Let Me Tell You What I Mean

Let Me Tell You What I Mean by Joan Didion (2021) I must admit I have not read very much by Joan Didion—just a little here and there—never an entire book before this one. Haven't gotten around to it. Don't know why that is, really—besides being the slowest reader I know—because what I have read by her has been worthwhile. It might be because her last name is the same as my next door neighbors, growing up, and though I know that's silly, it can be hard to reconcile the baggage you have with names. Especially for someone like me who attaches a great deal of significance to things—no matter how much it might seem like superstition. If Joan Didion, say, wrote books about kids making a treehouse out in the woods, I'd be more than comfortable with that. The little I've read by her, however, here and there, has impressed me, surprised me, and sometimes challenged me. This recent collection is a dozen or so previously published but uncollected works—with no real focus or theme—other than Joan Didion telling you more or less what she means—which is never simple—and always takes me to a different level than I had expected. I liked them all, and got something out of each piece, usually more than I had anticipated, at surface level. I especially enjoyed, and was compelled to reread, the articles about director Tony Richardson (“The Long-Distance Runner”), and Ernest Hemingway (“Last Words”), as well as an article called “Why I Write” and one called “Telling Stories”—which are quite fascinating takes on what is admittedly my favorite subject to read about (and write about), which is writing.

The Terrible Troubles of Rupert Piper

The Terrible Troubles of Rupert Piper by Ethelyn M. Parkinson (1963) I have a hardback copy of this book from Abingdon Press. It's kind of a precursor to the four, later, Rupert Piper novels. There are 11 short stories here—adventures and misadventures of sixth-grade friends, and their families, in a small, fictional, Wisconsin town. All pretty funny, and some of them quite surprising. I like all of the Parkinson books I've read—though I prefer the long-form stories a bit more. But these are great. This book might be a bit hard to find—but fairly easy to find are its predecessors—Double Trouble for Rupert (1958) and Triple Trouble for Rupert (1960), which both went through multiple printings from Scholastic Book Services—so you'll see them, occasionally, in used book stores. They must have printed a lot of those Scholastic Book Services paperbacks over the years—and you can still find them—but because of their distinctive look and feel, and general excellence, one day they'll become quite collectable. I'm not particularly interested in collecting, necessarily, but rather books I like to read, and reread, and these books are all worth reading. If you're an Ethelyn M. Parkinson completist (and why wouldn't you be) I can report that all 11 stories here are included in either of the previous Rupert Piper books—so if you find those, you'll have all of this book's stories. But then, if you're a completist, you might want this one, as well. In all these books, illustrations by Mary Stevens are also excellent.

Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat

Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat by Victor Appleton (1910) As a gift, no doubt, I received a Tom Swift book when I was around ten or so. It was one published in 1960, and I've carried it around with me all these years and only recently tried to read it. I just couldn't get into it—far too contemporary! But what I didn't realize is this is the updated version of Tom Swift (by “Victor Appleton II”) and this 1960 Tom Swift is actually Tom Swift Jr., the son of the original Tom Swift, whose adventures are the focus of this earlier series, starting in 1910. (I realize that Tom Swift is a fictional character. So is Victor Appleton.) Anyway, once I knew that there was this earlier version, I picked up one of these older books, and I liked it much better. This book is the second of the series, (after “Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle”) and is subtitled: “Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa.” Lake Carlopa is the presumedly fictional like on which Tom Swift lives and most of the adventures in this book take place. And there's a lot of a adventures—no outing is with without incident. One of the most alarming jaunts is when Tom comes upon an older friend who accidentally shot himself while out hunting. There are a lot of secondary characters—the funniest is old Mr. Damon, who speaks with expression like “Bless my shirt studs.” Probably the strangest is a hot-air balloon pilot who Tom and his father just barely save from a truly harrowing incident that goes on for pages. The man almost immediately becomes part of the family, so it's easy to speculate he might be involved in the next book in the series, “Tom Swift and His Airship.” In spite of all that action and eccentricity, there is still time for some practical, even educational passages, as Tom constantly tinkers with the mechanics of the boat and the engine. I'm assuming the author knew what he was talking about, and enjoyed infusing the story with some nuts and bolts. And there's even a few meals (often my favorite parts of series books). After one lunch, Tom lingers on for “a second apple dumpling with hard sauce on”—after which he's taken with a “very comfortable feeling” and even a sense of forgiveness toward his nemesis, the bully, Andy Foger. At least until he discovers that his boat is stolen!

