I like to think of myself as a fairly well read person. I even enjoy mocking my younger colleagues when they haven’t heard of, much less read, some obscure Victorian author whose praises I’m singing for whatever reason (yes, we’re that kind of office). But there is one literary category that I am woefully ignorant of and which makes them – the mock-ees – feel very superior: children’s books.
Because my earliest years were spent in foreign lands, by the time I got to the
Many years passed in blissful ignorance of children’s books. Then, my son was born. And, I didn’t have a clue what to read to him – Notes from the Underground didn’t seem appropriate bedtime reading, somehow. Happily, lots of wonderful people sent him the classic board books. Along with him, I was introduced to Goodnight Moon, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and The Runaway Bunny. And, despite the brain numbing repetitiveness (we went through at least two copies of Goodnight Moon) I found that these stories held up remarkably well. They were still charming the 150th time you read them out loud with the exact same inflection all the way through.
But then, my son and I both started getting bored with the limited selection. We wanted more narrative, more suspense, more drama. So, again, I was at a loss. I asked around and
Of course, my colleagues here always knew about this treasure trove of literature and some, like
What are your favorite children’s books? (I still need lots of recommendations.)