Seventeenth Summer

By Maureen Daly

Until the summer before college, Angie Morrow didn't really date. Her mother didin't like her to go out much. But no one -- not even Angie's mother -- can resist the charm of strikingly handsome Jack Duluth. His good looks grab Angies's attention from the moment in June when Jack throws Angie a smile at McKight's drugstore. And on their first date sailing under the stars -- when Jack leans in and whispers to Angie, "You look nice with the wind in your hair," the strange new feeling s begin. Tingles, prickles, warmth: the tell-tale signs of romance. It's the beginning of an unforgettable summer for Angie, full of wonder, warmth, tears, challenge, and love.

Maureen Daly had created a love story so honest that it has withstood the test of time, winning new fans for more than six decades. Today, this classic is enjoyed by many who think of it as the quintessential love story, and as a glimpse of love in the 1940's; a refreshing alternative to modern love stories, reflecting the beauty and innocence of new love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
• Release date: Oct 27, 2009
• ISBN: 9781416999263

Maureen Daly

Maureen Daly (1921­–2006), still in college when she wrote Seventeenth Summer, captured quintessential adolescent experiences with extraordinary freshness and sensitivity. Seventeenth Summer was chosen unanimously as the first winner of the Intercollegiate Studies Institute Literacy Fellowship. She has also been honored with the O. Henry Award, the Freedoms Foundation Award, and the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award for her literary work.

Book preview

JUNE

I don’t know just why I’m telling you all this. Maybe you’ll think I’m being silly. But I’m not, really, because this is important. You see, it was different! It wasn’t just because it was Jack and I either—it was something much more than that. It wasn’t as it’s written in magazine stories or as in morning radio serials where the boy’s family always tease him about liking a girl and he gets embarrassed and stutters. And it wasn’t silly, like sometimes, when girls sit in school and write a fellow’s name all over the margin of their papers. I never even wrote Jack’s name at all till I sent him a postcard that weekend I went up to Minaqua. And it wasn’t puppy love or infatuation or love at first sight or anything that people always talk about and laugh. Maybe you don’t know just what I mean. I can’t really explain it—it’s so hard to put in words but—well, it was just something I’d never felt before. Something I’d never even known. People can’t tell you about things like that, you have to find them out for yourself. That’s why it is so important. It was something I’ll always remember because I just couldn’t forget—it’s a thing like that.

It happened this way. At the very beginning of the summer I met Jack—right after graduation. He had gone to the public high school and I went to the Academy just outside of town which is for girls only. I had heard of him often because he played guard on the high school basketball team and he sometimes dated Jane Rady who sat next to me in history class. That night (the night when things first began) I drove down to the post office with my father to mail a letter and because it was rather late Dad pulled up in front of McKnight’s drugstore and said, I’ll just stop here and keep the motor running while you run in and get a stamp. McKnight’s is where all the fellows and girls in Fond du Lac get together and I really would rather not have gone in alone—especially on a Friday night when most girls have dates—but I didn’t want to tell my father that.

I remember just how it was. I was standing by the drug counter waiting for the clerk. The sides of the booths in McKnight’s are rather high and in one, near the back, I could just see the top of someone’s head with a short crew cut sticking up. He must have been having a Coke, for he tore the wrapping off the end of his straws and blew in them so that the paper covering shot over the side of the booth. Then he stood up to see where it had landed. It was Jack. He looked over at me, smiled, and then sat down again.

Of course I didn’t know him yet, he just smiled to be friendly, but I waited for a few minutes looking at magazines in the rack near the front door, hoping he might stand up again or walk up to the soda fountain or something, but he didn’t. So I just left. You certainly took long enough, my father said gruffly, I might have been arrested for parking double like this.

The next night my sister Lorraine came in from Chicago on the 2:40 a.m. train. She has been going to college for two years and wears her hair long, almost to her shoulders, and puts her lipstick on with a brush. We drove to meet her, Dad and I. It was raining a little then and the lights from the station shone on the wet bricks. The two-wheeled baggage carts were standing in a line, their long handles tipped up into the air. We waited while the train came out of the darkness, feeling its way with the long, yellow headlight beam. When it stopped, a man jumped out and ran into the station with a package under his arm. A conductor swung onto the platform and stood waving a lantern while the train waited, the engine panting out steam from between its wheels. Dad and I walked along, peering up at the windows. A boy at one of them woke up and waved to me sleepily.

Then we saw Lorraine half stumble down the steps with two suitcases and a black wool ram under her arm. I fell asleep and almost forgot to get off, she said. Her hair was mussed up and her cheek was all crisscrossed red where she had been leaning on the rough upholstery. One of the girls had this goat in her room and didn’t want to pack it so I brought it home for Kitty. (Kitty is my sister who is ten but still likes toys.) You’ve got to hold it up straight or the rubber horns fall out. Lorraine laughed. I’m glad I’m home—this should be a good summer, don’t you think, Angie? Dad kissed her gingerly—because of so much lipstick—and I took one bag to the car and he took the other and we went home.

That was Saturday. Monday was the day summer vacation really began.

