Looking Back - A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Looking Back... In an effort to transfer my book journal entries over to this blog, I'm going to attempt to post (in chronological order) an entry every Friday. I may or may not add extra commentary to what I jotted down in these journals.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
Fiction
1998 Perennial Classics (Originally published in 1943)
Read in August 1999
Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

A profoundly moving novel, and an honest and true one. It cuts right to the heart of life ... If you miss A Tree Grows in Brooklyn you will deny yourself a rich experience ... It is a poignant and deeply understanding story of childhood and family relationships. The Nolans lived in the Williamsburg slums of Brooklyn from 1902 until 1919 ... Their daughter Francie and their son Neely knew more than their fair share of the privations and sufferings that are the lot of a great city's poor. Primarily this is Francie's book. She is a superb feat of characterization, an imaginative, alert, resourceful child. And Francie's growing up and beginnings of wisdom are the substance of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

My Original Thoughts (1999):

Wonderful coming-of-age story. Very enjoyable. Set in the very early 1900s in Brooklyn. Francie and her brother Neeley struggle with life's difficulties as poor children while their mother cleans and tries to keep her family clothed and fed. Their father is a drunk. Not great literature, but a good read.

The library was a little old shabby place. Francie thought it was beautiful. The feeling she had about it was as good as the feeling she had about church. She pushed open the door and went in. She liked the combined smell of worn leather bindings, library paste and freshly-inked stamping pads better than she liked the smell of burning incense at high mass.

Francie thought that all the books in the world were in that library and she had a plan about reading all the books in the world. She was reading a book a day in alphabetical order and not skipping the dry ones.

and

"Yes, when I get big and have my own home, no plush chairs and lace curtains for me. And no rubber plants. I'll have a desk like this in my parlor and white walls and a clean green blotter every Saturday night and a row of shining yellow pencils always sharpened for writing and a golden-brown bowl with a flower or some leaves or berries always in it and books...books...books...."

and

From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood. There was poetry for quiet companionship. There was adventure when she tired of quiet hours. There would be love stories when she came into adolescence and when she wanted to feel a closeness to someone she could read a biography. On that day when she first knew she could read, she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived.

My Current Thoughts:

I'm not sure why I felt this wasn't great literature. Maybe the writing is simplistic? It was probably considered what we would now call Young Adult (YA) fiction. I'd have to go back and give it a second reading, which I wouldn't mind doing, but I have no desire to see the 1945 film version ever again. I thought it was awful!