Kelly's Reviews > Homesick: My Own Story

Homesick by Jean Fritz
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Aug 14, 11

bookshelves: to-read, cocktail-party-conqueror

Poor Patrick Henry…he had to share my discovery of car sickness all those years ago (I still hate driving through those hills). My poor bookshelf! It still holds the remains of the said book, the very same copy.

Seven. That is the number of instances where my compartment-happy mother tried to do away with that book. In suffering over my pristine Saxon text for that year, it did me comfort to look up to see an old friend, rat-shredded cover splitting a decrepit smile over the title.

Through the barrage of history textbooks my parents provided me with over the years, it was the Landmark series I stole away, a colorful, clothbound array. They whetted my appetite for the “serious” stuff out there: those 700-page behemoths that loomed above me, the fusty NG copies that lay across the nibbled-on coffee tables (my library pretty much doubled as a daycare center. It IS too bad it took me so long to stop hating the grouchy librarians).

I was almost tall enough to see above the second shelf when Fritz left her indefinite imprint. We may remember near all that we have read, we may remember almost nothing that we have read. But I think we all remember that door-opener, the one voice that goaded you to the window, the blast of air hitting you so stealthily.
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