You definitely know his songs. They’ve been covered by Bonnie Raitt (“Thing Called Love”), Ronnie Milsap (“Old Habits [Are Hard to Break]“), the Neville Brothers (“Washable Ink”), Bob Dylan (“Across the Borderline,” “The Usual”) and, just this summer, Eric Clapton and B.B. King (“Ridin’ With the King”).

He is, they say, a musician’s musician. But his lyrics are often so personal — drawing on his struggle with alcoholism, the breakdown of his first marriage (which ended in his wife’s suicide), the joy of bringing home his brand-new daughter, to name just a few — it’s hard to believe anyone can inhabit them quite like he can. Yet he says he’s “tickled” by all the big names who’ve sought out his music. Hearing his songs covered by his idols, he says, is “just too cool for words.”

After 26 years of recording, this week Hiatt is simultaneously releasing his first acoustic album, “Crossing Muddy Waters,” in both a pay-per-download format on EMusic.com and in “hardware” form by Vanguard Records. Relaxing on his Tennessee farm before heading out on tour, Hiatt took some time to share his thoughts on Napster, songwriting, success and the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

How did a guy like you, who doesn’t even have an e-mail address, decide to release an album on the Web?

It just happened. We spent a lot of time over the last year getting out of our deal with Capitol Records and being able to take the record we were making with us. And we were successful in doing that as of about Jan. 1 of this year.

Then this interest just suddenly sprung up from EMusic.com. They said, “How would you like to put something out with us?” Initially, they wanted to put out some demos that Dave Immergl|ck, the mandolin player, and I had, and it just turned into this record. And then Vanguard got involved after we’d already made this recording.

Does releasing the album on the Web give you more control? What’s the allure?

Well, it’s a new way to get your music out. And it’s a way of doing it without a middleman, i.e. a big corporate record company. I call the Internet “Willy Loman’s revenge,” from “Death of a Salesman.” Willy Loman actually gets to bring his wares right to the customer, direct. That’s exciting.

It’s also cool that it’s a new frontier — nothing’s settled. You have all this great technology exploding. It’s created all this great controversy with Napster, and I think that’s wonderful. I’m glad to be a little dinky part of it.

But you’re also releasing it the old-fashioned way.

Yeah, Vanguard Records is releasing it simultaneously, working in conjunction with EMusic, which is not something the other major corporate labels are willing to do, judging from their reaction to Napster.

What happened with Capitol? It sounds like things got unpleasant.

You know, it wasn’t unpleasant. It’s like a broken record, no pun intended, but it was the same old story: The guy who signed me left. So I had to reenthuse a new regime, and, to put it simply, they didn’t like the record we were making as much as we did, so we figured, you know what, they probably shouldn’t put it out. So that was that.

Are you going to release it?

Yes. We’re going to finish it in January. We own it. We got out of the label deal with the record, which was no small feat. We had to jump through a few flaming hoops and train poodles and God knows what else. But we got out with the record, and we’re going to put it out.

We’re shooting for May 2001. I’m going to start touring for “Crossing Muddy Waters” at the end of September, solo initially. I’ve got about a month’s worth of solo acoustic dates and then the two Daveys are going to join me in November and December. And then I’ll probably tour a little bit into the new year, January or February. Meanwhile, we’re going to finish the rock record with the Goners [Hiatt's backing band], and hopefully put that out in May or June 2001, and then tour next summer again with the Goners.

That’s a pretty busy year you’ve got planned.

It is. It’s great. That’s what so exciting about the business right now to me. There are so many more opportunities.

Like what?

Just the fact that it’s so wide open, that the corporate labels are being caught with their pants down. And obviously their reaction to Napster, which is I guess typical of modern corporate America doing business. When they find a competitor, their reaction is just to annihilate them.