It was just after nine o’clock and I was in the garden picking small round radishes and pulling the new green onions for dinner at noon. I remember it was a warm day with a blue and white sky. The garden was still wet with last night’s rain and the black earth was steaming in the sun, while between my toes the ground was soft and squishy—I had taken off my shoes and left them on the garden path so they wouldn’t get caked with mud—and I remember thinking how much fun it would be to go barefoot all the time. The little tomato plants were laid flat against the ground from last night’s downfall and there were puddles like blue glass in the hollows. A breeze, soft with a damp, fishy smell, blew in from Lake Winnebago about three blocks away. I was so busy thinking about the weather, the warm sun, and the sleek little onions that I didn’t even hear Jack come up the back sidewalk.

Any baked goods today? he called.

I don’t know, I answered, turning. You’d better ring the back doorbell and ask my mother. I sidled over a little and stood in the thick quack grass beside the garden path. I don’t like to have people see me in my bare feet.

Why don’t you ask her for me? he called. You know her better than I do. I stood still for a moment hoping he wouldn’t notice my feet. Come on, hurry, he said. I don’t care if you haven’t any shoes on.

Now, it wasn’t that I was shy or anything, but it’s awkward when a boy has on a clean shirt and his hair combed and your hands are all muddy and you’re in your bare feet. I tried to wipe off the mud on the quack grass before I went down the garden path.

What were you doing, he asked, picking radishes? (I still had the bunch of radishes in my hand.) That’s kind of silly, isn’t it? he added laughing. It’s just my salesman’s personality coming out—anything to start a conversation. Twice already this morning I caught myself saying to customers, ‘What’s it going to do—rain?’ I’ve got to be careful not to get into a rut. He laughed again and I laughed too. It was such a warm, bright morning.

We talked together for a while and I told him I didn’t know he worked for a bakery, and he said he hadn’t until school let out and that he was going to drive one of the trucks for his father during the summer, and when I remarked that I didn’t even know his father owned a bakery, he said, You don’t know much about me at all, do you?

I know your name, I answered.

What? he asked

Jack Duluth. I remember reading it in the paper when you made that long shot from the center of the floor in the basketball game with Oshkosh this winter.

Good for you—just another one of my fans. He laughed. What’s your name—as if I didn’t find out after I saw you in McKnight’s the other night. Angie Morrow, short for Angeline, isn’t it?

I was glad he had asked about me, but for some reason it was embarrassing and I tried to change the subject. I remember when you used to go with Jane Rady, I ventured. She used to sit next to me in history class. She talked about you a lot. She told me about the time you drove to the city dump—

Forget it, Jack said sharply. Forget all about it, see. All that is down the drain by now. For a moment I thought he was angry. Go ask your mother if she needs any bread or doughnuts or anything, will you?

He sat down on the cement doorstep and I opened the door to go inside. All of a sudden he turned and said slowly, with a thought in his voice, Say, Angie, you don’t go steady or anything, do you?

My heart jumped a little. No, I don’t, I answered and then added quickly, My mother doesn’t like me to go out much. It wouldn’t do to say that I wasn’t often asked, either. I waited a moment. Do you, Jack?

He laughed. Of course not. None of the fellows I go around with do. Silly to tie yourself down to one girl. But, say, seeing you don’t—how about going sailboating with me tonight? Me and Swede Vincent have got a little boat we bought last fall. Do you know Swede? He’s a good guy. He’ll come with us and sail it and you and I can just—ah—well, just sit. How about it?

I didn’t know, I told him. I would have to ask my mother first.

Go ask her now, he urged, when you ask her if she needs any bread. I’ll wait.

Oh, I can’t do that! I could hear my mother upstairs running the vacuum cleaner noisily over the rugs and I remembered I hadn’t tidied up my bedroom yet. Now’s not such a good time to ask but I’ll tell you by one o’clock, I promised, trying not to be too eager. I’ll try to fix it and if you’ll call me then I can let you know.

I’ll call you at one then and let’s skip the bakery goods for today. Please try to go, he added. No girl has ever been out in our boat before so you’ll be the first one. Something kind of special.

That was the first time I ever really talked to Jack. When I went back into the garden to get my shoes I noticed how the little tomato plants seemed to be straightening in the sun. And there were small paper-thin blossoms on the new pea plants.

---

My mother always lies down in the afternoon—at least, she has for the past three years, anyway. Right after lunch she went upstairs as always, turned down the chenille bedspread and drew the shades. Out on the side lawn in the shade of the house Kitty was sewing doll clothes and talking to herself in a quiet, little-girl singsong. From Callahan’s, across the back garden, I could hear the drone of the baseball game on the radio. All the little children were in taking their naps and already our street had settled into the quiet of afternoon. I’d have to ask my mother soon for I knew that in a few moments she would be asleep.

Outside her bedroom door I paused. Maybe I’d better count up to seventeen first, I thought. Seventeen and then I’ll ask her. So I counted slowly, deliberately, being careful not to skip. When I was younger I used to count up to fifteen while trying to decide things, then it was sixteen, and now it was seventeen—one count for each year. But when I got to seventeen I still hadn’t figured out in my mind how I should say it. Better count up to eighteen, I decided. Eighteen because that’s how old Jack is. After that I’ll go in for sure.

