The Adventures of Pinnochio

I hate finding something treasured from my youth that doesn’t live up to the memories. Recently, I’ve been on the hunt for a certain copy of "Pinocchio". This would be the same edition that Dad read to us from when I was little.  I’m pretty sure I have the remains of that edition around here somewhere. At one point, I rescued what was left of the book when Mom and Dad were in the process of moving from their home. Coverless and missing a few pages, it was swept into a pile of junk and memories in their attic. And though technically it belonged to my brother, I grabbed it and put it... somewhere. But that was about thirty years and several moves ago. I haven’t been able to find it among all of our boxes. At least, not so far.

I remember the excitement of being read to, along with the warmth from the attention that goes with it. But I remember almost nothing of the story. I mean, as much as anyone, I’m familiar with parts of Pinocchio, but I couldn't begin to recite the entire tale. And even at that, I couldn’t tell you what was from this book, what was from the Disney version, or what I simply made up. Like a lot of things, only selective parts make it through the haze of the years. But what I do remember from the book were the illustrations. I remember how they drew me in and both fascinated, and at times, frightened me. I remember the bright colors and the expressive characters. 

So, I've been on the hunt. Trying to find this book on the Internet proved nearly impossible. I had no idea how old it was, even back then. I had no idea if it was under a different name. I had no idea who did the illustrations. Type in “Pinocchio” and see what you get. You get results that are about 80% the Disney version and the remaining results are a hodgepodge of other versions. Many seem quite fine but none were the version I was looking for. None, at least, within the first thirty pages or so of results. 

Finally, after playing around with the name, “Pinocchio”, along with various combinations of dates and words such as “illustrated”, I came across a used book seller. As luck would have it, they had sold their only copy a couple of months earlier. But it gave me couple of pictures and a name, “Maraja”. Searching for “Maraja” by itself didn’t get me too far, but by adding “illustrator” to it,  it was a whole different story. Adding “Pinocchio” to that, and it opened up everything.

With this information, I eventually managed to find a seller that had an affordable used copy (“loved”, I think was their term). The cover looked as I remembered it, so at the risk of shattering a cherished memory, I took a chance and ordered it. It arrived the other day.

The copy that showed up is in slightly better shape that the one I rescued. The cover, while mostly intact, won’t be there for long, not with any great use anyway. But otherwise, it’s in pretty good shape for a book its age. The pages are all there and the colors are as bright as I remember them.

And thankfully, this is one of those rare instances where the reality matches my memory.