Over the years, I’ve read several novels by Herman Wouk, but this one holds a special place in my heart.
Back when I was a teen, it was a favorite of both my mother’s and mine, countless times we used to borrow this 1983 edition from our local library. Mostly in summer, as it seems in hindsight. Endless and hot summers, at least that’s how I remember them, and sometimes we discussed Marjorie Morningstar well into the night. Without ever reaching common ground, we were like fire and water.
When I was eighteen, my mother died. Not long afterwards, I managed to get hold of this – our – copy at the local library’s sale.
I haven’t read it ever since. But it still is one of my most precious treasures.