Bleeding Edge

Bleeding Edge by Thomas Pynchon (2013) I will be a lifelong fan of Thomas Pynchon because my experience of reading one of his books, Gravity's Rainbow (1973), was one of the most profound and intense reading experiences of my life. I read the entire book while riding the subway to and from work in New York City (thus, I read it primarily standing up and holding onto a metal bar with one hand). In order to read that book, I had to change the way I read—best I can describe it—to something more akin to listening to music. It was kind of a beautiful experience. If I was to be quizzed on the ins and outs, however, at this point, I'd no doubt fail the multiple choice. (I might be able to connect on an essay question, who knows.) Anyway, my writing has probably been influenced too much by Pynchon; so be it. Other books of his, like Vineland (1990), I've carried around for years (love that cover!) but have never been able to get into. (I have a feeling I'd like to reread The Crying of Lot 49.) This book, Bleeding Edge (2013), could possibly be Thomas Pynchon's last—I hope not, because nothing would make me happier than for him to come out with another one, and for me to be alive and of sound mind to read it. A big part of me not being able to connect (at least with my heart) to this book is that its scope is roughly the days of 11 September—which of arguably The Trauma of a generation. This may be the book for (among future Pynchon fanatics) those readers without a conscious memory of the event—people who are just now reaching Pynchon reading age. (What's more, it might even more the book for people born 15 years after 11 September.) I loved the protagonist, middle-aged mom, fraud investigator, Maxine Tarnow, who leads us through the story. The peripheral characters, and the story, not so much, as there are certain realms of conspiracy culture that send me in the other direction faster than a “MASH” (TV series—not mentioned in this book, I don't think) rerun. (For whatever reason, though, I'm endlessly onboard with “Gilligan's Island” and “The Brady Bunch.”) I realize with my own writing, the danger of trafficking in cultural references—whether film buff, Classical, or Pop—which carry the danger of alienating readers, who either get them or don't. (And how much work is the reader willing to do, even with “research” being the new channel surfing.) I know there are Pynchon websites that catalog his references, pop culture and otherwise—and if anyone's counting (I kind of hope not) this book might set some kind of record. You have to kind of love a guy, though, who in the midst of writing about some pretty serous stuff, manages to work in a pun (requiring a bit of buildup... someone's watching “Scooby Goes Latin!” (1990)) like, “And I would've got away with it, too, if it hadn't been for those Medellín kids!”

Seven Strange Clues

Seven Strange Clues by Margaret Sutton (1932) By pure coincidence, I read three books in a row that had an arson theme. Maybe that's not so weird—maybe half the books out there have arson as part of the story—but I can't think of another one, offhand. Anyway, this is the next book of the Judy Bolton series, after The Invisible Chimes. The Judy Bolton books, as much as any series I'm currently reading, benefit from reading them in order. It's not entirely necessary, but it helps, and you get a richer understanding of the wide array of characters and their evolving development and relationships. I liked this one a lot because ART is at the center of the mystery—part of the story is about a poster contest in town that a lot of the kids enter. Judy is convinced that she's terrible at painting, and it's quite funny. It's a pretty baffling mystery—quite satisfying—there's a secret passageway, bootleggers, and, like I said before, arson and art. Also, Blackberry, Judy's cat, gets involved, and that's always a plus.

The Library Book

The Library Book by Susan Orlean (2018) It's no secret that the author, Susan Orlean, was to some degree an inspiration for one of the characters in my novel, The Doughnuts. Not too close, of course, and only a starting place. I had visited the downtown Los Angeles library sometime in the 1990s, and when I started The Doughnuts, a decade later, I recalled my visit when I imagined this character visiting a friend who was a librarian there. So it was kind of a shock to me, having just finally finished my novel, to see this book emerge. It's the kind of coincidence I'm used to, however, and attribute to being “on the right track.” The Library Book starts out as an account of the horrendous Los Angeles Library fire of 1986, and then an investigation into, and portrait of, the primary suspect of arson. As I'm somewhat allergic to anything even close to “True Crime,” I was worried I'd not find enough to like here, but that's really only the frame for a much larger mediation on libraries—the concept, history, and evolution of libraries. Also, there's a lot of fascinating portraits of individuals involved in the history of the LA library system. Even the in-depth portrait of the arson suspect was fascinating—a certain type of character that most people will recognize. Most of all, though, the book is an inspiration for someone like me who really loves libraries. Any time I visit a new town—well, the diner is my first stop—but the library is my second, essential, stop. A lot of my best early memories are about our local Carnegie library (Sandusky, Ohio). We also had a pretty magical bookmobile park on the end of our street in the summer. A passage near the end is worth quoting, here—it kind of encapsulates the almost mystical quality libraries have for me: “All the things that are wrong in the world seem conquered by a library's simple unspoken promise: Here I am, please tell me your story; here is my story, please listen.”

