I will soon be re-reading Louisa May Alcott's Rose in Bloom. I had planned to read it earlier in the week, but my paperback copy is in worse condition than I remembered, so I've ordered a hardcover copy through abebooks.com.
I could just read it for free online, but Louisa May Alcott is one author whose books I'd rather read in book form. When it comes to Louisa May Alcott, I'm An Old-Fashioned Girl.
However, I strongly disagree with something she has Rose's Uncle Alec say about a French novel which he considered unsuitable for her to read.
(Thank God for copy and paste!)
"Ah, my dear, if the fine phrases won't bear putting into honest
English, the thoughts they express won't bear putting into your innocent
mind! That chapter is the key to the whole book, and if you had been
led up, or rather down, to it artfully and artistically, you might have
read it to yourself without seeing how bad it is. All the worse for the
undeniable talent which hides the evil so subtly and makes the danger so
delightful."
He paused a moment, then added with an anxious glance at the book, over
which she was still bending, "Finish it if you choose–only remember, my
girl, that one may read at forty what is unsafe at twenty, and that we
never can be too careful what food we give that precious yet perilous
thing called imagination."
I disagree. I think that what is poisonous at twenty is poisonous at forty, at sixty, at eighty.