My mother was almost asleep when I pushed open the door gently, lying on top of the blankets with my old blue flannel bathrobe thrown over her. Sunlight filtered through the drawn shades in a brownish-yellow glow and the crocheted circle used to pull them down twirled in the breeze. I swallowed hard and it made a noise in the quietness of the room.

Mom, I ventured, a boy asked me for a date tonight. She opened her eyes. It will be all right and I’ll be home early, I assured her hastily. He’ll come over first and you can meet him and make sure it’s all right. They’re nice people—he plays basketball and his father owns the DeLuxe bakery. I rushed the words after each other without stopping, before she could say no.

Rolling over toward the wall and nuzzling her head into the pillow she asked sleepily, What’s his name? I don’t think I ever heard you mention him, did I?

Jack Duluth, I answered and waited. The room was quiet except for the sound of the window shade flapping in the breeze.

Duluth as in Minnesota? Lorraine called out. She was in her own room down the hall taking the curlers out of her hair. She keeps them in all the time except when she’s going out. Lorraine wears her hair very long with just a little fluffy curl on the end like they all do in college. But already my mother was breathing lightly as if she were asleep.

Mom, I said quietly, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice—my mother doesn’t like it if we tease, can I go or can’t I? It will be all right—really it will.

See what your sister thinks, she answered. I suppose it’s all right if you’re home early. And see if you can fix that window shade so it doesn’t flap so—put a book on the cord or something.

It had been as easy as that and my heart was beating fast as I closed the door softly behind me while downstairs the telephone rang. It was Jack.

We walked out to the lake, he and I. It was about half-past seven in the evening and the summer sky was still brushed red with the sun. Looks like ostrich feathers on fire, Jack had said. We had cut through our back garden and through two empty lots and then crossed the highway between our house and the lake. Jack had held the barbed wire of the fence apart for me to crawl through and we went into the field behind the boathouses. This is my own special shortcut, I remembered him saying. I like it better this way than walking through the park.

Along the path by the fence was a row of wild plum trees with hard green knobs of fruit hidden in the leaves. Little sparrows twittered excitedly and fluttered among the branches as we passed. Not many people came by this way. Just past the last fence was a row of whispering willow trees lined along the ditch by the railroad track. Water from the spring rains still gurgled and ran in ribbons between the swamp grass. You’ll have to jump, said Jack. It’s marshy here. Step first on that flat stone and then over onto the sewer top. There was a round cement sewer with a heavy, knobbed iron lid padlocked shut and almost hidden in the weeds. Let me go first, he said, then I’ll catch your hand and help you across. The ground was marshy beneath my feet and I almost lost my balance on the smooth stone. Jack caught me and I remember his hand was tight and warm.

We hit a flat grassy spot a little farther on—just on this side of the tracks. This is Hobo’s Hollow, Jack told me. Lots of times I come through here and see the fellows who have jumped the trains lying here sleeping. Sometimes there are four or five of them and they make a fire and cook things. I saw a man dead drunk here one day lying right in the sun with flies on him and a bottle in his hand and the next day he was gone. They never talk to me when I go by at all. Just sit and look.

I shivered a little. It was weird there with the air half gray-green from the thick trees and lush weeds and the coming night. There were bits of charred wood and old rusted cans sticking up in the grass. The wind sighed a little as it wove its way through the long line of willows. Jack pulled my hand suddenly and we scrambled up the cinder embankment of the railroad track. Directly beyond was a broad gravel drive and then the gray and white boathouses.

It was early in the season and many of the houses were still padlocked shut from the winter. Between them the little waves slop-slopped against the heavy wooden piles. Swede said he’d have the boat out by the steps of the Big Hole, Jack told me. He came out to clean her up a bit before you came. We had a sort of picnic in it last week and it’s still all full of old sandwiches and stuff. The Big Hole was built by the city a few years ago to harbor small boats against the sudden vicious squalls that come up so quickly on Lake Winnebago. It’s bordered on one side by the boathouses, on the other by a shrub-edged drive, and on a third by the Point with a tall, white lighthouse on the end. Over on the right the water sloshes into a mass of treacherous water reeds and thick seaweeds. Beyond this is bare red clay scattered with water pipes and heaps of black dirt—an uncompleted WPA project.

I saw Swede bending over in the boat arranging canvas. Jack whistled at him shrilly through his teeth and Swede straightened and waved. You’ll like Swede, Jack told me. Some girls think he’s kind of fast but I told him be nice to you. Swede was rather fat with kinky blond hair and had on a very tight, very clean white sweat shirt.

Hello, he called. And when we got up to the boat, You’re Angie Morrow, aren’t you. I thought maybe at the last minute you wouldn’t be able to come. Jack said he thought maybe your mother might not want you to go sailing, and he grinned at me.

Everything’s all right so long as we get her home by eleven, Jack told him. Any time after that’s no good. We won’t go out far—just until we find the moon. He squeezed my hand. I couldn’t help shivering a little—it was such a beautiful night.

