I would be hard-pressed to tell you the best book I ever got, because when I was growing up I got books all the time: every Christmas, every birthday. Sometimes for no occasion at all.
I got the "Little House" books one at a time for years, all out of order.
I got "Sometimes Magic," a collection of short stories for teenage girls, edited by Hallie Burnett, a book I have since bought and sent to various nieces.
I got my brother's copy of "Robinson Crusoe," signed to me in his spiky handwriting on the flyleaf just eight months before he died.
I have all of these books still. But which one was best? It's impossible to say.
So instead I asked all of you that impossible question, and it is no surprise that you all had wonderful answers.
"My grandfather gave me the Oxford edition of 'The Pickwick Papers' when he returned from England one time. It was the first time I'd seen all of the illustrations. Because I'd read 'Pickwick' twice I knew that the illustrations in the library's Dodd Mead edition were wrongly captioned. Laughably so.
"I went on to read 'Pickwick' probably 10 more times before I was 20. I have the illustrations from a badly broken older edition framed on the walls of the office where I work as an illustrator. I still have this copy my grandfather gave me, but I have several other editions, as well as several books about 'Pickwick,' on my shelves."