Set in 1832, this sea story begins with a warning to the reader: "Not every 13-year-old girl is accused of murder, brought to trial, and found guilty." Charlotte Doyle is a spunky, intelligent American girl whose English education has shaped her to be a lady. No wonder that, from the moment she boards a merchant ship headed for home, she feels out of place. She's the only passenger, her cabin's a dark hole, and the captain's name terrifies burly dock workers.
This was my favorite book when I was 11 years old. I came across my battered copy of it just a couple weeks ago while reorganizing my book shelves. It brought back memories of reading and rereading it until 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning. I can still remember my dad coming in and turning off my light without warning and saying, "Let the hero suffer." It would make me furious! But now, it's a little funny.
As a child, I was an avid reader. I read for hours each night. On top of that, I wrote in my journal every single day for years upon end. What happened to me? Now I play Sudoku until my eyes cross and I force myself to turn the lights out, but then I just end up dreaming about where that stupid #5 belongs. And when was the last time I wrote in my journal? Good question. I don't actually remember.
Maybe it's time for a hobby reevaluation. I've heard the Twilight series of books are great, but I don't want to be cliché in my reading. Is that lame? Probably.
