Other editions of book The Book of Small

The legendary Emily Carr was primarily a painter, but she first gained recognition as an author. She wrote seven popular, critically acclaimed books about her journeys to remote Native communities and about her life as an artist—as well as her life as a small child in Victoria at the turn of the last century.The Book of Small is a collection of 36 short stories about a childhood in a town that still had vestiges of its pioneer past. With an uncanny skill at bringing people to life, Emily Carr tells stories about her family, neighbours, friends and strangers—who run the gamut from genteel people in high society to disreputable frequenters of saloons—as well as an array of beloved pets. All are observed through the sharp eyes and ears of a young, ever-curious and irrepressible girl, and Carr’s writing is a disarming combination of charm and devastating frankness.Carr’s writing is vital and direct, aware and poignant, and as well regarded today as when she was first published to both critical and popular acclaim. The Book of Small has been in print ever since its publication in 1942, and, like Klee Wyck, has been read and loved by a couple of generations.

The legendary Emily Carr was primarily a painter, but she first gained recognition as an author. She wrote seven popular, critically acclaimed books about her journeys to remote Native communities and about her life as an artist—as well as her life as a small child in Victoria at the turn of the last century.The Book of Small is a collection of 36 short stories about a childhood in a town that still had vestiges of its pioneer past. With an uncanny skill at bringing people to life, Emily Carr tells stories about her family, neighbours, friends and strangers—who run the gamut from genteel people in high society to disreputable frequenters of saloons—as well as an array of beloved pets. All are observed through the sharp eyes and ears of a young, ever-curious and irrepressible girl, and Carr’s writing is a disarming combination of charm and devastating frankness.Carr’s writing is vital and direct, aware and poignant, and as well regarded today as when she was first published to both critical and popular acclaim. The Book of Small has been in print ever since its publication in 1942, and, like Klee Wyck, has been read and loved by a couple of generations.

The Book of Small is a collection of thirty-six short stories about a childhood in a town that still had vestiges of its pioneer past. Emily Carr tells stories about her family, neighbours, friends and strangers - who run the gamut from genteel people in high society to disreputable frequenters of saloons - as well as an array of beloved pets. All are observed through the sharp eyes and ears of a young and ever-curious girl. Carr's writing is a disarming combination of charm and devastating frankness.

Thank you for checking out this book by Theophania Publishing. We appreciate your business and look forward to serving you soon. We have thousands of titles available, and we invite you to search for us by name, contact us via our website, or download our most recent catalogues. All our Sundays were exactly alike. They began on Saturday night after Bong the Chinaboy had washed up and gone away, after our toys, dolls and books, all but “The Peep of Day” and Bunyan's “Pilgrim's Progress”, had been stored away in drawers and boxes till Monday, and every Bible and prayer-book in the house was puffing itself out, looking more important every minute. Then the clothes-horse came galloping into the kitchen and straddled round the stove inviting our clean clothes to mount and be aired. The enormous wooden tub that looked half coffin and half baby-bath was set in the middle of the kitchen floor with a rag mat for dripping on laid close beside it. The great iron soup pot, the copper wash-boiler and several kettles covered the top of the stove, and big sister Dede filled them by working the kitchen pump-handle furiously. It was a sad old pump and always groaned several times before it poured. Dede got the brown Windsor soap, heated the towels and put on a thick white apron with a bib. Mother unbuttoned us and by that time the pots and kettles were steaming. Dede scrubbed hard. If you wriggled, the flat of the long-handled tin dipper came down spankety on your skin. As soon as each child was bathed Dede took it pick-a-back and rushed it upstairs through the cold house. We were allowed to say our prayers kneeling in bed on Saturday night, steamy, brown-windsory prayers--then we cuddled down and tumbled very comfortably into Sunday.