In the Big Hole the wind barely wrinkled the water with waves. We moved slowly at first—Swede up in the bow and Jack and I sitting in the stern, until we had passed through the narrow space between the lighthouse and the breakwater. Already cars were parked along the Point with their headlight beams poking out into the thickening dusk. Almost everyone in Fond du Lac goes out for a drive in the evening and then stops for a while to look at the lake. Someone honked a horn and leaned out a car window to wave at us. People do that just to be friendly, said Jack. I don’t know who it is.

Are you comfortable? he asked. If you get chilly say so and you can put my sweater on. I just nodded. It was too lovely to talk. The boat rose and fell gently as it topped the waves. Swede was letting out the sail and the loose canvas flapped in the wind. Occasionally the greenish water slapped hard against the side of the boat and sent spray over the edge. Here, said Jack. We’ll put this canvas over your legs—no sense in your getting wet. You’re a good scout, do you know that? Lots of girls are scared to go out in boats.

I love it, I told him. He was sitting almost on the point of the stern with his red and white basketball sweater tied around his neck by the sleeves and a light wind was ruffling his hair from behind.

I sighed and he said to me, You’re not cold, are you? Remember, just say the word and the sweater’s yours. I really brought it along for you—I never get cold myself. Leaning over, he put it around my shoulders and I remember thinking when he was so close how much he smelled like Ivory soap.

We were sailing in silence for a long time and way up in the sky, past the boathouses, was pasted a thin tissue-paper curve of moon. Swede had hung a lantern that swung in the darkness on his end of the boat and it licked red light over the tops of the waves. Just then he finished a cigarette and flipped it out over the water. We were far out by that time and the car lights were only star dots along the pier. It was very still. I looked back at Jack and he was sitting with his head thrown back, gazing at the sky. Far beyond him was only the darkness of the lake. The wind blew lightly, brushing through my hair. Jack moved forward suddenly and slipped up beside me on the narrow seat. Angie Morrow, he said quietly. You look nice with the wind in your hair.

And I remember just how he said it.

---

That’s one thing about the lake at night, he whispered. No other place is so beautiful or so quiet. Sometimes Swede and I come out here and just drift for hours and don’t talk at all. We just sit and watch the sky and think. You should see the water when the moon’s out—I mean a big yellow summer moon. Swede mostly just thinks about girls when he’s out here, but I like to think about clouds and God and things." He sat silent for a moment, watching the water. The sweater had slipped from my shoulders and he put his arm around me to hold it in place.

I didn’t know, I told him, "that boys thought much about pretty things. The fellows around McKnight’s never act like they think about anything much."

Most of them don’t, but some of them do. We talk together a lot about girls and life and things. It’s funny what some of those fellows think. Some of them have got big plans for what they want to do and who they want to marry and some of them never think at all.

I just want to read a lot and learn everything I can, I told him. And then, thinking that sounded rather dull, I added, I’d like to know about everything beautiful.

Jack sat up suddenly and looked at me. Do you? he said. Do you really think that, Angie? You know, all my life I’ve wanted to know about beautiful things—to be cultured. Maybe that sounds funny to you. I haven’t any background or anything. My mother and dad are swell, but I could never talk about a family tree or my grandfather who had whole stables full of horses… see what I mean? I’ve got to find out about all that sort of thing—my father’s father was a farmer and my mother’s father had a meat market out in Rosendale. Do you know, he said, that until a couple of months ago I didn’t even know what side a salad plate goes on?

I wanted to tell him then about the silver fish service my mother has with the mother-of-pearl handles and the big curved-blade serving knife to match that looks like a Turkish dagger. I thought he might like to know about it because it was different and beautiful, but I couldn’t think how to tell it so it didn’t sound like bragging so I just said, Salad plates go on the left, Jack, with the forks.

And another thing I want to do is to go to an opera someday. I’d like to have a big black cape and a cane and a folding silk hat, and I’d come in the door and slap those old white gloves in the hat and walk right down the aisle. I don’t know much about music, he said. I don’t even like it a lot but I could learn.

I wanted to tell him something too. There were so many things I had always thought about to myself and never wanted to tell anyone before. I almost told him about how I used to lie in bed at night and imagine that I was married to Nelson Eddy just so I could pretend he took me places—nightclubs and dances and things. You know, Jack, I ventured, "once last winter when I went down to Chicago to see my sister Lorraine—the one that was sitting in the living room with curlers in her hair when you called for me—we went to see a play. It was called Kiss the Boys Good-bye. It wasn’t a good play or anything. I mean, it wasn’t like Shakespeare but it was a big hit and had a run on Broadway. A lot of it I didn’t understand very well—I think it wasn’t nice."

