Reading

Favorite Books about Pioneer Women

“Hey, God, you should have made me born 100 years earlier!” —me, age 8

The first time I can ever remember telling God what he ought to have done in my life was while I was reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books. I was given the complete boxed set for my birthday, and I devoured them one after the other, immersing myself in the world of late-19th century U.S. pioneer life. I felt deep in my heart that I ought to have been a child of the 1870s rather than the 1970s.

I trust God’s judgment and plan for my life more now than I did as a child, so I’m no longer upset about not being born into the 19th-century American west (which in the 1800s would have been anything west of the Appalachian mountains). But I still love reading about this time period, and more specifically, about women during this time period, especially pioneer women who traveled west and often stayed there to create a home.

So here’s a list of my personal favorite books in this area for those who, like me, are pioneers at heart—or who just like to read about them.

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Henry VIII, in His “Own” Words

What comes to mind when you hear the name Henry VIII?

When author Margaret George asked people this question, here’s a summary of the answer she got: “Henry VIII was a huge, fat, oversexed man with gross table manners who had eight wives, killed them all, and then died of syphilis.” She found out during the course of extensive research that not one of these things about Henry was true, or at least, not entirely true.

So she wrote a 900-page novel about him, making the daring decision to tell his story in first person: The Autobiography of Henry VIII. It’s fiction, but it’s based on solid research, and it provides a fascinating look at the entire character of this complex and important historical figure.

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Reading

Same House, Different Worlds: A Mother-Daughter Reading Story

Shared interests are one of the best things about having kids.

At some point, Lord willing, they will begin to love something that you love: Hunting or fishing. Gardening or cooking. Baseball, running, or golf. Cars, trains, or motorcycles. Concerts, movies, or video games. Dogs, cats, or babies. Crocheting or carving wood. Those times when you bond with one of your offspring over a shared love of [whatever] are some of the priceless payoff moments of having children, for sure.

My mother and I both loved to read—we bonded over books we discovered together, books we gave to each other, books we couldn’t wait to discuss, books that inspired us, puzzled us, and made us swoon. My mom and I didn’t have much in common, but from my childhood through my mid-forties when she passed away, books were our common ground. 

So naturally when I had a daughter of my own, I eagerly anticipated sharing books together, reading in tandem, and the wonderful discussions that would follow. (I just assumed she’d be a reader; the possibility of two book-loving parents having a child who did not even like to read never once entered my head back then.)

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Reading

Three Books for Two Weeks of Sickness

I had high hopes that my first “what I’m reading” post would be something really special … an impressive title that showed my discerning taste in reading material (I’m joking—I’m a fairly nondiscriminatory reader and always have been). But instead, my entire household got hit with our first case of COVID and my reading for the past two weeks was whatever I could manage while dealing with frequent fatigue and occasional brain fog.

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Reading

This Reading Life

My life with books goes so far back that I actually can’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to read.

My entire childhood was spent with my “nose in a book,” as my grandfather often said. Books were my comfort, my friends, my treasures, my security, my escape, and my joy. Children who have insecure and disrupted family lives often find solace in something they can control, and my solace was found in books.

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