I’ve often said that the books we read as children determines who we are as adults. One of the books that I read as a child was ‘The Secret Garden’ by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I’ve been revisiting all those old books just to see what it was that drew me to them as a child.
I couldn’t remember the story when I picked up the Secret Garden but that is to be expected because I read the book almost 15 years ago. All that I remembered was that I loved it. Now after reading the whole book once more, I can say that I certainly had good taste as a child. The Secret Garden is every bit as remarkable as my childhood brain made it out to be.
The story revolves about a little girl who is far away from her country. Her life in India is one of the elite. Her parents are the privileged ones in a society that was strange to the western world. Unfortunately for this little child girl named Mary, her parents did not spend much time being parents. As death took them away from her, the child found herself with no great loss.
Mary soon finds herself in Yorkshire. A place faraway from the land she called home. A place that had multitude of lives so different from her own. Her home was now a place with a crabby old uncle who was bent out of shape. The emotional loss linked with death weighed heavily on his shoulders and make him hunch more than his deformed shoulders needed too.
Left to her own devices Mary finds solace in a garden hidden away from everyone. With the help of a few friends and her newfound cousin, Mary brings the garden to life. In a way the garden gives her life.
The book has a good number of twists and turns that make it interesting. You will find that the writer has captured the idiosyncrasies of human nature very well in his character Colin. There is much to love in this book. Mary and Colin would call it magic. In a way, so would I!