As a mother of two young children, I’m in that season of life when the prospect of enjoying a rich novel or scintillating memoir seems remote. Empty nesters warn that the joy of reading will return sooner than I may want. Instead of embracing the thrill of Erik Larson’s narrative nonfiction, I’ll find myself wallowing in Eric Carle board books when no one is looking. As my son enters the world of chapter books, I’ve watched him begin to process characters’ emotions and decipher difficult topics like death, misogyny and racism, all of which stayed at a safe altitude above his head in kindergart…
[nordot-modal-mode]