The White Marble

Two children in a sensual, summer dusk
I (Crescent, Charlotte's daughter, speaking here) have looked forward to doing a link to this book of Charlotte's. It is one of my personal favorites, though less well-known than some of her titles. The story's simplicity --- a secret, nearly non-verbal connection between a little boy and girl who meet by chance in a park at twilight one summer night, the adults present and watchful, yet oblivious in their own adult world, a few small incidents which transpire --- belie the impact, power, beauty, and mystery of this story. It is so sensually written --- as rich and lushly sweet as the smell of honeysuckle. And it captures the private, close-up, present-time intimacy of a child, in this case, two children's, small but hidden world, dense with experience.
The White Marble was published in 1963, with soulful illustrations by Lillian Obligado in greenish-blue turquoise and grey which perfectly capture the dusky mysterious quality of the text.
I'll put more up on this page soon, but was inspired to at least begin by this recent email from teacher Rebecca B, of Mendota Heights, MN whose daughter Sophie loves it.
Dear Ms. Zolotow, My two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Sophie asked tonight for me to read her The White Marble. She sat entranced for ten minutes while I read it, only occasionally interrupting with questions about the lightning in the sky or the fountain in the park. She smiled to herself when John Henry gave Pamela the white marble, as she does at every reading of your book. Even though she is so young, she seems to comprehend the meaning behind that gift and the moments that lead up to it. After we finished, she quickly drifted off to sleep, and I imagined her dreaming of an adventurous night in the park. I wish I could say that I shared this book with my daughter because I enjoyed it so much when I was a child. In fact, I don’t remember ever reading it until I found a library-bound copy stamped “Kirkwood School” in a thrift shop in Des Moines, IA, last fall. Once I opened it, I was drawn to your beautiful use of language in the descriptions — particularly the lines: The heat sat like a feathered bird over the city as the sun went down. It folded its wings and the pink and orange plumage of the sunset was covered by the fleecy grey and purple sky. and, Even when at last they flung themselves down panting on the soft grass, with the heavy purple sky folding into the night above them, and the unceasing grown-up murmur of laughter and voices around them, they were alone. I remember getting up from the floor of the thrift shop, tucking your book into the growing pile of books under my arm, and bringing it home to Minneapolis, all the while thinking that it was beautiful to me but far too subtle for a toddler. Soon after, she found it on the shelf and fell in love with it the first time it was read to her. Thank you so much for writing The White Marble and for the wonderful moments I’ve spent reading it to my daughter. I’m glad to see that it’s one of many you have written, and I look forward to watching my daughter fall in love with your others. Sincerely, Rebecca B