My aunt gave me a beautiful illustrated edition of Tale of Two Cities (which I still have) when I was a little too young for it, maybe 12 or so. I struggled to understand the motivations of the characters, especially Madame DeFarge (I couldn’t really figure out why she hated Darnay so much, and the explanation came too late to be very meaningful to me) and Sydney Carton. This was a new kind of character for me, noble in spirit but a failure in life, unambitious and over-qualified, and deeply but hopelessly in love. The ending left me in a very strange state, such things had never occurred to me as possible or believable before.
I just pulled it off the shelf; it’s the Illustrated Junior Library Edition. It’s one of my favorite things. I think this was perhaps the first adult-level book I ever read.
Roddy
I was probably about 12 years old when I read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and I probably didn’t sleep well for two weeks after that. I don’t think either of my parents had a clue about the contents of that book. Looking back on it, that was probably a pretty big turning point in the way I see life.
Flight #116 Is Down by Caroline B. Cooney. It’s about a plane crash. I read it in eighth grade and I had never really thought much about plane crashes before and how unlikely I would be to survive one.
More recently, Life As We Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer. That book really pulled me in. I could almost believe that the apocalyptic events in the book were really happening and it made me nervous if I looked up in the night sky and the moon looked too close to us.
Wilson Rawls lived in my home town, and I remember one Christmas getting a signed copy of Where the Red Fern Grows and a dalmation puppy; my folks bought both from Wilson Rawls himself.
The first book I read that made a lasting emotional impact on me was Cat’s Cradle. Cataclysmic disaster is not only thinkable, but possible.
But the first book that left me emotionally exhausted was Deliverance.
Both 1984 and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest were probably my earliest ones, as far as I can remember, but the one that most stands out is Dosteyevsky’sCrime and Punishment. It just kept draining and draining me. So much so that afterwards I went on to read The Brothers Karamazov.
Seven Little Australians by Ethel Turner. I read it when I was … um … nine, I guess? I fell in love with the Woolcot family, and the part at the end where Judy died completely rocked me. I stayed up late to finish it, and I remember sitting there in the dark, shaking like a leaf. I’d loved reading for as long as I could remember, but that was the first book that really got to me emotionally. It was my favourite for years because of that, and still holds a special place in my heart.
A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. I enjoy movies from the 30’s and 40’s and I will often follow up the movie by reading the book on which the movie was based. I saw the movie with Peggy Ann Garner, which was good; but I was mesmerized by the book. Reading about what the kids went through growing up in poverty just about broke my heart.
I’m not sure if I can explain this right, but, occasionally I will read a book that I enjoy so much, it makes me sad to finish it because I can never read it again for the first time, and I’m sorry it’s done when I get to the end. ATGIB was one of them.
I read it a loooong time ago, as in possibly junior high, but I remember being incredibly moved by the courage of the characters in the books, and devastated when one of them was killed. I was so upset I put the book down and didn’t pick it up for weeks.
UTC is a classic. I started reading it with a slightly smug, superior attitude, and ended up getting sucked in completely. You can see why it was such a hit back in the day.