Sarah Peterson Peterson itibaren Beech Creek, Pensilvania 16822, EE. UU.
I remember this book coming out when I was still in primary school. I remember pawing through the pages and--for the first time--being impressed by the art. I remember marvelling at Wesley's great ideas and the creation of his own civilisation. I remember, hoping against hope, that the little pot of dirt I left on the verandah would catch some of the seeds that Wesley had. I remember wondering what I would do if I ever got my hands on a piece of Weslandia. When I was younger, I was a geek like Wesley and summer holidays were usually as fun-filled as watching paint dry. I had always hoped I could create my own wonderful and exciting project à la Wesley. I think I did try and create my own language. I stained paper with Dad's coffee and wrote with fountain pen ink with a quill that I had fashioned from a seagull's feather. Such were the exploits of my youthful imagination. Somehow all the colour in life remained in my childhood and the present is as bleak and dull as descriptions of life under Communist rule in the old CCCP. Now it's all laptop this and internet that. Even in children's books. Nothing seems like so much fun anymore and time runs away from me faster and the once endless days pass in the twinkling of an eye. I hope, one day, I buy my own copy of this book so that I can paw through its pages once again and relive the wonder I felt when I was once so young. It is definitely the best children's book I have ever had the pleasure to meet.