Nancy Drew, Girl Sleuth
I was wondering what it is that shapes who we are, what we like, what we do.
I could not figure out how I became such an obsessive reading geek, and I looked at the top of my bookcase and realized, I could pin it down to one particular set of books.
When I was just turning 8, a lady who lived in one of the apartments my parents owned, her name was Joanne Huney, was going to throw out a set of books, on a whim, she decided to stop by and ask my mother if maybe she wanted to save them for me when I got a bit older, and my mother gladly took them, probably hoping to save herself a few weekly trips to the library.
And there I found them, in a box in the hall, neatly stacked, smelling old, yellowed pages, with the orange silhouette of a young woman holding a magnifying glass. I grabbed volume one, and took to my room. I remember clearly, it was during the Easter break, so I was home alone most of the days. That morning it was raining, preventing me from going out to terrorize the neighbourhood. It was called, The Secret of the Old Clock.
It was my very first chapter book, and it was rough going, but I read it all in one day. All the words I did not know, I stopped to look up. I finished it about 9:30 at night, arguing with my mother about bedtime, because I was "almost done" with the book.
I was hooked. Now here was an interesting character! Only 16 and courageous, smart and very curious. I dove into each volume with enthusiasm, until summer had begun and I had exhausted the supply. I demanded to go to the library, and hit the shelves. I found I did not like the newer editions, set in a more modern period, but preferred the originals from the thirties and forties.
I did not realize until now, how much the books we read as children become a part of us, and are taken to heart much more than at any other time in our lives. I think back on books I read, things like Caddie Woodlawn, the Henry and Ribsy series by Beverly Cleary, Harriet the Spy, A Girl Called Al.
As I hit ten, I remember crying when Beth died in Little Women, feeling the joy when Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester were reunited, the almost tangible pain when Heathcliff dies, and Cathy's eventual decline into desperation. A book to me, was a window into seeing things through another person's eyes and thoughts.
Now looking back, I see what Nancy Drew did to me. She taught me self reliance, courage, manners, analytical thinking, a host of things. I see her now as the ideal female role model. A girl who can do anything a man could do, and yet never lose her femininity. Her loyalty and concern for her friends and loved ones. She never forgot to be kind and sensitive to others, could wade through mud or bugs, and then go on and throw on a party dress, moving from each situation with ease and self assurance. All these years later, I find myself striving to be just those things.
I don't know how favorably I will ever compare to Miss Nancy Drew, but I can continue to at least try. I did have a blue convertible for a while, but I don't think it is the same thing.
I could not figure out how I became such an obsessive reading geek, and I looked at the top of my bookcase and realized, I could pin it down to one particular set of books.
When I was just turning 8, a lady who lived in one of the apartments my parents owned, her name was Joanne Huney, was going to throw out a set of books, on a whim, she decided to stop by and ask my mother if maybe she wanted to save them for me when I got a bit older, and my mother gladly took them, probably hoping to save herself a few weekly trips to the library.
And there I found them, in a box in the hall, neatly stacked, smelling old, yellowed pages, with the orange silhouette of a young woman holding a magnifying glass. I grabbed volume one, and took to my room. I remember clearly, it was during the Easter break, so I was home alone most of the days. That morning it was raining, preventing me from going out to terrorize the neighbourhood. It was called, The Secret of the Old Clock.
It was my very first chapter book, and it was rough going, but I read it all in one day. All the words I did not know, I stopped to look up. I finished it about 9:30 at night, arguing with my mother about bedtime, because I was "almost done" with the book.
I was hooked. Now here was an interesting character! Only 16 and courageous, smart and very curious. I dove into each volume with enthusiasm, until summer had begun and I had exhausted the supply. I demanded to go to the library, and hit the shelves. I found I did not like the newer editions, set in a more modern period, but preferred the originals from the thirties and forties.
I did not realize until now, how much the books we read as children become a part of us, and are taken to heart much more than at any other time in our lives. I think back on books I read, things like Caddie Woodlawn, the Henry and Ribsy series by Beverly Cleary, Harriet the Spy, A Girl Called Al.
As I hit ten, I remember crying when Beth died in Little Women, feeling the joy when Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester were reunited, the almost tangible pain when Heathcliff dies, and Cathy's eventual decline into desperation. A book to me, was a window into seeing things through another person's eyes and thoughts.
Now looking back, I see what Nancy Drew did to me. She taught me self reliance, courage, manners, analytical thinking, a host of things. I see her now as the ideal female role model. A girl who can do anything a man could do, and yet never lose her femininity. Her loyalty and concern for her friends and loved ones. She never forgot to be kind and sensitive to others, could wade through mud or bugs, and then go on and throw on a party dress, moving from each situation with ease and self assurance. All these years later, I find myself striving to be just those things.
I don't know how favorably I will ever compare to Miss Nancy Drew, but I can continue to at least try. I did have a blue convertible for a while, but I don't think it is the same thing.
posted by Dawn at 2:38 PM
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