So that was their knee-jerk reaction, but I think what it really said was, “Geez, we don’t know anything about this stuff.” I have lots of different feelings about Napster and that technology. It’s great in terms of kids sharing music, but I think it’s a problem when college kids download whole CDs and turn around and sell them for $20. But there are solutions to all this, I would think. And obviously the courts felt the same way because they’ve given Napster a chance at least to come up with a defense. It’s not going to go away; it’s going to change the music industry. It’s already doing it.

Is it going to be good for the artist?

Absolutely. How could it not be? How could another avenue of being able to get yourself heard not be a good thing? The traditional avenues have gotten so corporatized — it’s going to be one big major label when they’re all done eating each other. And then there’s one or two conglomerates that own all the radio stations, so you have to sound a certain way to make that work. When things get so constricted like that, other arteries have to open up. And that’s what’s happening, I think. The industry’s needing a triple bypass. [Laughs] And the Web’s giving it to ‘em.

Why an acoustic album?

I’d always wanted to make a more acoustic singer-songwriter kind of record. And this was the chance to do it. It’s pretty much acoustic, but there’s an electric slide on one song. And Dave [Immergl|ck] plays electric mandolin on another. No drums, though. We finally got rid of the drummer.

Is recording an acoustic album any different from recording when you’re all plugged in?

It’s just like any other record to me. It’s a joy and a thrill. But then, I never really have anything planned out, to be honest. And we made this record in four days, which is how much time we spent on “Bring the Family.”

I wanted to get kind of a back-porch feel to it, and I wanted to do it live. So we just sat around in a circle in this little studio up the road, about three or four miles from our farm. I’d play the song once and David Immergl|ck and Davey Faragher [the bass player] would remember the chord progressions. But my chord progressions aren’t too difficult to remember, and we’d played together for about six years, so we had a pretty good musical rapport. And we just rolled tape. A lot of it’s first take. There are a couple of second takes, but mostly we just went with it.

Have you worked that way before?

Yeah, that’s pretty much the way we work — especially with those guys. Davey Faragher has been playing with me since the “Perfectly Good Guitar” tour, which was, what, ’93, ’94? And Dave Immergl|ck has been playing with me since “Walk On.” We’ve arrived at the idea that we’re better when we don’t know what we’re doing. [Laughs]

What’s your writing ritual?

I’ve been writing for a long time. I picked up a guitar when I was 11 and within a couple of months I wrote my first song, so I’ve been around — I’m 48, so what’s that, 37 years?

Over the years I’ve employed all kinds of little tricks and disciplines, but they’ve all fallen by the wayside. I just write pretty much when the inspiration hits me. Usually, it’s just picking up a guitar and playing, and the next thing you know, you’ve got a chord pattern, and you’ve got a melody, and you’re singing nonsense because you like the melody so much. And the next thing you know, it sticks with you to the extent that you think, gee, maybe I oughta write some lyrics. So that’s when you get the paper out and try to come up with something that’s worth singing.

When you go back and listen to your music, can you identify in the music what you were going through when you wrote it?

Oh yeah. When I go back and listen, I definitely remember where I was at the time. When I listen to those first three A&M records ["Bring the Family," "Slow Turning" and "Stolen Moments"], I can go back to when we were newly married and when we had the baby and how the kids were all little — we each had a kid we brought to the marriage — when I wrote this song or that song. Or I look back and go, “Oh boy, I had my head directly up my own ass on that one.” You get a lot of that, too.

Is it weird for you to listen to the albums from the rough years? Some of the emotions seem so raw.

Oh, no. The songs are what got me through. It’s kind of like only the song survives. It’s not my real life in these songs. It’s inspired by bits of it, but it’s inspired by a lot of different bits. The songs were my release; the music makes me free. I’ve always felt like there’s nothing I couldn’t write my way out of.

Is it easier for you to write from a happy place or a place that’s a little dark?

That’s a tough one to answer, because once you start writing, all kinds of things come up. But, generally, I think the popular myth about suffering for your art is a bunch of crap. Who wants to suffer for anything? The fact is, life includes as part of the ticket price plenty of suffering. It’s gonna be there. I think the more whole I become as a person, the more whole I become as an artist.

