Jackie Danicki

I recently went on a mission to acquire some of the children’s books that made me want to move to New York when I was very young. The obsession started when I was around four years old (at the same time as my determination to move to London sprouted), and continued until…well, even when I am at my place in New York, like now, I’m almost stabbing myself in the arm with a pen knife to believe it’s real.

Lots of books fueled my interest in New York, and tided me over until I could grow up and get here. But the earliest ones were the works of Ezra Jack Keats. These are some stunning illustrations, prints of which are being framed as I type.

When I got a bit older, I moved on to chapter books. Harriet the Spy, written and illustrated by Louise Fitzhugh, was a favorite, though I couldn’t remember a thing about the plot until I bought the book the other day. I wondered aloud to someone how I knew it made me want to live in New York if I couldn’t even recall the story. Then it hit me: egg creams! Harriet was always after egg creams, which sounded disgusting to me, but I knew they were a particularly New York thing. (I’ve still yet to have one, and probably never will.) When I read the summary of the book, it was obvious why I loved Harriet: She was fiercely observant of people and a misfit, which I also was as a child.

Finally, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, written and illustrated by E.L. Konigsburg, was my ultimate New York fantasy book. Claudia Kincaid takes her little brother and runs away to live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They hide from security in the bathrooms at closing time, then sleep in Marie Antoinette’s bed and have lots of adventures. I wanted to take my little brother and live this book. When I opened it on Sunday, I read this on page one:

She didn’t like discomfort; even picnics were untidy and inconvenient: all those insects and the sun melting the icing on the cupcakes. Therefore, she decided that her leaving home would not be just running from somewhere but would be running to somewhere. To a large place, a comfortable place, and indoor place, and preferably a beautiful place.

That could be my epitaph right there.

It’s such a joy to explore these books that meant so much to me as a child. I want to savor every paragraph, not reading too quickly or rushing the experience of re-acquaintance. It’s especially wonderful to read them in New York, occasionally getting up to look at the view of the Empire State Building from my bedroom window. I could get hit by the crosstown bus tomorrow, and this would still mean the world to me.

Filed under: Life