When my second-grade teacher was growing up during the Great Depression, she discovered what would become her favorite book at the Cleveland Heights Public Library. Unfortunately, by the time she’d finished reading “The Hobbit” and persuaded her parents to buy her a copy, they couldn’t find it in the bookstore. Undeterred, she checked out the library’s copy over and over again, determined to make one of her own by pecking out the entire text with two fingers on the family’s manual typewriter. How many authors who write for adults can boast of having a reader so utterly devoted to their work? (From Laura Miller’s NYTimes book review of ‘Minders of Make-Believe” — a terrific book by Leonard Marcus, by the way.)
How cool to read about someone else doing this. I similarly fell in love with a library book as a kid and took it out over and over before trying to copy it into a notebook. Mine was Madeleine L’Engle’s And Both Were Young. Has anyone else ever done this?