The press often characterizes you as a very successful writer and a moderately successful performer and solo artist.

I think they’re gauging the success by what they know about. And so they figure, “Oh, 160-some odd covers, wow. This artist did your song? That artist?” And they go, “Oh, that’s successful.” So I guess they figure, “Oh, his songwriting must be the thing.”

But you know, the two work pretty well together for me, and have ever since “Bring the Family,” really. We can go out and play and draw a couple of thousand people in a lot of different places, so I feel very successful in that way — just the fact that people want to come out and hear me.

So you gauge your success by the performing rather than the songwriting?

I’ve never separated the two. I don’t sit down and write songs for other performers. That’s a misconception about me. Because I’ve been covered a fair amount of times, people think, well, he just sits there and writes songs for people. But I’ve never done that; I’ve never been able to. I’ve always written ‘em because I’m planning on singing ‘em. So the songwriting thing is that solitary exercise you do, which I love — you know, I have a real passion for it. It’s the process of it that I love, and then to be able to go out and play those songs in front of people is the payoff.

Is it also a kick to have someone else record your music?

Absolutely. I mean, put yourself in my place. If you’re in your car and you hear a song you wrote on the radio, first off, you’re hearing it on the radio, which is too cool for words. And then just the fact that someone thought enough of your song to record it is so totally flattering. How could you not feel good about that?

Is there a song of yours that another artist has recorded that made you see the song in a different way?

That happens a lot. And there again, it’s nothing you can really put into words. It’s just that you’ll get a nuance or a texture that you didn’t know was there, either in the melody or the music or the lyrics.

Like the Neville Brothers, when they did “Washable Ink,” you know, they put it in a whole different light for me. Or when Bonnie Raitt took “Thing Called Love” and made it so seductive. I guess she can just do that. That redhead!

What’s the sense you get from your fans? They’re so often described as a “cult following,” which is kind of a scary term when you think about it.

I think that’s what they call it when you don’t sell 20 million and hang around for a couple of years or five years or 10 years and then go away. You know what I mean? That’s the more typical kind of deal. I’ve never had huge sales like those artists.

I’m thinking of people like Neil Young or the Neville Brothers — although their sales are probably way different, those two acts, I call those people “lifers.” They’re in it, that’s what they do. They’ll do it till they drop. And I consider myself one of those, even though I don’t have as big a following as some of them.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers are an example of a contemporary act that’s having hits right now, but you know, they’ve got the goods. That Anthony Kiedis writes great lyrics. They always have great songs. They’re a great band and they’re lifers. They’re going to be doing this as long as they’re around.

Is there someone you’d like to record your music who hasn’t?

Yes. The Red Hot Chili Peppers. [Laughs] But they pretty much do their own stuff. Or Ray Charles. Or, gee whiz, you know who I’d love to have record one of my songs? Rosemary Clooney. She is something.

What has been your greatest musical high?

Having a song cut by the guy who wrote “Layla” is pretty great — and then having B.B. King singing and playing on it. That’s pretty up there. And when Bob Dylan recorded a song of mine for a movie he was in — what, 10 years ago? — that was a total kick.

There’s a little record that just came out — a bunch of my songs done by other artists — called “Rolling Into Memphis.” There’s some really great blues musicians on it. James Cotton plays harmonica on a song, and Odetta’s on it. I loved Odetta when I was coming up. And there she is singing a song of mine. I started crying when I heard it, because I remember what a comfort her voice was to me when I was a screwed-up little white kid in Indianapolis, totally into music and not having too much success in any other area of my life. That was real moving.

What’s left? What’s the big goal you’re still aiming for?

I’m not really goal oriented. That’s probably bad, but for me the goal is about the work. It’s all about the work — to be able to keep writing the songs and keep playing the music. The results of my writing and my singing are almost just a footnote to me. It’s the joy and the satisfaction I get out of doing it that keeps me doing it. I just want to keep that up.

