#1: The Great Good Thing by Roderick Townley
Kicking things off with my most beloved library memory.
When I first had the idea for a series of personal reflections on books I loved from childhood, The Great Good Thing by Roderick Townley was the first book that came to mind. There’s two reasons it’s my first, and possibly favorite, selection. One, it encapsulates my idea for this newsletter, which is to pick books that are slightly more off the beaten path—not your Harry Potters or Percy Jacksons or even The Lord Of The Rings (though I’ve enjoyed two out of the three). Two, although I’m not a big re-reader, this was a book from my local library I returned to many times over the years, and that in itself sums up who I was as a young reader.
Like so many bookworms, I was a major library girl. I remember the feeling of freedom and importance of getting my own library card for the first time. Even better, the first time I got to walk to the library by myself (my mom, concerned despite it only being two blocks away, sent an older neighbor friend after me who pretended it was just a coincidence that we went to the library at the same time). The building has since been redesigned, but it used to be small and cozy with a layout I still know like the back of my hand. I spent a lot of time in the corner where the Young Adult new releases were shelved, pulling from the pleasing line-up of Dear America books, nosing around the small bonus shelf of graphic novels. And I can still picture exactly the spot on the back wall where The Great Good Thing was nestled.
More than a decade later, I was surprised by how small and slim this novel was when I checked it out from the Brooklyn Public Library system. Even the inside of this square little book—which was the same edition that I’d read as a kid—had large margins and a relatively large typeset. I wondered if it was a lower reading level than I remembered, if it would have lost its magic now that I was reading it with grown-up eyes. I needn’t have worried: the story is just as enchanting now as it was then, and tells a surprisingly full, robust story in a brilliantly economical manner.
I remembered the broad strokes of The Great Good Thing, which is that a princess in a book has to save her story world by climbing into the dreams of her reader and helping her to rewrite the book and share it with the world. I didn’t remember exactly how Toy Story-esque it was. Sylvie is the young protagonist of a children’s fantasy book, but when no one’s reading the characters are free to do whatever they please. As dedicated as they may be to their roles while performing the story, the bad guys aren’t so bad when the book is closed. For Sylvie, despite being the tale’s heroine, she still dreams of doing some “great good thing” beyond what’s been written for her.
The story is well loved, but infrequently read, and when disaster strikes Sylvie leads her fellow characters straight into the subconscious of her favorite reader. There, she gets to have all sorts of wonderful adventures—but of course, the memory of a favorite story isn’t quite the same thing as the story itself. As the reader grows up, the characters begin to fade (or rust) away, and it’s up to Sylvie to help her reader remember and find a way to preserve the story so that it, and all its inhabitants, can live on.
Reading it again and thinking about the way it’s lived in my mind all these years is an almost eerily full circle experience. From the first time I pulled it off the shelf to now, this book has felt like a secret that existed for me alone, which is literally true for the reader in the story. (The book-within-the-book is actually the only copy that exists in the world.) And almost exactly like what happens in the book, The Great Good Thing stayed tucked in the back of my memory, faded almost entirely except for the blue-dressed princess on the cover. (And as you can see above, the dress is actually orange! Memory is weird!)
Yet reading it left an indelible impression on me, and returning to it now, I understand why. It’s not just Townley’s writing, though the charm and whimsy of the novel is part of why it’s so successful. It’s the layers of the storytelling that sunk deep inside me, I think. It’s about the relationship between readers and story, the way an important book can live an entirely new life in our imagination, the way a great story can spark our own creativity. It’s about passing stories between generations, how sometimes we fall in love with a book because of the person who introduced it to us. How sometimes it’s as much about the experience of reading the book—the warmth of a childhood favorite, the way it may have unlocked something entirely new for us at the time, the way it felt to open a door for the first time to an entirely new world—as it is about the story itself. And on a very basic level, it’s about how little girls can write their own stories, which is common enough for a plot line, but I guess you never forget your first.
I didn’t realize when I chose it—or even while rereading it—how much the first book I chose for this project would echo the reason I wanted to do this project in the first place. Not until sitting down to write about it did I see how The Great Good Thing tugs at the same threads that I intend to by starting this series. What is it about a beloved childhood favorite that makes it so beloved? What are the reasons it lives in my memory, and how does my memory differ from what’s actually on the page? What parts of these stories have I carried with me all these years, and how—if at all—do these books inform the person I am now?
To this day, I haven’t met anyone who also loved The Great Good Thing, which reinforces that feeling of art imitating life imitating art. The core of this re-reading project has been resurfacing books that made me feel as a kid like I was discovering uncharted territory, much like Sylvie escaping into the vast unknown of the reader’s dreamland. Yet reading it and writing about it is once again opening new doorways for me. How special that this book I loved so much not only lived up to the expectations of my memory, but made me think about the story in a whole new way. I understand now why I held onto it in my heart for so long, and in turn it helped me understand what I’m trying to do going forward. What a gift! Here is Sylvie again, accomplishing something so powerful from within her pages.
The Great Good Thing is a wonderful book, and I would recommend it to anyone.
P.S.: It just so happens that my little love letter to libraries falls on the New York Public Library’s Day of Action. Supporters of the NYPL are protesting against proposed cuts to the budget that would hugely affect the library’s resources and ability to serve its community. You can learn more about it here, with more info about the social media & letter writing campaign here. Support the library!