Have you ever re-read a childhood favorite and been disappointed to find it no longer means as much to you?
I’m sorry to say, I’ve been there. Every so often, books I remember as dear friends, as portals to magical worlds, as voices of transcendent wisdom turn out, when read with my jaded, grown-up eyes, to be, eh, sort of meh.
I first read Jacob Have I Loved when I was twelve, mumble years ago. It rocked my world. It’s probably why I grew up to be a children’s librarian and a children’s writer. TMI? I’ll get to the point. The point being…
Jacob Have I Loved is not only just as amazing, wonderful, meaningful, beautiful and moving on the re-read as it was when I was twelve; today it is even better.
I understand so much more now, partly because my reading skills have improved over time, but mostly because I have so much more life experience through which to filter Sara Louise’s story.
And, to be honest? That part about drowning the cats? I skipped it when I was twelve. I’m so glad I read it all the way through this time.