No book has ever frightened or thrilled me in quite the same way as the volume of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales I read as a child. I still have the physical copy, its frontispiece decorated with characters from the stories. The brightly colored images, by the great Polish illustrator Arthur Szyk, suggest Persian or Indian miniatures filtered through some deep Eastern European anxiety. My fifth-grade signature, with its carefully dotted i and a dramatic John Hancock swirl beneath the shaky script, edges the upper right-hand corner of the endpaper . . . .
Posted on: Wed, 22 Oct 2014 07:41:56 +0000
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