This was one of the “children’s classics”, written in 1943, that I had glanced at as a child, but never actually read. A pity. McCloskey was a gentle humorist with a charming style and great human empathy, who chose to write for children rather than, say, subscribers to the New Yorker. He was also a talented artist, in a style reminiscent of Ernie Pyle. The world he writes about now seems so far away that a contemporary child might have some problems interpreting it. It would seem exotic, rather than comfortingly familiar. But if you are an adult with any feeling for North American social history, the child-viewpoint stories about pet skunks, donut machines, and giant balls of string will be fascinating.
0 Comments.