Winnie The Pooh by AA Milne. 1926. Bump, bump, bump on the back of his head. Winnie Ther Pooh. Haycornes and Heffalumps.
How many times have I read these charming stories to my own kids, skipping whole pages so bedtime doesn’t stretch on until 10pm?
The tone is gentle, paternal (without being didactic). And there’s a lesson to writers here: if you write about your own kids, change the names. Apparently Christopher Robin (the real boy) was quite harassed by classmates for having a popular book out about his playtime imaginings. Moral #2: modern authors might not want to mimic the Pooh style too closely. Timeless sensibilities to appreciate: repetition, delightful characters (very Toot & Puddle—rather they are very Pooh), nostalgic prose. But please add a little of today’s characteristics like brevity for a more parent-friendly read.
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