Thoughts on Where the Red Fern Grows

This was one of those books - the stories I couldn't set down and instead finished in the wee hours of the morning.  I remember tucking the flashlight back into its spot under my mattress and holding the volume to my chest, sobbing into the darkness.  You would think it likely that a young girl living in suburbs of Portland might have a difficult time relating to a country boy and his coon-hunting dogs, but the drama of the tale and the powerful writing captivated my imagination.

I cried buckets of tears over Rawls' masterpiece and reread the final chapters over and over willing the story to end differently.  I had read other books dealing with death before this, of course, but my animal-loving soul was struck by the finality of it all, especially in the face of the heroic courage of Old Dan and Little Ann.  The themes in Where the Red Fern Grows are complex: the success of having worked hard for something good , the cruelty of the boys, the intensity of the hunt, and the heart-stopping moment with the axe are all woven together with explorations of human loneliness and the joy of animal companionship.


I revisited this book when I taught fifth grade, 

and I read it aloud to my class after lunch.  This proved to be an ill-thought out choice when I found myself struggling to get through the final pages, my voice breaking even as I read the inevitable ending.  I doubt there was a dry eye in the room, and the story stayed with us throughout the day as the children talked about death and loved ones  and how that made them feel.  I remember that the students' desire to talk made me uncomfortable.  I didn't know what to say or how to listen and, for a moment, I regretted choosing that book for our read-aloud.  You see, I had passed fully into grownup land and felt the impulse to explain away the injustice of the story or at least to offer some sort of comforting platitudes.  Looking back, I rather wish middle-grade me could have been in the class that day.  What I really wish I could have done was to pass around the tissue box, sit down, and sob over the unfairness and ugliness of death and revel in the preciousness of life.  This is one of the books crafted to make you feel things deeper than you can articulate or even fully understand, which might be one of the reasons why it is the perfect middle-grade read.  
I originally wrote this post for Claire Legrand's series of Middle-Grade memories, where authors talk about their first impressions of favorite books - not how they would perceive the book now, but how they did back then.  I'm reposting bits of it here because writing the post reminded me how much I absolutely love WHERE THE RED FERN GROWS, and I'd love to hear Mayhemers' thoughts on this classic novel.  Have you read it?  How old were you?

Also, I'm wondering what your middle-grade memories are.  What book so impacted you that it left you crying? Or you found you saw the world or your parents or your siblings in a whole new way once you turned that final page?