Eggsaucted�s response to a question I asked last week at her request (what is your favorite book and why) has led me to contemplate my own response to that question. I didn�t think I would be able to answer it myself with a single book, but I found that I can, although the reasons are far more emotional than literary.

As a child, already an obsessive reader, I went through a long period of fascination with books about orphans and boarding schools (The two often go hand in hand. Think Harry Potter). Rumer Godden�s Miss Happiness and Miss Flower and The Diddakoi. Frances Hodgson Burnett�s The Little Princess and The Secret Garden. Charlotte Sometimes. What Katie Did at School. And many others that I no longer recall because they do not retain a place on my bookshelves.

The book that brought me out of the genre was Jane Eyre. I was drawn to it because of the orphanage at the beginning, but its story of young Jane finding her way in the world drew me into the more grown-up genre of romance and led me to prefer books about strong women surviving difficult circumstances by their own intelligence and wisdom. The book, first encountered at age 10 or so, marked the beginning of my maturation. It was much loved for many years. I now own at least three different copies of it, all but one special one totally battered. And yet I find myself unable to let go of the old shredded paperbacks that I used to carry around with me.

When I first started packing for college, I limited myself to one box of books to bring from home. Into the crate I threw a battered Random House New American Dictionary, which was given to me by my grandfather when I was 6. I used to read it like a novel. I also included a copy of Roget�s Thesaurus. My first copy of this book was a yellow and blue paperback purchased in first grade for a gifted class I�d been ignominiously tossed into when an attempt to jump me up a grade didn�t pan out (thus allowing me to throw around words like �ignominiously� in my diary at will). Strunk and White. Norton�s anthologies of English and World Literature. Bulfinch�s Myths. A few other things I thought would be useful. At the last minute I also tossed in an old paperback of Jane Eyre -- something to make me feel at home, a refuge from a new place.

My first day at college was bewildering. Upon arrival at my dorm, I was greeted by two sophomore �heads of freshmen� who would become my closest friends, although I didn�t know that then. One was also a roommate, the other my mentor. As I walked up the stairs for the first time, lugging a bag, my parents still outside in the car, I tripped and fell. Classic harriet. Years later J, the one who became my roommate, would recall feeling almost physical pain for that embarrassment, wanting to erase that moment for me. Ignominious (adj.): ig-no-MIN-ee-us. Lacking grace.

My roommate had not yet arrived from Bombay. I selected a bed and a desk and began arranging my books on the new bookshelf. My parents assisted with the moving of boxes, the unpacking and hanging up of clothes, the making of the bed. The books I took care of myself. In our last hours as a family, we wandered into the town, gaping at the place that in a few short weeks would feel more like home to me than just about anywhere I had ever lived. We had a picnic on the lawn with other new students and parents. We said our goodbyes. I walked up to my room alone, met my roommate, and continued arranging and rearranging in an attempt to stave off sadness from seeing my two favorite people in the world drive away, knowing I would not see them again for months.

That night, as I crawled into the stiff new sheets on the unfamiliar bed, I felt something hard and uncomfortable under my pillow. I reached underneath and pulled out a book. A used book, a slipcovered hardback with the title etched in gold on the spine: Jane Eyre. I pulled the book out of the slipcover, opened it and found a note inside. �Dear Harriet, I thought you might like an old friend to keep you company on your first days. We love you very much. Mom and Dad.�

I stayed up all night reading by flashlight. The first pages of the book are still tear-stained.

0 people said it like they meant it