don't remember being read to. By either parent. Both my parents were big readers, though. In my fact, my mother became the town librarian. Books were always strewn around our house. All my siblings love to read, as do I. So guess my parents instilled this love of reading one way or the other. It could just be my memory is shot.
Thanks for the enjoyable read.
You're welcome! I bet they read to you. Can't be devoted to reading and not read to kids. Can't imagine. Have you checked with your sibs? xo
I will have to ask them. Thanks.
My dad read to me. Magical. Even now. Simple Shmeral Tales of a wondering begger was my favorite.
It's such a great memory. Did her read to you in Yiddish? xo
Nope. It was a translation from the Yiddish. With stunning woodcuts by Lillian Fishel.
I too love reading, Nan, and was lucky to grow up in a family of readers. But for once, I decided I'd enjoy listening to the audio of this one. You tell your stories well.
I'm glad you listened! I absolutely love recording the stories. I'm an actor in some corner of my heart. xo
I love this one, Nan. I think I've already told you that I was in the same audience at the same event, and it was every bit as magical from my seat. I wish we'd met! Maurice Sendak was a family friend and my personal god. A small stack of his signed books is among my most cherished possessions. (Ha! I just read down the comments and I see you already mentioned this very small-world connection. Love!)
I'm so happy to be able to share these stories in podcast form and also to be sharing them with the readers who subscribed later in my tenure here. I love the connection. I'm just going to believe we were sitting really close to each other in that auditorium. Oh, Maurice!
Wonderful! You painted such a great picture of yourself under your desk reading with the nightlight. I could see you illustrated in a children's book just like that! And the Maurice Sendak event must have been off the charts! Wow! Lucky you.
Yes, parts of my childhood were fabulous. My parents believed in exposing us to the arts, and things like theater, music, books, and museums factored largely in my experience of growing up. I'm very grateful to them for that. xo
Lucky you to have seen Maurice Sendak. The closest I got was an exhibition at the Jewish Museum in New York.
Yes, indeed! I have a friend whose parents were close friends of his. And when I originally published this piece a year ago, she told me she was in the audience that same day. We only met 14 years ago. Wild world. A shtetl in some ways. I love that. xo