And I think human development goes right along with artistic development. I think if you stop trying to get a little better as a person, then you stop getting a little better as an artist. I’d like to keep chipping away at the pitiful little sculpture. That’s it. That’s about the size of it.

But as unpalatable as the fictional Homar would be as a real live person, he’s an absolutely delicious character, making a series of hilariously nearsighted (and outright bad) decisions to propel himself through this far-fetched (and downright funny) narrative.

Each wacky, action-packed chapter of “Busy Monsters” is an installment in the serialized memoirs Charles publishes in his weekly magazine column; he periodically pauses in the midst of his adventures to hammer out another segment on deadline “for my slave-driving editor.” Amusingly, the people Charles meets in each chapter have all read his preceding serialized installments — and have opinions on Charles’ story and style that may echo the reader’s own thoughts and responses. “I have a nagging suspicion that only about forty percent of what you write is true,” one character tells Charles upon meeting him. “I also think your people all speak alike.”

It’s a clever device, and less gimmicky than you might think, in part because Giraldi, who teaches writing at Boston University and is a fiction editor at the literary magazine AGNI, seems completely in control. The voice he has given Charles is singular and arresting; it’s flowery but a bit thorny, too — occasionally overwhelming like a heavy perfume — and filled with quirky turns of phrase, unexpected literary and cultural allusions, self-aware asides, and highfalutin word choices that would make Roget swell with pride.

The plot, too, is an exciting yet masterfully managed hodgepodge. “Stunned by love and some would say stupid from too much sex, I decided I had to drive down South to kill a man,” the book begins. A different author might try to stretch the suspense stirred by that opening setup into an entire novel; Giraldi settles that plot point in the first chapter and then takes us all sorts of other surprising places.

One moment Charlie is drunk with love and breaking into a Virginia state trooper’s home with blood on his mind and “a killer’s knife tucked into my boot,” the next he’s mad with heartbreak, firing a borrowed rifle at the hull of a squid hunter’s ship. The latter escapade lands him in a pleasant Maine jail, where he enjoys gourmet prison food and shares a cell with a computer geek interested in the Loch Ness monster. And then he’s off to Washington state on a misguided mission to impress his far-flung former fiancée by bagging Bigfoot, accompanying a man whose business card reads “ROMP: I BRING IT BACK DEAD.”

Let us pause here for a description of Romp, courtesy of Charles’ friend Groot: “Hunter. Scholar. Priest. Negro. Prophet. Man of jazz and all items sacrosanct. Shaves with obsidian. Has razzle and the necessary dazzle to mix it with. Also copulated with Florence Ballard [of the singing group the Supremes] in 1974.”

Giraldi’s characters are all similarly kooky and compelling. We meet people like Sandy McDougal, Charles’s wall-eyed ex-girlfriend, who has traded academia for alien abduction and taken up with a pint-size Filipino flim-flam man; Morris Hammerstein, an enlightened Jewish astronomer and family man who ends up boxing an angry lesbian (stereotypes are self-consciously abundant in Charles’ narratives) in his backyard; and Richie Lombardo, a famous body builder with a couple of Ivy League-educated Asian call girls named Mimi from Madam Chung’s House of Superior Entertainment going at it near the basement barbells in his luxe New Jersey manse.

After all his randy and reckless romps hither and thither, by the time Charles finally, in the story’s finale, makes a decent decision — “People? This is how I develop here, people: by taking charge of this situation in a sensible fashion, by choosing order over chaos, by pushing instead of being pulled. I am asserting my will,” he tells a passel of characters urging a more dramatic and dangerous choice — readers may be ready to see him go. The same cannot be said of this entertaining debut’s author. Having invited him in, we’ll want to see Giraldi stick around awhile.

Tyler dodged the question, but the answer may well be “no.” In his wildly galloping memoir (not to be confused with Aerosmith’s 2003 exercise in group autobiography, “Walk This Way”), the man who has long fired up the blue-jean-wearing masses with songs including “Dream On,” “Sweet Emotion,” “Walk This Way” and “Dude (Looks Like a Lady),” singing and strutting his way into rock ‘n’ roll history, seems to have left no story untold, no score unsettled, no secret unrevealed.

