I got a call from my husband, who was wandering around the library, and had come upon The Diary of Anne Frank. He called to tell me it was awesome.
"Well yeah," I said. I omitted the duh.
"I just never read it," he explained. "You know, girl book." And of course, I do know. I shudder to think of all the books I've missed because they were for boys. Like all of science fiction.
But here's the thing: Diana won't read it. Because she has the (for now, at least) deeply held conviction that she hates realistic fiction. As in, all of it. As in, especially historical things with valiant girls (or at least, so it seems to me). And I know that you just have to wait these things out. She's a smart kid, she'll find her way to a broader world of literature. At least, I think she will. And if she never likes them, well, that's her business, right? But something about her absolute aversion to it just gets to me. And makes me want to lock her into a room with just the books I think she ought to try, and nothing else, for a week or something.
But don't worry. I won't. I think.