Photo Credit: Shirleen Hieb Photography
I love to hear what writer's have to say about libraries. I relate so much to what Margi Preus shares about growing up surrounded by stories. May we all be as lucky!
The
stories of writers who as children were non-readers or slow readers or were
saved from gangs or a life of crime by fairy godmother-like librarians—these
stories are fascinating, and we readers thrive on hearing them.
By comparison, my own
story is as dull as dirt. I grew up in a pleasant Minnesota town where people
were generally good to each other. We had fine schools and nice teachers. I had
a wonderful family and many friends. I was never bullied, nor do I think I was
a bully. I was a good student. And I always liked to read. In short: a thoroughly
dull and nondramatic life.
Except
that it wasn’t. My world was populated with trolls and gnomes and golden
castles that hung in the air—thanks to the stories my father told. I knew where
fairies danced at night and that nissen
(little people) were to blame for hiding my mother’s sewing scissors—because
she told me that herself. I lived in a storied landscape and a world of
stories, not least because my elementary school had a big, vibrant library stuffed
full of books, and a librarian who made sure good books, important books,
stayed on the shelves—even books that parents objected to, like (believe it or
not) Harriet the Spy, the book that
made me want to become a writer, or Are
You There God, It’s Me, Margaret, a book that caused me to wander about in
a daze for a full week, mind-blown.
I
may not have lived an outwardly exciting life, but through books, I sailed with
Jim Hawkins and rafted with Huck Finn, sat under a Spanish cork tree with
Ferdinand, wandered the magical realm of Narnia, made way too many donuts with
Henry Huggins, and had tea on the ceiling with Mary Poppins.
I
felt every kind of emotion and lived through times both devastating and joyous.
I was grumpy with Harriet, knew the comfort of friendship with Mole and Toad
and Rat, felt loneliness and privation on the Island of Blue Dolphins, suffered
prejudice with Hannah in The Witch of
Blackbeard Pond, felt wildly free and independent with Pippi, and wept with
Wilbur over the death of our mutual friend, Charlotte.
Like readers
before me and after me, I learned to empathize, at least in part—and maybe a
big part—because of books. And by books I mean novels. Fiction transported me
to many worlds where I made friends and even lost a few, and where I experienced
every kind of hardship and sorrow as well as the best kinds of delight,
pleasure, and joy. Thanks to stories, my life was never dull, has never been
dull, and never will be dull. And thanks
to my elementary school library and librarian, I got a good start down the road
to adventure just when it counted the most.
About Enchantment Lake: On the shores of Enchantment Lake in the woods of northern Minnesota, something ominous is afoot, and as seventeen-year-old Francie begins to investigate, the mysteries multiply: a poisoned hotdish, a puzzling confession, eerie noises in the bog, and a legendary treasure said to be under enchantment—or is that under Enchantment, as in under the lake?
Would you like to win a *signed copy* of Enchantment Lake?
Fill out the form below to enter.
Contest thanks to University of Minnesota Press!
(open to ages 13+, one entry per person, contest ends April 8)
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