I'm working on a new novel. As background reading I reread Scott O'Dell's Island of the Blue Dolphins, for the first time in *cough, indistinct* years. In the process, I re-loved these things about it: the stakes are high; understatement does much of the work; action and pathos blend so well. But I also loved that I could still hear the voice of my school teacher who read it aloud to us, a chapter an afternoon. I don't remember his name any more, but I do remember that I was furious he wouldn't let me take the book home and just finish it. He knew I'd bring it back. He knew I'd read it overnight. And (being a teacher, I guess) he knew it would be better if I had to wait. It was torture to have to wait for a single chapter a day, but I loved it.
I had eye surgery when I was ten or so, twice. As an avid reader, I also remember being frustrated at not being allowed to read. And I do remember my mother reading to me from Enid Blyton's Famous Five series, which was my fave. And I remember how mad I was when she had to go make a start on dinner, instead of reading another chapter. We found out this morning that, like Son, Daughter also needs glasses, and prismatic lenses, as we suspected. (Hey, at least they'll both appear to be bookish types!) I'm glad there are so many alternatives to eye surgery these days, after *cough, indistinct* years.
Still, I enjoyed Daughter's take at swim classes this week: I can't see. I need gobbles.
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