"The Secret Language," by Ursula Nordstrom, is about an eight-year old girl named Victoria. The child of a single working mother, Victoria is sent to a boarding school called the Coburn Home School. Although she has some trouble adjusting, Victoria finds a friend in Martha, a strong-willed classmate. Martha shares with Victoria the "secret language" of the book's title.

Much of the book is filled with accounts of the girls' games and projects, which range in results from rewarding success to embarrassing failure. The book celebrates friendship and imagination. One interesting theme is the challenge for children to find a "happy medium" between creative individualism and social conformity. But ultimately I thought that the book gave off a strangely ambiguous message on this subject.

One rather disappointing aspect of the book is the "secret language" itself. It really isn't a language at all, but just a few slang words ("ick-en-spick," "leebossa," etc) that the girls sprinkle into their conversation. And although this "language" is hyped up in the title and opening chapters, Nordstrom seems to neglect it as the story is taken over by other elements. This virtual abandonment of the book's title phenomenon strikes me as a real missed opportunity.

Still, the novel does have its good points and the story held my attention throughout. Also interesting was the author bio inside the back cover: it notes that author Nordstrom was a book editor who served as director of Harper's Department of Books for Boys and Girls from 1940-1973. So her literary legacy really goes far beyond this novel. One final note: if you do know a young reader who's interested in constructed languages, I recommend you get them a good primer on Esperanto.

I read this book again as an adult after havng read it a million times as a child. It still holds the same magic, memories and sweet message. A great book for those times when you wish to go back to that special place in your heart reserved for childhood memories.

This book made such an impact on me as a young girl that here I am reviewing and trying to purchase this novel as an adult. The secret language between these young women allows them to realize they have found their kindred spirits. It taught me the value of freindship and how important it is as a child and as an adult. I highly recommend this book for parents with children who love to read. I only hope that when my children are of age they will love this book too.

Ursula seemed to know EVERYBODY. While this book is a fascinating look at some of the "big name" writers of children's literature, I really was hoping for more biographical data to accompany the letters. It was a frustrating reading experience at times. Ursula seemed to be "treading on ice" when she wrote letters to E. B. White and Laura Ingalls Wilder, but totally free and breezy (and perhaps bordering on rude at times) when writing to other authors. I was puzzled from time to time at the complete changes in Ursula's tone . . . and I am more curious than ever about Louise Fitzhugh, writer of "Harriet The Spy." Something went wrong in Louise's life after writing "Harriet," but there are few clues in this book to explain what happened. Ursula apparently took some of her most interesting knowledge to the grave; I wish I knew more.

She was cajoler, enabler, champion, critic, and friend. She was Ursula Nordstrom, Director of Harper's Department of Books for Boys and Girls from 1940 to 1973 - a one of-a-kind editor who took 20th century children's literature by the scruff of the neck and gave it a good shake.

Mentor to such luminaries as Maurice Sendak, Ruth Krauss, E. B. White, Shel Silverstein, and Garth Williams, she was a visionary who dared publish the antithesis of yesteryear's bland, sugary children's prose. Thanks to her discernment and determination youngsters found thrall in a myriad of now time-honored stories, including Charlotte's Web, Goodnight Moon, and Where The Wild Things Are.

Reading her collected letters titled Dear Genius (for she considered each of her authors and artists to be preternaturally gifted) is tantamount to having a lively, albeit too brief, one-on-one with the self-effacing, wry Ms. Nordstrom. You leave her presence reluctantly, knowing that such stimulating conversation is rare.

The only child of two beautiful people - "a gaslight-era matinee idol" and a pretty young actress, the editor would "forever regard herself as an ugly duckling born of swans." This lack of personal self-confidence didn't temper her considerable professional aplomb. When a doughty influential librarian challenged her by asking "what qualified her, a nonlibrarian, nonteacher, nonparent, and noncollege graduate to publish children's books," Ms. Nordstrom replied, "Well, I am a former child, and I haven't forgotten a thing."

Unmarried and childless, she nonetheless related companionably to youngsters, continually seeking to publish books that would make "any child feel warmed and attended to and considered." Belittlers of her choices were dismissed as "adults who sift their reactions to children's books through their own messy adult maladjustments."

Fearlessly confrontational in defense of her authors and artists, she was also psychological and practical support, shoring up a diffident young Sendak with, "You may not be Tolstoy, but Tolstoy wasn't Sendak, either." To Garth Williams, whom she feared financially strapped, she offered a monthly stipend.

A chatty, voluble correspondent Ms. Nordstrom's letters hold self-revelatory comments - a regard for Adlai Stevenson; an aversion to New York City - "a cement island;" and eclectic tastes: "Would Virginia Woolf be sickened to know that she is loved by one who also reads 'Confidential'?"

Her notes are punctuated with an engaging, self-deprecating wit, as when she admitted, "....I may have tried to impress you at one time with the beauty and general poetry of my existence....That is balderdash, dear.....I am a real mess...I can walk onto a lovely green plot of land, and tall strong trees turn brown..."

These letters, penned between 1937 and 1982 are a chronicle of the highlights in the children's publishing world, as well as affirmation of the editor's devotion to her craft and colleagues.

Ursula Nordstrom left no immediate heirs when she died in 1982 - generation upon generation of delighted "warmed and attended to" children are her beneficiaries.

A must read for any writer or lover of children's books, Dear Genius gives remarkable insight into the mind and career of Ursula Nordstrom, long-time director of Harper's children's literature department. Ursula poured her heart into many of her professional relationships, and her letters to authors, critics and fans are shrewd, witty, intelligent and sometimes sad--I didn't want it to end, but of course it had to, leaving me wanting more.