Little House on the Prairie

I never thought that the Little House books sounded very interesting, and when I saw this book on the syllabus, despite the couple of people in class who named this as one of their favorite children's books, I was less than enthusiastic. Even my sister, who rarely reads, telling me that they were really good didn't quite convince me. But I was pleasantly surprised when I finally sat down to start reading it and found myself actually becoming invested in the plot and characters. I was heartbroken when I thought Jack had died, I was nervous during every mention of wolves, and I cringed when Caroline's foot got crushed under a log. I also found myself dancing along excitedly when Pa was playing his fiddle. I somehow forgot about how sure I was that I wouldn't enjoy the book, and although I still wouldn't consider myself a huge fan of the genre itself, this story is a testament to how a well-written book, even with a subject matter you don't think you'll like, can captivate you. It's also another lesson that I'm still learning, even after nearly twenty years of reading like crazy: don't judge a book by its cover (or by its genre).