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Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These)* Write a comment.
blog by SHUTTA CRUM listed in categories: Book Planet, Writer's Life

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

I awoke this morning with that famous opening line from Daphne Du Maurier’s REBECCA in my drowsy head. I’m not sure why. I haven’t reread it for some time, nor have I seen the movie lately. Perhaps it is because I am working hard on a draft of a new children’s book that is written in ballad verse form. (Quatrains of lines written in iambic tetrameter followed by a line of iambic trimeter.) After some thought, I realized that this line from REBECCA is perfect iambic hexameter. Maybe it is the musicality of the line that helps to bring it so easily to mind?

Perhaps it is simply because REBECCA is one of those books I reread periodically. We all have our favorites that can be grabbed from the shelf for another read if we don’t have something new we want to dip into—especially when traveling. For me, it is especially when flying. I need a world I can cling to. I need familiar ground. It keeps me from thinking about falling out of the sky. These books serve the same function when I am troubled here on terra firma. In times of stress, I return to certain titles to calm my mind and help me drift off to sleep at night . . . perchance to dream.

Each of these books has a very strong sense of place and mood. When I’m within their pages, I never doubt the solidity of the world I’m in—even if the character is dreaming. And isn’t the rootedness of place one of the earliest senses? As babes we do not want to careen into the unknown . . . we want the security of being held. These books never fail to hold me.

What draws you back again, and again, to certain books? Here is a dreamy sampling from some of my favorites:

Paul swallowed, suddenly aware of the moisture in his mouth, remembering a dream of thirst. Frank Herbert: DUNE.

...it must be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her. Jane Austen: NORTHANGER ABBEY.

There he wandered long in a dream of music that turned into running water. J.R.R. Tolkein: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING.

Sleazy stadiums. Sleazy fans. Sleazy water buckets. Curveballs, and bus fumes, and dreams . . . Jerry Spinelli: MANIAC MAGEE.

And when their voices/faded away/it was as quiet as a dream./We walked on toward the woods . . . Jane Yolen: OWL MOON.

And now . . . to drop, once again, into sweet dreams . . .

Sh-h-h-h-h,
Shutta

*Annie Lennox, Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These)

Posted in March, 2008