Little Children, by Tom Perrotta
I found Little Children in the library. It was an old version that looked like it had been washed up on a shore somewhere before being thrown in a sand pit and then dropped from a great height so that half the pages fell out. In other words it was soiled, knackered and had all the hall-mark stains of a good book. By looking at it for just a few seconds I could tell that this was a book that had been loved and lost a thousand times. It wasn’t exactly something that I would usually pick up but I took it anyway, and read it in two days.
Getting straight to it, Little Children is about what love is supposed to be and what love actually is. It is the hidden messages behind smiles and the warmth that we all seek to find by doing things that are, sometimes, just a little bit stupid.
In summary it’s like this: Todd is the stay-at-home husband of Kathy, a woman who sounds like a bitch but actually isn’t; she just wants what is best for their family, which includes her husband and their son.
Sarah and her daughter Lucy are part of the playground scene; every day they go to the playground and Sarah wishes she wasn’t there (herself, not Lucy; Lucy has a great time, when Sarah doesn’t forget Lucy’s food and get in trouble with the other mums by dishing out care advice). She doesn’t fit in with the crowd and she doesn’t know where she is going or quite what she wants to do.
Then Todd and Sarah meet, this, along with the story of a child abuser who moves in to the neighbourhood, creates a dazzling and heart-breaking read that is every bit as funny as it is poignant and serious. Everyone should read Little Children, just because It’s Good.
Comments are closed!