I first read this in 1974, when I was a little older than Huckleberry's age, which is fourteen, and reread it summer of 2023. I was surprised by how much of it I remembered. And I noticed things that I was either oblivious to at that age, or forgot about since. While it's written in the voice of a teenager in 1840, [a:Mark Twain|1244|Mark Twain|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1322103868p2/1244.jpg] was in his late forties when it was published, 1884 in England and Canada, 1885 in the U.S., and there are passages that mean more to me now, like the one below.
 One thing [b:The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn|2956|The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn|Mark Twain|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1546096879l/2956.SX50.jpg|1835605] has made me revise is my dislike of dialect. This book is entirely in dialect—Huckleberry narrates it—but I liked that about it.

 When I got there it was all still and Sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny; the hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint dronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and like everybody's dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it's spirits whispering—spirits that's been dead ever so many years—and you always think they're talking about you. As a general thing it makes a body wish he was dead, too, and done with it all.