He rips into venal ex-managers and jealous ex-wives. (No fan of lawyers or monogamy he.) He goes into detail about the drugs he’s done (he seems to have done them all, fondly describing where and how he did them and with whom and how they affected him) and the women he’s done (ditto). He describes long-standing grievances with fellow band members (he and guitarist Joe Perry weren’t called the “Toxic Twins” for nothing: “JOE’S A CREEP — I’M AN ASSHOLE,” he writes emphatically) and even goes so far as to reveal their relative endowments.

While the book is unapologetically profane, inarguably self-serving and at times ragingly uncontrolled (like a memoir amped up on speed), it’s also bracingly honest, frequently funny (as “Idol” watchers and Aerosmith fans know, Tyler has a way with a clever turn of phrase) and admirably human. Tyler’s now 63 and a grandpa. He’s gotten clean (several times), had children by three different women (two of whom he’d married), broken up and gotten back together with his band (who knows how many times?), and has finally made peace with many of his demons: the drug addictions, the romantic betrayals, the parenting failures, the ego-driven battles with band mates.

“I may be a monster,” he writes, in apparent hope that the reader might see “the more spiritual side of me” beneath the bad boy stereotype, “but I’m a sensitive monster.”

Ultimately, Tyler seems torn between the urge to preserve his carefully cultivated rock star pose and the desire to drop the mask. “It’s hard to tell who I am by the trail left by my musical career,” he writes. “I am the Demon of Screamin’, the dude that looks like a lady, the rag doll that married Lucy in the Sky. But I’m also something more than the rock ‘n’ roll junky whore who got his foot inside the door.”

Beneath Tyler’s sex-and-drugs-and-rock-’n'-roll tough talk and raging narcissism — Tyler calls it LSD: Lead Singer Disorder — there’s a surprising self-awareness, a capacity for empathy, an ability to connect. That’s a big part of what has attracted all those fans and all those women — and now, one imagines, all those readers.

And now for our list:

“Frog and Toad Are Friends” by Arnold Lobel (Ages 4-8)

The thing about Lobel’s Frog and Toad — see also the equally wonderful “Days With Frog and Toad,” “Frog and Toad All Year” and “Frog and Toad Together” — is that, despite the whole amphibian thing, they’re so damn human. Toad is crabby, self-doubting and, let’s face it, somewhat prone to depression. Frog has a sunny, can-do disposition. And they may be an odd couple, of the Oscar and Felix variety, but they are also kind, supportive, considerate, loving friends. And though these stories are, of course, beloved by children of both sexes, the way these two very different fellows take care of each other — and delight in each other’s company — seems like a particularly valuable example for young boys.

“Diary of a Wimpy Kid” by Jeff Kinney (Ages 9-12)

Kinney’s “Wimpy Kid” series may not be writing at its finest, but it has struck a major chord with boys, capturing the attention of even the most reluctant readers. Described as “a novel in cartoons” — with lots of drawn illustrations, a lined-paper format and a font that looks like handwriting — it has an undeniable charm, evoking the misery that is middle school in spare, deft strokes. Its beleaguered narrator, Greg Heffley, isn’t the most sympathetic character, selling out his best friend Rowley when the occasion suits him, but he has a keen eye for demoralizing details. Like the cheese that lies rotting and repulsive on his school blacktop, spawning the terrors of “Cheese Touch.” “It’s basically like the Cooties,” Greg explains. “If you get the Cheese Touch, you’re stuck with it until you pass it on to someone else. The only way to protect yourself from the Cheese Touch is to cross your fingers.” If that doesn’t take you right back to middle school, well, you’re luckier than some of us.

