Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?

I will preface this entry with the caveat: My childhood was a long time ago. A long, long time ago. I will be talking about a book that probably nobody has heard about.

My favorite book from childhood was The Ghost of Opalina by Peggy Bacon. It was about a ghost cat who told stories about the previous residents of an old house. It was, in a word, absorbing. And to a child who read cereal labels, Readers’ Digest, and anything else I could get my eyes on, it was the revelation of a new world.

Textbooks for English class in my childhood were generally excerpts of stories, and it was my great frustration that they didn’t go anywhere. I remember (I think fifth grade) reading an excerpt of The Hobbit where Bilbo chats with Gollum in the murky cave. It has a beginning, middle and end, but it still felt unfinished. Bilbo has the ring. It’s a cool magic ring. what did he do with it?

The Ghost of Opalina is the first book I read that I can remember being a real book, with a beginning, middle, and end. Admittedly, it was somewhat episodic, with stories within the story, but it wrapped up to a satisfying end. And with a ghost!

From that point on, I was addicted to fantasy. My next formative reading experience was The Dark is Rising sequence by Susan Cooper, which was many years later. Before that, I read many books, and also cereal packages, Readers’ Digest condensed books, and anything I could get my hands on.

I read The Ghost of Opalina again recently, and I could see exactly why it enchanted me. It had aged well, and I could see why kids and librarians loved it. I once named a cat Opalina, and she could not have been more unlike the capricious, elegant wisp of a ghost cat. I was ten when I named her; my memory of the book has lasted many years beyond my kitty’s lifespan. Here’s to ghost cats and the power of memory.