I was interested in the now movie Rebecca, largely because that is a book I grew up with. My mom was quite a reader. Tho the home I grew up in didn’t have TONS of bookshelves, there was one wall w/ quite a few books (maybe 8’ wide, floor to ceiling.) While I regularly took out tons of books from the library, there were plenty of occasions that I looked to those shelves to find something to read/re-read. As I approach 60, I still retain a great fondness for several of those books. Wondered if folk might enjoy sharing such books they grew up with.
In addition to Rebecca, here’s a partial list for me:
Knock on Any Door, Motley (“Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse” baby!)
The Postman Always Rings Twice, Cain
The Track of the Cat, Clark
The Man With The Golden Arm, Algren
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Smith
Alice/Lookingglass, Carroll
Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn, Twain
(Not sure if the last 2 quite fit as “adult” books, but I include them because they were “old friends” I grew up with, revisiting regularly.)
Looking at that list, I can see how I developed a lifelong interest in inner city life in the late 19th-early 20th century.
I’m sure a few more will come to me. How about you? What “adult” books did you pull off your parents’ shelves to read when young?
Gone with the Wind;
Through the Looking Glass, Carroll
The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
My Friend Flicka
There was a Vincent Lombardi book from the late 60s or early 70s.
Wind in the Willows, Grahame
Something on JFK and the Life magazine from right after his assassination.
I was a heavy user of the local libraries, but also raided my parents’ (mostly dad’s) extensive bookshelves for entertainment and education. Classics by Steinbeck, Hemingway, Waltari etc., but also more pop fare of the time, like Clavell, Uris etc. Popular science books on biology, evolution, physics, history, geography etc. were also in constant rotation by me.
“All you ever wanted to know about sex (but were afraid to ask)” was a secret read. What a load of bullshit, on reflection.
In a similar vein, Our Bodies, Ourselves. I read it when I was 8 or 9, and even though it had some outdated information in the 90s, I’m glad I did. It was a pretty solid introduction to womanhood.
She also had Sybil, which, for those who don’t know, is the (alleged) story of a woman who developed Dissociative Identity Disorder as a result of horrific childhood abuse. The abuse is described in graphic detail. Probably not a great thing for kids to read.
My parents were (and still are) both avid readers, but they did not actually keep a lot of books long-term in the house – they tended to borrow from the library. A few that I do remember:
The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight, by Jimmy Breslin
The Winds of War and War and Remembrance, by Herman Wouk
The Peter Principle, by Laurence J. Peter
Of those, the only one I remember actually reading myself was The Peter Principle.
I was an avid reader, but my parents didn’t keep a lot of books at home. The one that sticks in my mind (besides the Encyclopedia Americana, which I read for fun) is Marital Blitz by Stan and Jan Berenstain. Yes, those Berenstains, before they started writing about bears. It was a book (with drawings)* about married life and was designed for adults. It and Jean Kerr gave me a model of what a marriage should be like.
*non-risque. I never heard of the Bears until I was in my 30s.
We didn’t have very much extra money around the house but we lived within walking distance of the main city library. There were always books in the house but they were ever changing and temporary.
Our bookshelves were stocked by my far-right-winger parents… with a penchant for right-wing CTs. So the books were pretty whacko, from dire warnings about The Communists and The Illuminati, to UFO theories like The White Sands Incident.
Now, the books on The Knights Templar and the Hollow Earth were pretty cool. But I soon abandoned the family bookcase for our local “tiniest library in the world”.
I can do you one better. My mother had a copy of The Pearl, which was most definitely not Steinbeck. And a couple of other titles that were also probably a wee bit “adult” for a 6th-7th grader (can’t quite remember when I first came across them, but it was around this age).
A lot of more normal stuff as well. But for obvious reasons those stand out more in my mind.
Both my parents enjoy mysteries and the newest Dick Francis always came out just before my mom’s birthday, so we had most of the Dick Francis books in hardback. Most paper backs, including Agatha Christie, Ed McBain, John D. MacDonald, Harry Kemelman, Lawrence Block and others.
Part of this was due to my paternal grandmother, whose bookshelves were full of Rex Stout and some other author whose name I cannot remember, but similar timeframe as Rex Stout. That author died before finishing his last book and someone else finished it.
…and my parents had the Illuminatus! trilogy, which had a major impact on my developing 13-year-old mind. Not just the sex, of course… but yeah, mostly the sex. I still have a weird relationship with apples.
Add me to the Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex… list. The only thing I remember about that was getting a measuring tape out. And we had a book shelf with the World Book encyclopedia set along with the yearly updates that I would read for fun.
Our house was full of books - fiction and non-fiction. Many books about London, since both my parents were there at the end of WW2. Just about all the Agatha Christie books, and many 1950’s selections from “Book of the Month Club”. A couple of supermarket encyclopedias; later the "Book of Knowledge (1929 edition); and still later - the “World Book” encyclopedia (1961 edition).
As kids, we were interested in the thick ones (the family Bible, Shakespeare’s Complete Works, and others), since they were great for pressing flowers of leaves. I’ve inherited the Bible, and 60+ year old red maple leaves still flutter out as I flip through the pages.
I was always interested in maps, so the 1930’s-vintage atlas was entertaining (how many maps can you find with the territory of “Central Australia” on it? Only those made between 1927 and 1931). Also - anything with lots of pictures (e.g. the London books - lots of pictures and maps).
My parents weren’t book readers. Mom read the newspaper. Dad read the (then) risqué Genuine Auto Parts Pups magazines. That’s about it.
Mom barely graduated high school, Dad missed most of 3rd grade due to medical issues, then had to leave entirely at age 12 to work on the farm.
Luckily, they knew I was different. As far back as I can remember, I was a regular at the library.
I used to love going to my Aunt and Uncle’s house, as they had a massive bookshelf in their living room. Sadly, it was either books on war or weird horoscope/ numerology/ palmistry. Still, they were books.
There was quite a bit of this in our house, and I would add James Michener to the list.
I also remember rifling through the bookshelf looking for dirty books (Harold Robbins Descent from Xanadu is one title I remember). But the number one book from my parents’ bookshelf that completely mesmerized me was The Book of Lists. I read that one over and over again, even after the spine broke at the “Sex” section for some reason. Nowadays I realise that some of the “facts” from that book are a little dubious, but I just loved the miscellany of useless trivia.
My parents had shelves FULL of books. Mainly Readers Digest condensed books, though. So I got the extremely edited versions of a lot of fiction, both popular and classic. Early on, I was unaware that it was so edited, and I was blown away to finally get my hands on a full copy of works by Wouk and Michener, etc.l
The book on my parent’s bookshelf that I got the most out of was doubtless “Everything you wanted to know about sex but were afraid to ask” back when I was 14.
My mom wasn’t a reader. However, she did get Readers Digest, and I would find the odd paperback bestseller lying around. I liked her Erma Bombecks but couldn’t get through other stuff, like Judith Krantz.
My grandparents had lots of books…children’s books, classics, encyclopedias, RD Condensed Books, etc. My grandmother also bought me magazines and frequently took me to the library, where I’d check out as much as I could carry.
She also owned about nine thousand Harlequin romance novels. One day it occurred to me that if I could learn to like those, I’d have a massive treasure trove on hand…but ugh. I just couldn’t stomach them.
When I was a young teen, I babysat for a family that had a copy of The Joy of Sex. I learned a lot from it after I put their little brat to bed. The problem with that kid was that he’d obviously been reading it too and was always trying to grope me.