"We read The Merchant of Venice in English class, Jack answered. Parts of that I didn’t understand very well either—maybe that’s because it’s too nice. He laughed a little. His arm was on my shoulder and I relaxed and leaned back. He leaned over closer saying, That’s right. Just sit comfortable. Lean way back if you want. We were drifting then and Swede was sitting with his head resting on the side of the boat, half asleep. It was darker by that time and the moon was half hidden, cushioned in cloud. The boat rose and fell gently with the waves. All I know is that I just want to be happy and turn out good, that’s all," Jack

Reviews for Seventeenth Summer

[laytonwoman3rd · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

How did I get so far along life's path without having read this? I do not know. I have owned a copy of it for nearly ever. I do know I'm glad to have fallen in with Velvet and her remarkable family, including The Piebald and Mi(chael) Taylor, at long last. I didn't even know much of the story, other than it involved a girl and a horse and (I assumed) a race. So I find it actually involves a sickly, unattractive 14-year-old girl with an early version of braces (which she can remove when they get terribly uncomfortable); a recalcitrant, probably ill-bred horse; a once-famous mother who in her youth swam the English Channel against all odds; and that iconic steeplechase, the Grand National. If, like me, you had a picture of Velvet as the young and stunning Elizabeth Taylor astride a thoroughbred in your mind, you're forgiven for making that face you're making now. I've never seen the movie either (was Mickey Rooney her "trainer"?---that's quite wrong too) and I can't decide whether I want to. In any case, the story on the page is a dandy, there's next-to-no sentimentality to it, Velvet's mother is perfection, and her little brother is a hoot. I read one of Enid Bagnold's adult novels many years ago, and enjoyed it, although I found it just a bit overwrought in spots. Still, the characters in that one were very crisp around the edges, and the same is true here. No one blends into the background. The dialog is so realistic I had a little trouble with it at first (not being a denizen of rural England in the mid-1930's) but I soon caught on. Excellent illustrations in my book club edition from 1958. Highly recommended.

[Maria · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

this the best book ever because there was love and romace!!!!!! ;)

[schmerguls · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Though I remember when the movie starring Elizabeth Taylor and Mickey Rooney was being shown (I never did get to see it), and though I have long wanted to read this book, only now have I done so. The peculiarites of English village life in the 1920's or 1930's do appear odd and one has to get used to the dialog, but when we get to the time when the effort to enter the horse in the national race and subequent events, the story does become beguiling and enjoyable. But the reaction of the public to the win and to the action of the powers that be in the racing world is bound to be somewhat hard for one used to fairer views in today's world to take. And I would have liked a more direct account of the race itself and of Velvet's mental reactions to the race. But even after 80 years it is a story to enjoy.

[annejacinta · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Charming. Full of unique characterisation and setting.

[amandabock-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It was really hard to get into this one, but I decided to picture Angie as a young Katherine Hepburn, and that helped me stay in the right era (well, almost).

As a historical artifact, this book shows so much about gender roles and expectations, and class issues of the time. It also displays the kind of simplistic, rosy atmosphere of the literature for young people 65 years ago. However, I don't necessarily think that this book needs to be relegated to the archives just yet. While the characters are extraordinarily bland, much detail and description is given to the landscape. Also, the overly melodramatic tone of Angie's thoughts is sure to appeal to readers the way that Anne Shirley's and Jo March's do.

Seventeen Summer makes an excellent read-together with The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks (Lockhart), because it perfectly represents the world that Frankie is so ardently rebelling against.

In the end, I found myself becoming rather sentimental about ol' Angie and Jack, very much the way I might when watching old movies. As contemporary fiction, this book is rather appalling; but as historical fiction, I think it still works.

[lucybrown_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I read this book when I was a teen. I was absolutely sucked into Angie's world.

[nadinec.keels · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"…It wasn’t puppy love, or infatuation, or love at first sight, or anything that people always talk about and laugh… People can’t tell you about things like that, you have to find them out for yourself."I happened upon Seventeenth Summer while perusing the bookshelf in my seventh grade English class, back in middle school. Read and loved the book but, naturally, had to return it to the classroom shelf when I was through, so I procured a used copy for myself in my twenties and reread it. Still loved it.Angie doesn’t relate a loud, racy, speedy, or sappy account about herself and Jack. The story’s (to steal a word from a quote I’m about to use because it’s in my head now and it fits) mellow essence and beautiful descriptions take you right into the warmth and leisure of a summer that is soon saturated with emotion, experience, and reflection without disturbing the ease of it all. Angie’s particular reflection about a wonderful oddity at the end of June is what most made me remember the book from my adolescence to my adulthood."And the thought in my mind was as warm and mellow as the sunlight. How odd, I thought. How wonderfully, wonderfully odd to be kissed in the middle of the afternoon."It’s not a late 20th or early 21st Century romance and isn’t meant to be read like one. Even as a preteen, I relished the idea of a time and place where an afternoon kiss, even in the midst of a summer romance, would have been odd. Of course, being an 80s baby, I wouldn’t be able to testify about what young love was really like back in 1942, when the book was first published, and as another of course, this is only one story. One lone, fictional story. But the imagery is pleasing and unforgettable, the kind that makes a girl hope and dream—occupations in harmony with a summer of any number, one’s seventeenth or otherwise.A lovely book, easily added to my all-time favorites.

