When I first read this some while back,
I said that it was interesting but too short to be worth the nine dollars I’d paid
for it. I got lots of e-mail over that, mostly saying something like,
“Will, you just don’t get it.”

I still don’t.

At bedtime just a couple of nights ago I finished reading this book to my
two boys. And when I had read the last sentence, I closed the book with
great relief and a feeling of liberation. I was done. I didn’t have to
to read it aloud anymore. For the first time I felt glad at how short
it was.

To be frank, I can’t think of a book I’ve read aloud that I disliked
reading aloud more than this book. It’s not that it’s poorly written,
or that the prose doesn’t flow; there’s just something about the
atmosphere, and the arch little asides to the reader, and the unrelenting
gloom that made for a thoroughly awful experience.

For what it’s worth, James agreed with me, and we finished it only at
David’s request. After the first few days, I began every reading session
with “I hate this book. You know that, don’t you.” And David would say,
“Yes,” and James would say, “So do I,” and then we’d get on with it.

David’s been put on notice that he can read the other books in the series
if he likes, but if so he’ll be reading them to himself. I’m out of it.