Homes fascinate me. I like the things that people do to create a haven in their corner of the world. Is it because l've seen too many people without homes, and I know the value of a safe, warm place?
I especially enjoy books about homes.
Some of my favourite books that tell stories in homes, about homes, were from childhood days.
There’s one book that I walked around with everywhere (except when I was bathing). It was about two little yellow chicks, brother and sister, Sue and Sam. They lived in a big, pale-blue, pretty eggshell, open into two, with a pink ribbon bow around the eggshell when it was closed. The shells were cosy with soft bedding and pillows. I have a vague memory of their mother…perhaps their grandmother…cooking for them.
Another favourite was Atma, a small book, about four inches by four inches, with a padded cover. The drawings - simple, coloured sketches - filled me with awe. The book told the story about a little brown boy, Atma, whose mother did sewing work by the lamp…could’ve been the fireside…whilst he slept and dreamt. In his dream, he wandered far and wide, into scary places. Thank goodness, he woke up and there was his mother stitching away.
I don’t recall the names of the writers of the two books mentioned above, but I do know the name Enid Blyton…who doesn’t? She wrote countless books about pixies, gnomes and fairies who made enchanting homes inside toadstools and the trunks of living trees. I wandered around, as a child, seeking those little secret homes in tall grass.
Enid Blyton also wrote one classic, The Family At Red Roofs, which tells of the drama, the worries and happiness, of three children and their parents after they moved into their lovely new home.
Then there’s that delightful home in the book Heidi by Johanna Spyri! Who could resist that charming chalet, where Heidi lived with her grandfather, in the Swiss Alps? Forevermore, I’ve longed to have a room like Heidi’s, in a loft, where I could go to sleep with the stars twinkling above me.
Another home I dream of living in, to this day, is the upside-down boat that David Copperfield visited. Ohhh mah Lord. Every detail…the Dutch clock, the chest of drawers and the tea tray with the painting of the lady with a parasol, the bedroom with walls whitewashed as white as milk, the mirror with the oyster-shells…everything in that home sends me into rhapsody.
Enter teenage days…and along came those books about homes that filled me with horror. I couldn’t stop reading them! The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson. The Brownstone by Ken Eulo. Holy moly. Was I terrified or what! One of the most frightening of the lot was Rosemarie’s Baby by Ira Levin. He also wrote The Stepford Wives, a book about well-polished homes, spic and span, filled with the delicious smell of food being cooked…except no sane woman would want to be caught in those four walls. Through some strange means, the women were seduced into being perfect slaves, serving their husbands and children. Freedom gone.
After a while, I left those books behind and plunged into stories of homes in the Caribbean. One cynical, satirical tale, which has my family and me hooting with laughter yet disturbed us, is A House For Mr. Biswas by V. S. Naipaul. Poor Mr. Biswas. He was trapped in bad luck, failure, oppressed by his wife’s overbearing family. He craved freedom, a home of his own. Ahhhh boy, so many in the Caribbean, in fact, millions around the world, would feel they’re Mr Biswas, one way or another.
I sure wish non-Caribbean book-lovers would read our stories! They would see how closely linked we are.
I highly recommend The Oxford Book Of Caribbean Short Stories, Many of the tales are filled with descriptions of homes, from yard where food is cooked, to upstairs where there’s art, shenanigans and struggles. Life ain’t always surf and beaches for us in the tropics. (Which reminds me, I know a true-true story of an old woman who lived a few inches close to the ocean. But that’s another story for another day.)
Skipping over to Jamaica, the book Drumblair by Rachel Manley will make you want to pack up your traps and move into that home. Though it’s a biography of her grandfather, the book is lyrical writing from first word to final full-stop. It’s art, politics, poetry, history, family. I’ve dipped into random pages countless times, coming out with a sigh of satisfaction.
I can go on…there are so many more books about homes that I could tell you about. These were only a few of my favourites.
I’d just like to say, before I skip off to another reading adventure: along our book-path, we will discover all types of homes. Which door have you knocked on? Which home-story reflected a particular time of your life? Where are you on your book-path right now? What are your favourite books about home?
P.S. If you could write the story of your home, what sorrows, trials, celebrations, would you fill the pages with?
Very nice essay!
I’ve heard that Mr. Biswas is a great book.