I picked this book up because Julie mentioned Joan Aiken in a post last month, and honsestly, she’s another author I’ve never even heard of. I missed a lot as a child. Surprisingly, our little library had several books by her (perhaps because she was writing in the 60s and 70s?). I checked out a couple. One — Midnight is a Place — I just couldn’t get into. At all. Fell flat after about 20 pages. So, I tried The Cuckoo Tree, and had more success. It wasn’t one of those couldn’t-put-it-down books, but it was enjoyable. Except she wrote in dialect, which is maddening for me as a reader. “Eye thankee for awl yee downe fur mee.” Eek. I know it lends atmosphere, but it’s terribly difficult to get through. At least, for me.

Anyway. I don’t know if I’m going to rush out and get any more of her novels — unless someone highly recommends another one — but I’m glad I at least know who Joan Aiken is now.