Of course, ALL the post-impressionist book plates of that time had a wonderful, fairytale, autumnal effect - just like in the famous September Morn - Mâtinée de Septembre, by Chabas. What I could read back then was much not much more than at the snail’s pace of those learned Dick and Jane tomes we got in First Grade!īut - finding the odd word I knew, looking at those particular post-impressionist plates that graced kids’ books so many years ago, I dreamed of being the Czar’s courier, riding wildly over those rugged steppes, MYSELF: wow, I loved it. This was my grandmother’s gift to me - from her large collection of 1920’s children’s books - that long lost summer so long ago. So there I was, in her room, as the late afternoon summer sun filtered through the Navajo hemp curtains, deeply and fatally immersed in the far-flung exploits of this young heroic man, Michel Strogoff, Courier to the Czar! This same room had always traditionally doubled as a nursery, so my kid sister was relocated to my parents’ room for the duration. She could sense that deeply and profoundly. My grandmother always took the spare room when she came - not actually much of a big deal for the First Lady of Tooele, Utah - the mayor’s wife!īut our enormous love for her made up for it. My dear grandmother had come all the way from Utah, by train, to see us all - and especially her baby granddaughter, my sister, who’d been born in the previous October. well, this less of a review than a series of rambling reminiscences -Ī wonderful illustrated version of a fantastic odd-book-out odyssey by that idol of our long-forgotten childhoods, Jules Verne.
I’ll have to beg my readers’ forgiveness once again, for this.
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