“Danny the Champion of the World” by Roald Dahl (Ages 9-12)

If there is a more moving depiction of the relationship between a son and his father in all of literature than the one in this rollicking adventure tale, we’d sure like to know about it. “It is impossible to tell you how much I loved my father,” Dahl’s narrator, Danny, tells us. “When he was sitting close to me on my bunk I would reach out and slide my hand into his, and then he would fold his long fingers around my fist, holding it tight.” But Danny’s love for his dad — a filling station owner and widower who is raising his only child in a gypsy caravan — is apparent in every line, every moment of this story. Danny’s dad, he tells us, is an “eye-smiler,” whose eyes flash and twinkle when he is amused, but who never much moves his mouth. “I was glad my father was an eye-smiler,” Danny writes, “because it is impossible to make your eyes twinkle if you aren’t feeling twinkly yourself.” This gentle, funny, genuinely wonderful book will leave boys (and their parents) eye-smiling and deliciously amused.

“The Lightning Thief” by Rick Riordan (Ages 9-12)

Start your son on this first book in Riordan’s Percy Jackson and the Olympians series and watch him read away his summer. When we first meet Percy, he just seems like a troubled kid on the verge of getting kicked out of yet another school. In fact, he’s gone through six schools in six years: Bad things just seem to keep happening to him. It isn’t long before Percy (short for Perseus), and we, learn that those strange things he thinks he’s been hallucinating are actually real. Mythological monsters and gods — satyrs, minotaurs, centaurs — really are populating his life and he himself is a half-blood: His father, whom he never knew and had been told had been “lost at sea,” is, in fact, Poseidon. This popular series is a great read for any myth-minded kid who cut his teeth on “D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths.” Come to think of it, it’s a great read for any kid. Come to think of it again, it’s just a great read.

“The Giver” by Lois Lowry (Young Adult)

This book about a futuristic world that initially seems utopian (no crime, no poverty, no illness, abundantly good manners), but, as it turns out, is less than ideal (no color, no music, no sunshine), is creepy yet altogether compelling. As it begins, 11-year-old Jonas is apprehensively anticipating his Ceremony of Twelve, when he will receive his adult Assignment from the Committee of Elders. Will he be a Nurturer or a judge, like the parents who are raising him? Will be a Caretaker of the Old, like his friend Fiona? But Jonas does not receive a conventional assignment: He is selected to become the community’s next Receiver of Memory, tasked absorbing the collective recollection of pain and pleasure, which the community has long since eschewed in pursuit of comfort, stability and Sameness. Jonas meets daily with the previous Receiver, now the Giver, and learns to appreciate a world with choice and compassion — and love.

“Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse” by Kevin Henkes (Ages 4-8)

Plenty of people have other favorites by Henkes — “Chrysanthemum,” “Owen,” “Sheila Rae, the Brave,” “Chester’s Way.” But “Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse” stands out for its emotional nuance. Lilly, a young mouse who wears fabulous red cowboy boots, adores her teacher, Mr. Slinger. One day, Lilly brings her new purse to school, and is seriously excited to show it to the class. Asked to wait, she can’t quite manage to restrain herself, repeatedly interrupting the class to show off her new treasure. When Mr. Slinger takes the purse away until the end of the school day, Lilly, infuriated, gets revenge by drawing a mean picture of him and slipping it into his bag. Then, on the way home, she finds that Mr. Slinger has written her a sweet note, “Today was a difficult day. Tomorrow will be better.” Lilly is filled with sickening regret. But she apologizes and is forgiven and, best of all, manages to forgive herself. Mr. Slinger’s words, and Lilly’s acceptance of herself — on good days and bad — are lessons that any fabulous little girl (or grown woman) who occasionally struggles to control her impulses can take to heart.

“Eloise” by Kay Thompson, Drawings by Hilary Knight (Ages 7 and up)

There’s a reason this book about a 6-year-old girl making all manner of mischief in New York’s Plaza Hotel, originally published in 1955, is beloved by girls and women everywhere. Actually, there are myriad reasons, Knight’s breathtakingly elegant, deliciously expressive illustrations significantly among them. But mostly, it’s Eloise herself — that never-bored, perpetually inventive little girl, who orders everything from room service with a definitive “and charge it please, Thank you very much,” torments her tutor, adores her nanny, misses her absent mom (though she’d never say so), braids her pet turtle Skipperdee’s ears first thing each morning (“Otherwise he gets cross and develops a rash”), and generally spends her days, well, pretty much as she pleases. She’s a far cry from the overscheduled, helicopter-parented children of today.

