My Own, My Native Land

A weak collection of short stories by the otherwise power-house Thyra Samter Winslow, who recently bowled me over with Picture Frames. The most substantial part of this 1935 book is the thickness of the pages, straining muscles to turn them. The collection starts out deceptively strong, with Little Pitchers, a girl who reads too much (busted!): “Her father thought she read too much. He said that too much book learning was bad for girls – gave them ideas. Besides, it might ruin her eyes, and she’d have to wear glasses – and girls with glasses had few matrimonial opportunities – and you’d pretty nearly be better off dead than an old maid.” Otherwise, the other stories become boring with their continual reliance on the old “I visited my hometown and this is what I noticed” tone.