[mvthebookbabe · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Due to copy and paste, formatting has been lost.For whatever reason, Seventeenth Summer was just a flat read for me. I didn't connect with the characters, and I really didn't see the romance in it.Angie, our main character, is way too prim and proper. I couldn't relate to her in any way, and I often found myself wondering why she even bothered? She would say how disgusted she was with Jack's eating habits, or his family, and I don't understand why it matters? She's supposed to love him, right?They fell in love way too fast. It was like an instantaneous "he sees me then we go on a date then we love each other" kind of thing. And it drove me crazy! I don't see how they could be in love so easily. Jack doesn't appear to be very into Angie at all, but as I mentioned before, they're "in love". But Jack is always running off to talk to someone else and making Angie feel awkward and out of place. Basically, I didn't feel emotion from either of their characters. It was a big mocha latte of flatness.If that wasn't bad enough, I couldn't keep our secondary characters straight. They seemed to just pop out of random places and to be with different people often enough that it confused me. I couldn't figure out who Angie was related to, or who her friends were dating...I just couldn't.All in all, Seventeenth Summer really fell flat for me, which is sad, because I was really expecting to like it.

[leftik_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Seventeenth Summer was better than I thought it would be. It was a little hard to get into, although that didn't surprise me since it's from the 40's and writing styles have changed so much.

I wasn't thrilled with the ending...it seemed rather unfinished to me. I almost want to look and see if there is a sequel, because I want to know why Lorraine's life was so bad after the book (as Angie explains on page 115) and, naturally, I'd like to know if Jack and Angie really do keep in touch after they both leave town.

What I did like, however, was the obvious glimpse the book gives you at the time period. The rules and etiquette, etc., that you can see in movies but it's hard to explain in a book. Daly did such a good job of incorporating these nuances into the book that only a few times did I realize how absurd most of the rules would be in present day - not to mention how shocked the characters would be.

I liked Daly's style of writing - very informal and open. She also made the book entirely from Angie's point of view and did it so well that sometimes the reader was just as naive as Angie.

Overall, I liked it. I"m not sure I'll be revisiting it that often, not how often I'd be able to recommend it - but if you're looking for a semi-historical read about first love, this is a good place to start.

[marleyhamel · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This story is set in Winsconsin in the 1940's. The story was alright at first getting to know the characters and understand what the story was about, but as it progressed it got almost anoying to continue. The writing itself was fine I think what i disliked the most was the lack of emotion. The author describes how much they are in love, but as the reader you should be able to acknowledge and understand just how much they love each other which I could not.

[tjsjohanna_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Although this was written quite a long time ago, there is a freshness to the emotion that Ms. Daly brings to the oft-told tale of teen romance. Angie and Jack are appealing, and this story brings back a time when family was more cohesive and reputation was important.

[countrylife_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Ahh. It made me nostalgic for a time I’d never experienced. A sweet, wholesome story about first love, growing up and seeing those around you with different eyes. I’m afraid today’s teens would laugh all the way through it, but this old lady really enjoyed it.

[rosanasantana · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book tells the story of Angie and her relationship with Jack during summer before college. Angie is a young inexperienced girl and Jack is her first kiss. The two spend a lovely summer together in the town of Fon du Lac, Wisconsin during the 1940's. The book is very dated. I would recommend this book to students in middle school with advanced reading levels or to adults who would want to read it as a historic piece or when studying the roots to young adult literature.

[ellen_norton_4 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

While this book is beautifully written, it would not necessarily be a great pick for modern YAs. It does not reflect the current feel of culture and romance today, and while it does depict a quaint first love in the 1940s, it is definitely very descriptive and slow paced. It might appeal to girls who enjoy romance like Jane Austin, as it is full of rich details and the boy (Jack) is very chivalrous. Also depicts Angie's two sisters' romances, one blossoming and one failing.

[ctmsjien · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The book seventeenth summer was a very good book.In the book this guy Jack falls in love with this girl named Angie over the summer. Jack asks Angie if she wants to go on a boat ride at the dock were he works and obviously she said yes, she runs quickly up the starts to go and ask her mom but her mom is getting ready for her nap like she always does everyday after she works in the kitchen. Before Angie goes inside her parents room to go and ask her mom if she can go out with Jack tonight, but she waits by the door to see if she is awake or not. Slowly she opens the door and all you can hear is a little screetch from the door opening, the room is pitch dark and quiet. When she walks in the room the floor boards start to creek and her mom now has one eye open to see who it is. I thought this book was a very good book to read and I recommend this book to anyone.

[lifes_bookmark · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my favorite romance book. I think that is because of how innocent the relationship is. It was written in the 1940s so it's all about holding hands and kissing and that just melts my heart. It's one of those books that's good for a day where you just want to curl up with a book and read. The ending makes me tear up though.

[bookswithbite · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

You know, at first I had a hard time reading this book. It did take me a while to get into it. The reason being that is it not the normal book I would pick up. It was first published in 1942, so the dating experiences back then were much stricter and of course very different. But after really getting into the book and into the setting, or feel of it, I came to enjoy it.Angie is a good, traditional girl that does not believe in high school crushes, nor does she see that it will last. This summer changed everything for her. I loved how Angie is. She is such a innocent girl that in dating she made me laugh. She had no idea what do or how to act. I love to see her flaws. She is a simple girl who doesn't ask for much, but loves greatly. I like that her family is very much involved in her life and takes part in what she does. Though at times, they do embarrass her.The love interest, for me, I just didn't feel it the way I wanted to. They went out on dates, has misunderstandings, but I feel, that as the reader, I couldn't grasp their love. I read it in their words, but could not feel it in their emotions. I like that they took each other seriously in family, business, dinner etc. And that they were on the same page. They loved each other!Overall, this is good read. This was set in the early 50's, so it was good to see teen relationship from a different time. I have never read something like this that was so in depth in it. If you want a good teen read of a different time, pick this book up!

