 
|
It's possible that the only people unluckier than the Baudelaire orphans are their succession of guardians following the fiery death of their parents. Sweet "Uncle" Monty met an ironic end due to the machinations of the evil Count Olaf, who remains
bent on getting his hands on the fortune the children will inherit when eldest sister Violet comes of age. Their ridiculously timid "Aunt" Josephine
is next in line to come up against the seemingly unstoppable (and endlessly disguise-equipped) Olaf.
Josephine dwells in solitary grief above the dark waters of leech-infested Lake Lachrymose. The house she once shared with her dear husband, Ike, perches precariously on a cliff, buttressed by long metal stilts and seeming to ever be on the verge of sliding down into the lake. She's afraid of everything, including the potential shatter-ability of the doorknobs and fire possibilities presented by the stove (hence every meal she serves is cold). But my oh my, does the woman love grammar; it's her one remaining pleasure in life.
Enter the suspect Captain Sham, who charms the naive Josephine but is easily recognizable to the children (and no one else, par usual) as the horrid Count Olaf. How will the Baudelaires escape Olaf's clutches when they must face the world's nastiest leeches, a hurricane in a sailboat, and a library filled with nothing but grammar books?
Constant Narrator Lemony Snicket outdoes himself with hilarious dry asides and definitions.
It is that narrative voice and dry delivery that make A Series of Unfortunate Events work:
Stealing is not excusable if, for instance, you are in a museum and you decide that a certain painting would look better in your house, and you simply grab the painting and take it there. But if you were very, very hungry, and you had no way of obtaining money, it might be excusable to grab the painting, take it to your house, and eat it.
The Wide Window and Lemony Snicket continue to take young readers - even adults - on the most pleasantly unpleasant journey with the most entertainingly miserable orphans in children's literature.
|






|