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The first book I recall assuming proportions of being "much more than a book" was The Velveteen Rabbit. I remember reading that one before kindergarten and just feeling so heartbroken for the boy's loss. It was years before I could feel "happy" for the rabbit.
Well. You took mine. So there. Interestingly, I had the same thing with not identifying with the Rabit until years later. I think I had it read to me too early, to be honest, in a wierd not too early kinda way. It nearly killed me to think about it when I was 2 and 3, but I memorized it and would think through it a lot. When I learned to read at about 7, I read it for myself, and suddenly felt good for the rabit. Maybe I was ready for it then... but then what of the strong connection I had to it before that?
My other one is "The Witch who was afraid of Witches." I'd forgotten about it until my mother gave it back to me recently. It is in utter tatters. I think it was only read to me, and that I never read it to myself. I would probably have remembered it more consiously if it had been in circulation after I was about 3. But. Flipping through it I notice some interesting things. My favourite shoe-style is the one the main character uses. This has been stable all my life. My image of my young self is, I kid you not, the drawing of the main character at the bottom of page 5, and the image of myself that I've always turned to in difficult times is at the top of page 6. When she comforts herself, alone at home, she does the exact series of things I have always thought through or actually done, except one I consiously think of and don't do (!). It goes on, but I gotta go.
It's really very creepy. Take that people who talk about the deep importance of the first three years of life-- you don't know the half of it.
-Michaela