[masa0912 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

i liked how much you get to know about the girl in this and how much someone can change just over a summer.

[kang1219 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really like this book because it's more of a young teen book so I was able to somewhat connect to the story. My friend recommended it to me and I would recommended it to anyone.

[hohe831 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book was a little slow, but very cute. I really enjoyed how Jack and Angie were different but shared a similar thing, each other. This book isn't the type of book I usually pick up, but it made me want to go back to summer and have a good time with each other making an epic summer to remember. I don't recommend this book if you're younger, because it'll most likely bore you, but if you're a little older and have a higher tolerence for slower old-timey books. This is one for you.

[sexy_librarian · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A story of teen love in the 1940’s, this young adult book takes the reader back to the days of soda pop at the corner shop, while at the same time capturing the fluttering excitement of a first serious relationship. Angie and Jack, kids from two different backgrounds, experience the excitement of falling in love for the first time, and the bittersweet feeling when the summer must end. Maureen Daly writes with exquisite detail, and an authenticity that captures the mind’s eye and draws the reader into the scene with the characters.

[staceymacwrites · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

First published in 1942, the difference between writing today and several decades ago is very apparent in this lazy summer read.Angie’s, the main character, home life is that of the forties and to the generation of today some of the expectations set forth upon her by her parents and society can be maddening. When Angie and Jack fall in love the summer after their high school graduation Angie is slowly changed into what she never was before. She went to venues she never inhabited before, went to parties where kids did things she was never exposed to, and she was welcomed into a circle of friends which lived a little more daring and loosely then her. To say Angie and Jack had a romantic summer fling could be misleading. Angie and Jack shared a courtship taking walks, going sailing, sharing picnics, taking drives, and going to daring house parties. Their personal growth made most of the story, as they grew into adults and grew together.As slow as the story started it was abruptly ended with what I felt like unresolved feelings. Though the writing was thorough at times it dragged on spending pages upon pages of observations which could have been cut in half to make way for more of a story and the ongoing, slightly messy plot.Even with the society that wasn’t our own and a relationship that might not seem fruitful to some I thought this was a great read to be shown a small glimpse of what living in the 40’s and 50’s were like. This is a great summer read.

[mkschoen · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Very suspenseful, in that I kept waiting for there to be a plot. Angeline has just graduated from high school, and meets Jack a local boy. They start dating and fall in love, then he moves and she goes away to college.And really - that's it. I kept thinking "wait maybe the drama will be *this*" : a kiss, a break-up, her sister's failed romance, but no, it's all just the same hopeful, teen-agey prose. And so hopelessly dated - Angie is naive and out-of-touch even compared to kids her own age in the same book. I can't imagien any teen could relate to this book now.

[edgoldberg · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

POSSIBLE SPOILERIt is Angie Morrow's 17th summer. Just graduated from high school, she meets Jack and they begin going out. Angie muses that she was unpopular until she started dating Jack and hanging out with Swede and Dollie, Fitz and Margie. Now she's got a group of friends. Her parents are concerned with her seeing one boy all summer.Her older sister, Lorraine, back from college for the summer, begins dating Martin, who is newly arrived in Fond du Lac and doesn't know anyone. However, he's unreliable, missing dates, etc. Yet, he's the only cosmopolitan boy around, none of the local townies for Lorraine. Their older sister, Margaret, is engaged to Artie and is set.Jack and Angie go sailing, go to Pete's (the local bar/hangout), to the club dance and to the lake, the things that kids do during the summer. At one party, Tony Becker shows up. He's not liked by many of the kids. He does ask Angie out and she accepts, causing a rift with Jack.Jack, originally from the area, spent many years in Oklahoma with his family. However, the last five years in Fond du Lac have been tough on his father's business--he owns a bakery. They've decided to move back to Oklahoma at the end of the summer, just when Angie is going to Chicago to school. He tells Angie at the end of July, making the last month sad for both. At one point, Jack proposes to Angie, hoping not to part.Daly's book is considered by some to be the first modern YA novel and it is narrated by seventeen year old Angie and is mainly about her. The big moral issue arose early on when, at the club dance, Jack and Angie wander on the golf course and kiss near one of the golf greens. Tame by today's standards. Angie exhibits all the insecurities of a teenage girl who is newly dating. In that respect, it is truly a YA novel.However, the intervening 25 years between Seventeenth Summer in 1942 and The Outsiders in 1967 made a dramatic difference in YA literature. Seventeenth Summer is tame by any standard compared to books beginning with the Outsiders. The biggest thing is making out. Angie doesn't have a summer job; she helps her mother with household chores. She doesn't drive. Entertainment is local. There's no drinking/getting drunk, no sex, no abuse. YA literature needed a modern book to get it started and Maureen Daly's book served a purpose. But it is merely the foundation for a blossoming YA literature genre.