“Ramona the Pest” by Beverly Cleary (Ages 7-12)

There are those who would make a strong case that Barbara Park’s more recent Junie B. Jones series is the better girl-starring series for this age group. Then there are those who remember devouring Cleary’s books by the pile when they themselves were around 7. Those people will point to the books’ enduring popularity, and the fact that the adventures (er … misadventures) of the irrepressible Romana can still deeply absorb girls — and yes, boys, too — just transitioning to chapter books, and make them laugh and laugh. If Ramona is a pest, she’s a pest many children can truly relate to.

“Little Women,” by Louisa May Alcott (Ages 9-12)

Ah, the March sisters — coltish tomboy Jo; frail, sweet Beth; beautiful, practical Meg; pampered, artistic Amy — living in genteel poverty with their mother, Marmee, in their New England home and struggling to make the best of things while their father is away, fighting in the Civil War. As wonderfully warm and endearingly romantic as you may remember them to be, the stories that make up the novel are surprisingly insightful, fresh and modern. It’s a book worth returning to, if you haven’t picked it up since childhood, and a lovely book for girls in the midst of their own.

“Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” by Judy Blume (Ages 9-12)

For many girls and young women, this book pretty much wraps up their preteen years: the angst over their changing bodies (or bodies that aren’t changing fast enough), the confusion over fitting in socially and staking a claim to their own beliefs, the deep desire to know right now what life will bring them at its own pace. Blume’s protagonist, 11-year-old Margaret, whose family moves to the New Jersey suburbs from New York City when she’s on the brink of sixth grade — that universally difficult year — contends with all of this, chatting with God in her bed at night though she has been raised in a non-religious home. Grown-ups who read this book years or even decades ago (it was initially released in 1970) can probably conjure images of first bras and first periods. And while they may recall how personal and real the book felt, they may have forgotten how funny it is, too.

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Is your favorite book sorely lacking from this list? Let’s face it, any list of five great books for girls is, by definition, woefully inadequate. Where, you might ask, looking over this handful of literary selections, is Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “The Secret Garden”? Or Roald Dahl’s “Matilda”? Or L.M. Mongtomery’s “Anne of Green Gables”? Or Astrid Lindren’s “Pippi Longstocking”? Or Madeline L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time”? Or Alice, or Madeline, or Coraline? Or, frankly, a host of other long-loved favorites?

If your most treasured read hasn’t been included here, don’t shake your fist in the air and curse the gods at the injustice of it all: Blog about your own summer reading suggestions for kids on Open Salon (make sure to explain what makes them so great). Don’t forget to tag your post “Building a bookworm.” We’ll be cross-posting your submissions on Salon in the coming weeks.

Karim’s story, told in diary format, is compelling; his voice makes the book a standout. Working to improve his grasp of American idiom, Karim carries a voice recorder everywhere so that, later, he can look up expressions he doesn’t know. “This will help me to study the American voices I hear and to transmit their conversations without error,” he tells his teenage seatmate on the flight over the Atlantic. Karim also notes that the journal will help him to remember. “I have a robust memory for some details, but it is complex to continue acquiring data and archive them all,” he observes, “and even now I am forgetting some older memories, as if my brain is a hard drive and time is a magnet.”

The reader comes to share Karim’s fascination with language, and to be thoroughly charmed by his “Karim-esque” phrasing — as well as his perspective on American culture. Who could resist rooting for a character who finds inspiration in Jackson Pollock’s paintings and Leonard Cohen’s lyrics, and who describes a cloying Christmas movie as “unrealistic and false although it still made me feel slightly enhanced”? Wayne has given us a character to adore and a book that leaves us feeling, as Karim might say, greatly enhanced.