Monday, 7.28
School supplies and second childhood . . .
In my imagination, heaven will have stacks of notebooks everywhere you go—right there whenever a great idea, a perfect phrase, or a bit of dialogue might come to mind.
But I don’t want Moleskine or Rhodia or Leuchthurm or Field Notes or Erin Condren or even The Mandala of Cosmic Time . I want Five Star spirals, and I want to use them up like tissues instead of writing in them artfully and occasionally.
In real life, I always have plenty on hand—mostly quad ruled in the big size, then smaller college-ruled versions. And I buy them at Target (where they are much the least expensive) all year round, along with a continuing supply of black Flair pens.
But when School Supply Season comes on, a mildly maniacal urge sets in, and I linger in the aisles, looking wistfully at things my childhood self would have piled in a basket at our unlikely neighborhood variety store, Cannon’s Village.
I was there in the between of those two pictures, and I still remember the excitement of our annual August shopping spree. While we weren’t poor, we weren’t rich—and my mom cut out coupons for promotions offering candy bars and movie tickets to shoppers who reached certain purchase thresholds.
Why am I dragging you down this particular stretch of memory lane?
Because I’ve recently rediscovered childhood—and I’m excited about it.
It all started when Henry Winkler (“the Fonz”) appeared on Morning Joe to talk about the latest volume in his Detective Duck series.
I fell instantly in love with the premise: an orphan duckling adopted by a beaver finds her niche at the pond by solving mysteries.
The three (so far) Detective Duck stories are “chapter books,” designed to take young readers a step beyond picture books. They combine plenty of illustrations with longer blocks of text—and for still-short attention spans, chapters make it easy to stop and pick up again later.
If you haven’t thought about kidlit recently (I hadn’t), here’s a generally accepted breakdown:
Looking over this list, I tried to recall what I was reading at each stage . . .
The first “real book” I remember was The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet, which I couldn’t have read before age 7, because it was published in 1954. (Yes, my chronological age is on the high side!)
But I remembered that particular reading experience so well, for so long, that when I learned its author was visiting my old elementary school, I went there to thank her.
I’m not sure whether Eleanor Cameron just wasn’t accustomed to middle-aged fan-girls randomly showing up at her events, or whether she was a bit shy, but she seemed more baffled than happy to see me. I’m glad I went, though, as it felt like a nice way of reconnecting my adult and childhood selves.
Mushroom Planet was a popular success, with several sequels. And as it turns out, Cameron was also an influential critic for The Hornbook Magazine (a long-running periodical devoted to children’s literature). In fact, she was a leading voice in the rumpus over Roald Dahl’s original characterization of the Oompa-Loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Dahl responded harshly to Cameron’s criticism. Soon after, though, a new edition of the popular book transformed the Oompa-Loompas from abused (black) Pygmy slaves from Africa to adored (white) dwarves from Loompaland.
I include this detail as a reminder that the world of children’s literature is complicated—filled with dark themes as well as happy ones, and subject to the shifting tides of adult culture. Worth noting: the shift between 1964 when Charlie was published, and 1973 when the Oompa-Loompas were liberated, reflected a gathering rejection of stereotypes that had been taken for granted over generations.
Several Dr. Seuss books ran into the same sort of criticism, but not until much later. And by 2021, when the problem books (five, written between 1937 and 1955) were discontinued by the author’s estate, the decision came under intense accusations of censorship and progressive over-reach.
I was too old to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when it came out—but if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have. As a child I didn’t want to read fantasy, or historical fiction, and that ruled out most kidlit classics, like Anne of Green Gables, the Little House series, Charlotte’s Web, Treasure Island, or The Saturdays.
Due to those childhood dislikes, I also didn’t read the Narnia books or Lord of the Rings until I was an adult. Of course I fell in love with them, and practically memorized LOTR (I have a very strong identification with Frodo!) over the course of many readings and listenings. So I won’t be revisiting Middle Earth for now—but I’ve just spent an Audible credit on the whole Narnia series, and look forward to re-acquaintance.
Which is one strand of my personal “Second Childhood” reading plan. About which more to come.
First, though, I’ll admit that I never saw the Gilmore Girls television series, and had no idea why Jules changed the name of her already-excellent newsletter from Literary Lifestyle to Friday Night Readers. But at some point I glimpsed the association between Gilmore Girls, books, and growing up—so I asked my trusty AI assistant for a quick education.
As often happens, the conversation turned out to be not at all quick, but deeply interesting, which I’ll explain. First, though, for anyone else clueless about the Gilmore mystique, here’s a quick fix, courtesy of Gemini 2.5 Pro:
The Central Role of Reading in Gilmore Girls
The show (which ran from 2000-2007, with a 2016 revival) centers on the close relationship between a single mother, Lorelai Gilmore, and her academically brilliant teenage daughter, Rory Gilmore. Their lives in the quirky, idyllic town of Stars Hollow, Connecticut, are steeped in pop culture, fast-talking dialogue, coffee, and—most importantly for your question—books.
1. Rory Gilmore: The Archetypal Bookworm
Rory is the heart of the show's literary soul. From the very first episode, she is defined by her love of reading.
Books as Companions: She is almost never without a book. She reads on the bus, while walking, at the dinner table (much to her grandmother's chagrin), and everywhere in between. The message is clear: for Rory, reading isn't just a hobby; it's an essential part of her existence, like breathing.
Aspiration and Identity: Her life goal is to become a foreign correspondent like her hero, Christiane Amanpour. Her academic drive, which leads her to the prestigious Chilton prep school and later to Yale University, is fueled by her literary and intellectual pursuits.
A Relatable Model: For many young viewers, Rory was a role model who made being smart and well-read cool. She wasn't just a one-dimensional "nerd"; she was a complex character whose intelligence and love for books were presented as her most attractive qualities.
2. "Friday Night Dinners" - The Newsletter's Name Sake
The most direct reference is to the "Friday Night Dinners." In the pilot episode, Lorelai is forced to ask for a loan from her wealthy, estranged parents, Emily and Richard Gilmore, to pay for Rory's Chilton tuition. They agree on one condition: Lorelai and Rory must attend dinner at their house every Friday night.
These dinners become a central, recurring event in the series. They are the source of most of the show's family conflict, witty banter, and dramatic tension. By naming the newsletter "Friday Night Readers," the creator is tapping into this iconic, core element of the show. It evokes a sense of weekly ritual, community (even a dysfunctional one!), and shared experience that every fan of the show immediately understands.
3. The "Rory Gilmore Reading Challenge"
The show's connection to literature is so profound that it has spawned a real-world phenomenon. Fans have compiled a list of every book that is either read, referenced, or shown on screen throughout the show's seven seasons—ranging from classics like Moby Dick and War and Peace to contemporary fiction, poetry, and non-fiction.
The Challenge: Read all the books on the list. It's a way to connect more deeply with the show and with Rory's character. It has its own hashtags, Goodreads groups, and blog posts dedicated to tracking progress.
Next stop for Gilmore lore? The new “Friday Night Readers” Substack . . .
And yes—there are notebooks. At Target.
So—how did my quick question about Gilmore Girls turn into something “deeply interesting?” I’m bursting to tell you!
But I’ve set a rule for myself not to go over 7 minutes reading time in a Misfit post, and we’re almost there. So you’ll have to open Wednesday’s email to find out what I learned about myself, and how I plan to explore further.
See you then. C