Fair’s Fair “For Book Lovers”

As a child, I spoke no English. Being the first born of parents who immigrated to Canada in the early 50s, I was sung, read and recited to from a rich Germanic heritage of folk material in my formative years. I was steeped in that tradition long before they learned the language of their new homeland and I went off to Kindergarten.

It’s only recently that I’ve realized how the creative influence of imaginary beings dramatically coloured my perspective of the world. The windows and doors of my soul were quite literally thrown open never to close.

Some of my earliest memories are of a song, "Die Vogelhochzeit" (about the wedding of birds) in which each of about 40 verses describes a different animal-guest and their gifts or talents. Stories of stars, raindrops and snowflakes represented by little children living in the clouds were my bedtime fare. I adored one particular tale about the sun looking down on the struggles of items of laundry—shirts, pants, sheets and towels—on the clothesline. Stories about the characters of flowers in springtime, the falling leaves in autumn or those that made up the colours of a rainbow.

Above all others loomed the vast collection from the brothers Grimm. It’s not the ‘Disney-esque’ fairytales—Cinderella, Snow White, Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty—that have stayed with me, but the unusual ones that imparted their exacting lessons. None of these tales were told with heartwarming illustrations or singing and dancing mice. They were dark, somber teachings filled with medieval strains of good and evil; of errors in judgement and cruel consequences. They were fleshed out by shy children, poor widows and hardworking woodcutters. And scariest of all, the wicked stepmothers, witches and ruthless royalty.

The contagious gumption of Rumpelstilzchen, Puss in Boots and the Dancing Princesses romped through my dreams. The pathos of the orphan who collected stars as gold coins in her nightshirt; the young girl who must protect her brother once he is transformed into a deer by a witches’ spell or the child who revisits his mother from the dead to ease her tears, all cast a powerful pall on my childhood.

The Bremer City musicians or the cobbler’s elves helped re-enforce the strong work ethic and strict religious upbringing that would not survived in the 21st Century. I believe that was only possible with a child of the 50s nurtured on classic material harkening back to a more evocative time and place—those romantic middle ages.

Early exposure tuned my taste to adventure and drama from Arabian horses to Louisa May Allcott; from Nancy Drew mysteries to Gone with the Wind; from popular fiction to literary masterworks. I am perpetually on the lookout for strong characters, bold plots and captivating settings. Although I love nothing better than curling up with a book, I have stringent criteria. My reading material needn’t be on a certain genre. It must simply be well written in order to capture and hold my attention. If this be true, I will gladly indulge in the ride any author takes me on, the farther from home the better.