Dr Dolittle

little A came back from a couple of days with Grandma and Grandpa clutching my old copy of DR DOLITTLE. Bliss! for the first time, she is really truly captured by a full length book and wanting to keep on till the end. I'm sad to say that not even Roald Dahl has had this effect until now.

It's not without its problems though. Hugh Lofting was very much a man of his time and I'm afraid I've found myself skipping over some deeply unfortunate passages. I do wonder if modern editions have excised the dodgy attitudes to people of other nations? At first I took my lead from Mrs Winterson (oh do read WHY BE HAPPY WHEN YOU CAN BE NORMAL? if you haven't already, and you'll understand this reference) and tried to rewrite extempore but it turns out I lack her talent and after a couple of attempts at substituting the word 'white' with 'fine' in the sentence 'I wish I could be a fine prince' I floundered at the relentlessness of it all and just skipped a chunk of pages with no regard for plot.

That aside, what I hadn't appreciated in Hugh Lofting the first time round is that he's a rather beautiful writer. Tonight's adventures involved Jip the dog sniffing the four winds of the world in search of a sailor, and a boat with silken beds. His imagination is a joy to get lost in.

You can tell how much I'm enjoying it - it's inspired me back on here. The long silence has been filled with endless re-readings of Ivy and Bean and some well-loved picture book favourites. I fret sometimes that while her friends have started avidly devouring chapter books, little a is not yet a fan of reading herself. But perhaps we both are clinging to this special time of reading and being read to.

And with my father now introducing my daughter to the books he shared with me as a child, I'm revelling in the sense of stories which will go on being told forever, and loving reliving the magic of the pushmipulyu.