I believe I had mentioned, some time ago, that I was half-way through The Tale of Despereaux, Being the Story of a Mouse, a Princess, Some Soup, and a Spool of Thread, by Kate DiCamillo. Well, and a while later I finished it, and it’s really very good. It’s aimed at slightly younger kids than my usual YA reading; the publisher claims it’s for 7 to 12 year olds, but I suspect that many nine-year-olds would find it hopelessly babyish. I don’t know. Mice, Princesses, Thread, Soup.
On the other hand, people treat each other very badly in the book, and mice treat each other even worse. So perhaps seven-year-old would find it unpleasant, and perhaps nightmarish. Or not. I have a hard time imagining what children find amusing and what frightening. I can’t go by my instincts, as (a) I have no reliable memory of what books I read at five and which at twelve, (2) my reactions wouldn’t extrapolate well to other peoples, combining (as I still do) squeamish timidity with cloddish insensitivity.
Now I wish I could remember more of the books I liked when I was five. I feel sure I was well past Ramona the Pest at that point, but not yet at Tunnel in the Sky. When did I read the Anne McCaffrey books? When did I read Treasure Island? When did I read The Little Prince? Ah, well. It’s just idle curiosity, really. The only test of whether a particular seven-year-old will like a book is if he reads it; the proof of the pudding is always in the eating.
Thank you,
-Vardibidian.
mmm. pudding.