Case of the Fugitive Firebug

Case of the Fugitive Firebug by Scott Corbett (1969). I've read a lot of kids' books by Scott Corbett—I believe he published in the vicinity of 100 books—and this was probably the first one I read. I got it through Scholastic Book Services at school. We would periodically get a catalog, then you'd check off the books you wanted to order, and then ask your parents for the money. A few dollars. The price printed on this edition is 60 cents. When the books eventually arrived it was like Christmas. Better than Christmas! Maybe it was the first taste I had of shopping addiction, which continues to this day. Not the worst addiction out there—especially when it pertains to books. This book is the second of the five-book “Inspector Tearle” series—about Roger Tearle, a precocious, twelve-year-old sleuth who solves local, small-town mysteries with his twin sister and best friend. This one involves arson on a neighbor's estate—and it is a pretty good mystery. The best thing about the book, though, is that Roger's office is a treehouse in his backyard. As someone who had a treehouse myself (with friends), I can say building a treehouse was one of the highlights of my childhood. The treehouse is well-imagined here, and is kind of—along with Roger's overly anxious inner monologue—the center of the story. The fine illustrations by Paul Frame add quite a bit to it, as well—it's hard to say just how much—but they work together with the story of make it come alive. I really feel like I've spent as much time in that treehouse as I have in Roger's head.

A Visit from the Goon Squad

A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan (2010) A novel written in the form if 13 stories with radically different approaches that don't connect in a narrative line but are linked by characters common to each—who are all roughly connected to the music industry. There are multiple themes connecting the stories, as well—the main one, you could say is: Life kicking your ass. For those few who can't relate to that, give it time. I like how the stories take place in wildly different time periods, which is something a book does so much more gracefully than a movie. Goon Squad crept up on me slowly—I might have even despised it at times—until a particular story (I'm not saying which), late in the book, I absolutely connected with—and made me love the whole. Besides that, I have to mention the oddball chapter that's presented as a PowerPoint, which—though it seems gimmicky on the surface—works (though better on a webpage [Egan's website] than in book form). It works because of its connection to the rest of the book—and because it's very funny. Also, it's the first PowerPoint that didn't make me want to throw up. I got the sense that Jennifer Egan wasn't a music industry person or coke-head, necessarily—but maybe that sense was further confirmed after I read more about her. But I don't think a writer needs to be intimately part of the world they're writing about—I'm all for it when they're not, actually—and I feel like it's the oddly skewed distance of an author to a work that often makes it as compelling as it is. For me, this was one of those instances.

The Pigman

The Pigman by Paul Zindel (1968) I first read this when I was in junior high or high school, I don't remember, but it wasn't that long after it was published—it must have been a bit of a sensation. It was an important book to me. Interesting that it came out only four years before I started drinking. I guess this is considered a “young adult” book—and I suppose those categories might be useful if you're trying to figure out what to allow your kids to read, but otherwise I have no use for them. I've read that the book was banned here and there, which isn't surprising, I guess—the kids are drinking and smoking, and I'd imagine some parents don't want their kids reading books that depict kids drinking and smoking. It's not so great that I started drinking at such a young age, but I don't know that it was the result of any book. I think I was drawn to stories about drinking, though, naturally, and what I most remembered from this book was the kids drinking in a cemetery, which isn't that big a part of it. For those reasons, I thought it might be a bit of a drag to read now, but I wanted to read it again. It really holds up well, actually, and even though there's an oppressive feeling of dread hanging over it, the impending tragedy, it's also quite joyful. One thing that's interesting that I didn't remember was that it's a dual narrative, told in the voices of John and Lorraine, high school kids, as they're typing out their saga, the story if their friendship with this odd, lonely character they meet, Mr. Pignati (“The Pigman”). You really do get the feeling of the kids adjusting their memory of events to the written expression, and in relation to each other's depiction. Most impressive are the portraits of the adults, including John's parents and Lorraine's mother—particularly heartbreaking characters. As tragic as he is, Mr. Pignati's character at least has some spirt of life in him, due to his eccentricity. I suppose this was one of the books that really made me appreciate stories about human beings who are true to life, with flaws, who make mistakes, learning of course, but sometimes making the same mistakes over again. Good things happen, bad things happen, but no one is heroic, and no one is evil.

