![]() ![]() Books with complex language, plot or structure can so easily be set aside on days so hot that you could watch the sweat drip down your body (if you could only keep your eyes open, that is). In the intense summer heat, even carrying a Penguin pocketbook (even one as charming and orange as this one, which was sent from overseas, so it’s even more Dickensian), can seem an unreasonable burden. That’s what reading Mariana felt like and I think that’s why I took more than a month to read it. I imagine now, having recently wandered in and out of Mariana for a few weeks (her first novel, which was written for adult readers, as her work for children came later in her career), that I turned to Monica Dickens’ books at the library when I wanted a “nice little story”. (I’m not mathematically inclined, so logically I’m not sure it’s possible, but I think I re-read more than I read when I was a child.) Not as compulsively as I read and re-read other stories, and I don’t recall being so enthusiastic that I pressed them upon reading friends and family, but I did re-read them. Monica Dickens is an author I thought of as a children’s author first I read her World’s End books and Follyfoot stories as a girl, repeatedly. ![]()
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