Rooftoppers by Katherine Rundell
My rating: 5/5 cats
just a wonderful, magical, extraordinary book. the kind of classic-feeling book you can put in the hands of a little girl and feel confident that with it, she will grow into a wonderful, magical, extraordinary creature herself. it might work on boys, too, who knows? but right now i am speaking to the fathers i know with young daughters who are looking for that book that will leave an impression on them in a literary role-model kind of way: a strong and smart and brave little girl raised by an eccentric man who may not have taught her much about how to be conventional, but who has shared a love of language and adventure, and has raised her to be fierce and loyal and courageous and independent.
and on top of the glowing character(s), the language of the book is pure milky chocolate – just lovely and unexpected prose that really stands out when compared to any other book ever. this is a book i would have read until it fell apart if it had been around for me when i was, say, eight or so. this is a book you read when you are little and then take to college with you and then hand down to your own daughters. it is for sickbed reading, reading aloud, savoring and treasuring and pulling down from the shelves as needed. this book is begging to be inscribed and given as a gift.
there is nothing i don’t like about this book. and there is no way i can do it justice. an extended quote is the best i have for you.
sophie is our young heroine, charles the man who took her in as a baby when she was found in the water after the capsizing of a boat, and miss eliot the social worker who disapproves of the whole situation. here:
Miss Eliot did not approve of Charles, nor of Sophie. She disliked Charles’s carelessness with money, and his lateness at dinner.
She disliked Sophie’s watching, listening face. “It’s not natural, in a little girl!” She hated their joint habit of writing each other notes on the wallpaper in the hall.
“It’s not normal!” she said, scribbling on her notepad. “It’s not healthy!”
“On the contrary,” said Charles. “The more words in a house the better, Miss Eliot.”
Miss Eliot also disliked Charles’s hands, which were inky, and his hat, which was coming adrift round the brim. She disapproved of Sophie’s clothes.
Charles was not good at shopping. He spent a day standing, bewildered, in the middle of Bond Street, and came back with a parcel of boys’ shirts. Miss Eliot was livid.
“You cannot let her wear that,” she said. “People will think she is deranged.”
Sophie looked down at herself. She fingered the material. It felt quite normal to her; still a little stiff from the shop, but otherwise fine. “How can you tell it’s not a girl’s shirt?” she asked.
“Boys’ shirts button left over right. Blouses – please note, the word is blouses – button right over left. I am shocked that you don’t know that.”
Charles put down the newspaper behind which he had retreated. “You are shocked that she doesn’t know about buttons? Buttons are rarely key players in international affairs.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I meant, she knows the things which are important. Not all of them, of course; she is still a child. But many.”
Miss Eliot sniffed. “You’ll forgive me; I may be old-fashioned, but I think buttons do matter.”
“Sophie,” said Charles, “knows all the capitals of all the countries of the world.”
Sophie, standing in the doorway, whispered, “Almost.”
“She knows how to read, and how to draw. She knows the difference between a tortoise and a turtle. She knows one tree from another, and how to climb them. Only this morning she was telling me what is the collective noun for toads.”
“A knot,” said Sophie. “It’s a knot of toads.”
again – there is nothing i do not love about this book.
