Dream come true

One of the favourite books of my childhood was Marianne Dreams, by Catherine Storr.

The story is about Marianne, a young girl who is recovering from an illness and begins drawing with a special pencil. The things she draws she then dreams about, both good and bad. It has a strangely haunting quality and I read it many times – so many times, in fact that my copy fell to pieces. From time to time I would think of it and wish I still had a copy.

Years later, in the year 2000, I was in the bookshop with my daughter, who was then age ten. Suddenly, I came across it – Marianne Dreams! They had republished it.

“Emily, look!” I said excitedly. “Marianne Dreams! I’ve been wanting this for ages. It’s fantastic. You’ll love it. It’s the kind of book that stays with you forever. One of my absolute favourites. I’m going to buy it for you now and I know you’ll have read it by the end of the day.”

Suddenly, I noticed a familiar figure standing nearby, clearly having overheard every word. It was Emma, a doctor whom I knew from some work I had done at the University of Leeds.

“Oh, hello, Emma. I’m just telling Emily about this wonderful book. Did you ever read it?”

“My mother wrote it,” she said.

Oh yes - - of course. Emma Storr.

So I asked Emma to tell her mother, who was very elderly, how much the book meant to me, and she did.

Things like this happen very seldom, I find, but isn’t it good when they do?