Over the weekend I finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and as I closed the book the thought came to me that this novel represented the reason I love to read fiction.
The novel tells the story of a girl named Francie Nolan who grew up—very poor—in Brooklyn, New York, just prior to the first world war. It lets us into not only Francie’s thoughts but also those of her mother, showing us how they ended up where they were, as well as what they hoped, feared, and just generally felt during their many experiences.
The world they lived in seemed so real as I read—I have repeatedly told Ben and Janae parts of the story: of the children collecting and selling “junk” then using the pennies to buy candy, as well as saving for something better for their family; of the children “winning” a Christmas tree that was being thrown away on Christmas Eve.; and of Francie receiving her first and only doll.
There were many other parts that I couldn’t retell to Ben and Janae but that reminded me of thoughts or concerns I have had for myself and for my children. Some passages could have been my very own thoughts written down on paper—it is amazing when someone else puts into words concerns that you have never even verbalized. In books like this I feel such a strong connection to the author and story.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is one of those books that really affected the way I think about things—and made me want to go back and re-read the story.
And--in case you haven’t read between the lines--I highly recommend it :)
1 comments:
I wish I felt that way about the book I'm reading now! There is nothing like one of those books that really effect you...maybe I should read that next!
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