Betty Smith •
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn •

Katie Nolan reads aloud to her son and daughter every night, a page of the Bible and a page of Shakespeare. ”The stage direction ‘Alarum’ confused Katie. She thought it had something to do with fire engines and whenever she came to that word, she shouted out ‘clang-clang.’ The children thought it was wonderful.” Despite poverty and hardship, nine-year-old Francie Nolan is having an enchanted childhood.

Let yourself be drawn into the sensory delights of 1912 Brooklyn: mouth-puckering dill pickles from the Jewish shopkeeper’s vat; the scent of pillowcases warmed by the sun; young women with arms curved gracefully over their heads as they wash their underarms at kitchen sinks, preparing for Saturday night dates. “The Nolans just couldn’t get enough of life. They lived their own lives up to the hilt but that wasn’t enough. They had to fill in on the lives of all the people they made contact with.” A diet of stale bread and black coffee does nothing to diminish their spirits.

When the local public school proves to be brutal and degrading, Francie’s father Johnny—Irish from his sweet singing voice to the union button in his lapel—hits on an ingenious solution: He appropriates the address of a home in a different neighborhood to get her transferred. The ruse works, and the curious, bookish child flourishes. Grateful for the advantages her borrowed address confers on her, Francie returns to gaze reverently at the house and clear up the debris that blows into its yard.

If Betty Smith had written no other novels, her literary reputation would remain secure for all time on the strength of this one. Pick it up to trace the journey of a girl who vows to read one book a day as long as she lives.

And two on Sundays.