I'm remembering how I read a bit of Joseph Joffo's "A Bag of Marbles" out loud each night to my little brother. It's a novel about two young Jewish brothers who take to the road in France to escape the Nazis.

We couldn't take too much of it at a time, because it was so scary. But it was okay, because we were together, which held the nightmares at bay.

It made such an impression on me that it was one of the very first novels I read in French after I learned French. I wanted to experience the original version.

Turns out it wasn't nearly as scary as I remembered, but that's childhood for you.