In contrast to my bogged-down struggles in Confessions, I raced through The Long Valley by Steinbeck in record time. All of the short(ish) stories in the collection take place in the Salinas Valley, where Steinbeck grew up and where he sets most of his tales, but they’re otherwise unconnected. “The Red Pony” is among this collection, and I distinctly remember picking that book up as a horse-crazy kid. I put it back on the shelf without reading it, for some reason, which is something I never did–I read every other horse book I found in the library. I’m so glad I left it there now. That story is NOT for children, especially ones who adore horses. I love Steinbeck with what probably amounts to an unhealthy passion today, even as I recognize that reading him at the wrong age would probably ruin a person for life. A year or so ago I remember overhearing a man in a bookstore proudly say that his 6th grader nephew had worked his way through all of Steinbeck. At the time I hadn’t read enough Steinbeck to know what that meant. Is it too late to time-travel back and save that kid’s innocence?