My grandmother never went to school past fifth grade. Born during difficult times in early 1920’s Italy, at age ten, like many other kids of her generation, she had to leave school and go to work to help the family. This lack of formal education didn’t certainly mean she was (or is, grandma is still alive and almost 92 years old as of this writing) ignorant and uneducated. A voracious reader since childhood, by the time she reached her retirement she had accumulated a library of hundreds and hundreds of volumes, with many more having been lost at certain points of her not always easy life.
It was some 30 years ago that I, aged nine or so, discovered, in between the many other books she regularly received (grandma was a decades long member of the Book Club), a copy of Stephen King’s Cujo. I still can see the ominous…
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