[wsquared_2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Written by Maureen Daly when she was a teenager herself, Seventeenth Summer is often considered the first true YA novel. It's still in print and Simon and Schuster will be releasing a new edition this month. But, as with most books written almost 70 years ago, the story is pretty dated and it's not just in the social norms. Unlike modern YA books, there's very little dialogue to be found here. It's hard to tell why Angie and Jack even like each other, considering they spend so much time not talking (and don't think they're filling their time 'necking' -- Angie can barely bring herself to utter the word). Angie's other relationships aren't much better. The minor subplot involving Angie's sister Lorraine and her on-again-off-again male caller has some nuance to it, but Angie and Lorraine's interactions are more about what they can't bring themselves to say to each other. Modern readers may be frustrated by the lack of action, but the romance, while innocent, will still capture the hearts of teen girls. The story is also a fascinating look at everyday life in the late 1930s, which could be appealing for readers with an interest in past generations.

[timbazzett · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I found this book at a library sale last year. It's a 2002 pb edition of Seventeenth Summer, first published in 1942. But I'd heard of the book years ago when I was still in college and then again while I was teaching in the early 70s. I guess I was curious to know what kind of a young adult book had managed to stay in print continuously for over sixty years. Because that is quite a feat in today's book world. Well, I found out. It's a very sweet, heartfelt book. A bit dated perhaps, but the quality of the writing holds up very well. The emotional rollercoaster of being 16 or 17 years old and "in love" for the first time in your life hasn't really changed all that much. The innocence of narrator Angie, at 17 and already a high school grad, is a bit much in today's world. Perhaps a 14 or 15 year-old could relate a bit more easily now. I was also looking for references to WWII, and how it might have affected these kids on the threshhold of adulthood. But there was no mention at all of the war, so I have to assume that Daly wrote the book in 1940 or 1941 (and it didn't get published until '42), before Pearl Harbor made the war such an immediate part of everyone's world. The descriptions of midwest, fairly small town life were excellent. The walks into town to the drugstore for a coke and peanuts, the movies, the home deliveries of baked goods and milk - the overall innocence and simplicity of a way of life that is gone now. All these things make this a book that is still fun to read. I will say that this is a very "girly" book in its point-of-view, so I confess to skimming much of it. My wife and my mother both quite enjoyed it though. Maureen Daly just died this past year, and her obituary cited Seventeenth Summer (written while she was still a college student) as one of her most important works. Still around after sixty-seven years? That's quite a legacy in itself. If you have a young teenage daughter or relative, this is a good book for her. It didn't really grab me, but that was mostly a gender thing. Good writing is still good writing.

[etxgardener · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's been almost 50 years since I've read this book, but when I received note on Facebook asking me to list the 15 books that have always stuck with me, this booked popped into my mind and I was stunned that I could still remember the last sentence from the book: "An now I knew that it could come an come forever, slipping by in the breath of a moment, and yet never again would there by anything quite as wonderful as that seventeenth summer.This book is a simple story of Angie and Jack. Jack is a boy from Fond du Lac High School in Wisconsin. Angie is from there too, but she's gone to a private girls' school and is a little up in class from Jack's family. Jack, however, is one of the popular boys in town - a star on the basketball team, class president & very good looking. He first notices Angie at the local drug store and asks her for a date sailing. What follows is the bittersweet story of first love, sett in the 1940's when the world was slower and simpler and girls savored a first kiss and still asked their parents permission to go out on dates.Angie is headed to college; Jack is headed towards work, so you know that there will be an end to this romance. Still the reader savors the sweet longings of first love and a shy girl's insecurities navigating the teenage social milieu in a small town.One can quibble with the writing - certainly that of a young woman who hasn't learned about realistic metaphors ("My thought slipped down like egg whites through my fingers" - indeed!) - but the emotions of Angie are so real and so true that the story remains timeless.It's sad that today young people are so eager to experience sex that they are unable to see the true sweetness of that first, tentative kiss.

[ahooper04 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Slightly irritating story of Angie who has a summer romance the summer before she leaves for college. The book seems too dated, as it was written in the 1940s. Angie is way too naive.

[kpickett_11 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The summer before she leaves for college, family Angie falls in love with Jack Duluth. Originally published in 1942 the summer romance might not be sizzling enough for teens today as Angie and Jack get cokes at the local soda fountain and go to a summer dance. Angie knows that is more than a crush and as she leaves for college she says goodbye to Jack knowing that she has been changed forever. Not quite as sappy as it sounds, she never gets all that caught up in the relationship and keeps her head about her.Slower than molases! This book is not plot driven but is a good example of one of the first YA novels.

[bmozanich · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Seventeeth Summer is very well written. This is a great story about first love. Daly uses sensual details and descriptive engaging language that allows the reader to understand and relate to the feelings Angie experiences. The stress and inner turmoil that accompany a first love or the beginning of a new relationship are true and relevant to YA readers. Readers are able to identify with the waiting and unwritten rules of dating and falling in love. Even though the book was written in 1942, the feelings, stress, and unease remain constant for teens today. Angie must grow up and decide who she is, how others see her as well as how she see herself. Angie must confront her desires and determine what she wants and what is important to her.