In 1957 when the book first came out, I was ten years old and did all I could to steal moments with this book when my big sisters weren’t looking. I had already gotten into trouble in fourth grade (Mrs. Frost’s class at P.S. 215) for reading Bonjour Tristesse, which wasn’t nearly as racy as Peyton Place My mother got called into the principal’s office. She translated Bonjour Tristesse into Yiddish by giving me a patsh in pnim, a slap in the face. So by ten, I was wise enough not to be caught with the hot potato of Peyton Place. But I think my mother found it and threw it out.
Recently, I found a copy of Peyton Place in an antique (schlock) shop. Now, at 75, I am old enough to read it, but the pages are so yellowed and the type so small that I can’t.