I love when people I love love books, because I already half-love the book before I start reading it. And dude, T Y loves the hell out of The Witch of Blackbird Pond.
As, now, do I.
But there’s a difference between loving a book now, right now, for my now’s self’s sake, and loving a book because Younger-Me would have read it in back-to-back stints. The latter is how I love WOBP.
Which isn’t to say that it isn’t great for Currently-Older-Me. Dude, I am a rambly mess. Suffice it to say that Raych-o-2009 loved it, but Raych-o-1993 would have DIED for it, and spent her nights pining over tanned, wiry, handy-with-a-rope sailor boy Nat Eaton (ok, let’s say it would have been more appropriate).
So, how about those Puritans? Ok, Kit’s last local living kin dies, and she has to jaunt off overseas to the Colonies to live with her Puritanical (the sect, not the adjective) relations. Also, she has many silks, and they are poor.
So, hard enough being something-teen, but DOUBLE-hard being something-teen and having to learn to scrub your way through the day after years of pampering AND being extra-different from urrbody else in a way that most teens feel like they are but so few ACTUALLY are, and then also you accidentally steal your cousin’s beau. Oh, and you make friends with the Quaker down by the pond (p.s. ‘Puritan’≠ ‘Quaker.’ Who knew?) who everyone thinks is a witch. Also, you have a hankering secret EVEN TO YOURSELF for Nat Eaton, aforementioned sailor-boy.