Julie G's Reviews > 84, Charing Cross Road
84, Charing Cross Road
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Julie G's review
bookshelves: new-york-state-of-mind, 70-from-the-1970s, the-british-invasion, writers-on-writing
Mar 26, 2022
bookshelves: new-york-state-of-mind, 70-from-the-1970s, the-british-invasion, writers-on-writing
Interestingly, I have just read two books in a row for my 1970s reading project that were published in the 1970s, but took place at an earlier time. It feels, to me, a little bit like cheating, but they were popular books in the 70s, regardless, so here I am, reviewing another one (accidentally).
And, fittingly, this non-fiction story, compiled like an epistolary novel, reminded me of a memory I have from the early-mid 1980s, so let me misbehave, for a moment, and cheat on my beloved 70s with another decade.
This book reminded me of a period of time in my life when I was babysitting, every Saturday night, for a gorgeous college professor and her husband (old what's-his-name). I was a young teen, and, after the kids would go to bed, I'd pull a book down from their fabulous home library, put on some soft porn from HBO in the background (this house is the setting for another review of mine: Wise Blood ) and then creep into their kitchen for my one weekly indulgence: an Entenmann's chocolate doughnut.
Back at my own house, my mother was a combination of Twiggy mixed with Jane Fonda and we had fat-free bodies and a sugar-free household for all of the 1970s and 1980s. (And then therapy for the next 20 years).
So. . . around 10pm every Saturday night for about two years, I would defy our household rules (because I wasn't home, duh), and I would take one perfectly formed chocolate doughnut and hold it out before me like the Holy Grail, then place it reverently on one perfectly formed white napkin and appreciate the yin/yang duality of my life before tearing into that treat in the den like a barnyard animal.
The sugar and fat would rush my senses while inappropriate scenes from movies like “Porky's” played on in the background and I would discover my next precious read.
Remembering those Saturday nights fills me with nostalgia. I had no idea I was having that much fun at the time, but I know it now.
Sometimes we don't know how special something is, until it's over. We hope, when we remember, that we have visuals, letters. We hope that someone else remembers, too.
And, fittingly, this non-fiction story, compiled like an epistolary novel, reminded me of a memory I have from the early-mid 1980s, so let me misbehave, for a moment, and cheat on my beloved 70s with another decade.
This book reminded me of a period of time in my life when I was babysitting, every Saturday night, for a gorgeous college professor and her husband (old what's-his-name). I was a young teen, and, after the kids would go to bed, I'd pull a book down from their fabulous home library, put on some soft porn from HBO in the background (this house is the setting for another review of mine: Wise Blood ) and then creep into their kitchen for my one weekly indulgence: an Entenmann's chocolate doughnut.
Back at my own house, my mother was a combination of Twiggy mixed with Jane Fonda and we had fat-free bodies and a sugar-free household for all of the 1970s and 1980s. (And then therapy for the next 20 years).
So. . . around 10pm every Saturday night for about two years, I would defy our household rules (because I wasn't home, duh), and I would take one perfectly formed chocolate doughnut and hold it out before me like the Holy Grail, then place it reverently on one perfectly formed white napkin and appreciate the yin/yang duality of my life before tearing into that treat in the den like a barnyard animal.
The sugar and fat would rush my senses while inappropriate scenes from movies like “Porky's” played on in the background and I would discover my next precious read.
Remembering those Saturday nights fills me with nostalgia. I had no idea I was having that much fun at the time, but I know it now.
Sometimes we don't know how special something is, until it's over. We hope, when we remember, that we have visuals, letters. We hope that someone else remembers, too.
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84, Charing Cross Road.
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Reading Progress
March 18, 2021
– Shelved
March 26, 2022
–
Started Reading
March 26, 2022
–
2.83%
"Will you please translate your prices hereafter? I don't add too well in plain American, I haven't a prayer of ever mastering bilingual arithmetic.
Yours, Helene Hanff"
page
3
Yours, Helene Hanff"
March 26, 2022
–
12.26%
"Please write and tell me about London. I live for the day when I step off the boat-train and feel its dirty sidewalks under my feet."
page
13
March 26, 2022
–
57.55%
"Why is it that people who wouldn't dream of stealing anything else think it's perfectly all right to steal books?"
page
61
March 26, 2022
–
87.74%
"Frank and I were so very much opposites, he so kind and gentle and me with my Irish background always fighting for my rights."
page
93
March 26, 2022
–
Finished Reading
Comments Showing 1-50 of 62 (62 new)
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Tatevik
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Oct 17, 2021 01:50PM
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I read it! What a delight.
I love that! Another great review Julie; a lovely mix of wistfulness and humour. I'm feeling second-hand nostalgia!
It's a precious tidbit and Ms. Hanff was a funny woman!
I have a copy of this book, I am looking forward to it!
Second hand nostalgia is so much better than second hand smoke, isn't it?
Thank you for always getting my humor!!
I’m so depressed. I just went looking for my copy and realized it did not make the cut when I had to give up most of my books. My guess is it was one of the ones that had mold because I don’t think I would’ve given it up otherwise but I’m not sure. I can’t afford to buy any books either so I can’t replace the last ones. At least this time (losing books) it was mostly my choice. Goodreads is getting too depressing for me because of all my missing books though.
A devoted reader like you will just eat this up (maybe along with a good doughnut!).
xoxo
I loved your review of this book!
I also love that you mentioned that The Virgin Suicides provoked nostalgia for you. It did for me as well, and so did his other novel, Middlesex. (Oh, and by the way, I am madly in love with Jeffrey Eugenides and will run away with him, if he asks--sorry, I digress).
This has me wondering. . . are there certain authors who are better at this than others? I think the answer is probably Yes. Mr. Eugenides does it well, and so does E.B. White. Another great novel for nostalgia is Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin.
Thank you for your kind words. To be honest--despite this book's publication date, the events within it start almost 20 years before that. Meaning, it's not my time for nostalgia, either, but it still provoked it. Even when she mentions books in her letters that no one is really familiar with anymore, you still understand her. As readers, we can't help but relate to her passion and her requests for certain titles.
I read it! What a delight."
Yey!!!!
It's interesting how a book can remind you of a quite warm memory that is not related at all to the book.
You'll never be accused of revealing spoilers in your reviews. 😂
Your witty and clever reviews are always delightful and make me laugh out loud!
I'm pretty sure I'm still grieving the 500 books I gave up last year to move. There should be a name for the sensation of hunting for a book that you "know you have," and then realizing that you don't own it any more.
I'm pretty sure I'm still grieving the 500 books I gave up last year to move. There should be a name for the sensation of hunting for a book that you "know you have," and then realizing that ..."
Julie, We should coin a word!!!
I'm sorry you also had to give up books.
I did find my copy of this. Thankfully.
I went (originally, not recently) from 15,000 books (recently maybe 9,000 tops) to only about 1,200. I could see going down to 1,000 if I have to move to a much smaller place but below that I think I'd spiral into a too bad depression.