The Marvelous Adventures of Alvin Fernald

The Marvelous Adventures of Alvin Fernald by Clifford B. Hicks (1960). This book was one of my favorites when I was a little kid—the first of many Alvin Fernald books. It's about a precocious kid who is good at making inventions, including an automatic bed-maker, burglar alarm for his bedroom, and bike-mounted cannon for launching rolled up newspapers, for his paper route. He and his best friend and his little sister get caught up in a mystery involving an eccentric neighbor who lives in an allegedly haunted house. Overall, it's a fun book, though a little tedious at times, as are many books with know-it-all young boys who are annoyed by their little sisters. What I realized, the most nostalgic element of the book is the excellent illustrations by Charles Geer—these really messy, expressive, detailed line drawings. He illustrated several of my favorite books, including “The Mad Scientists' Club” books (which came out just a little later than this, and feature slightly advanced kid inventors). Charles Geer is the best. Another thing I really liked is how Alvin and his friend Shoie are always calling each other “old man,” and “old bean.” It's pretty charming. I just wrote something (fiction, not yet published) where a character starts referring to his friend as “old man, old sport,” etc., while under duress, and it really irritates the friend. I was thinking of Orson Welles, maybe in The Third Man, and now I'm wondering if that, or other Welles characters, were his influence here.

Young Adults

Young Adults by Daniel M. Pinkwater (1985) I bought this book on March 15, 1986, in New York. (Back when I used to write my name and the date in books—should I do that again?) It may have been the first Danial Pinkwater book I read. It's a hodgepodge of stuff, including Young Adult Novel, a short novel, and a couple of followups to that, and a lot of great computer art by Pinkwater—all very funny. I remember being pretty amazed by the “Young Adults” sagas—which are stories about a group of misfit boys in high school who have a club called the Wild Dada Ducks. I think I was amazed at how closely he echoed my (and my friends) high school experience—not the specifics so much as the whole feeling. Reading it now—the whole story of how the Ducks single-out a nerd, outsider kid—made me uncomfortable (perhaps because we're more aware and sensitive about “bullying,” now)—but the way it plays out is so unexpected and true to life, it remains funny and fascinating. The subsequent sagas aren't quite as sharp, but they're entertaining and weird. When the kids go off to college it jumps several levels of maturity—it gets quite graphic. This all got me to wondering how current institutions warn (or don't) readers and parents about content. I'm kind of glad I'm not in that world, I guess, since I feel like, if you can read it, it's okay. But then, I remember reading The Godfather when I was in Seventh Grade, thinking, this is a little much, but I'm into it.

Silver Wings for Vicki

Silver Wings for Vicki by Helen Wells (1947) This is the first book of the “Vicki Barr Flight Stewardess Series”—some are credited to Helen Wells, some to Julie Tatham—as are the Cherry Ames Nurse series. I liked this book a lot. It started out slow and took its time—introduced Vicki Barr, her home, and family. She applies for a job with the airline, and it's quite competitive, but she gets accepted, and they fly her to New York for training. This is the first time she's flown, and the description of it is pretty inspired. She meets a few other women who are also in training, and a group of them share an apartment in New York, once they start working. They are all on call—they have to be ready to take a shift with a moment's notice. Eventually, there is a mystery involving smugglers, and it's a good mystery, very believable, not too overblown. What I like best about the book, though, is the detailed description about the job and flying—it's in the mid 1940s, so an interesting time for aviation. I especially liked the description of Vicki's initial flight, and the steak dinner during the flight, followed by coffee and ice cream. Then following the dinner, there's a wax-paper envelope with mints and a cigarette! I know that seems insane now, but I do remember when you could smoke on airplanes—but still, a little packet with after dinner mints and a cigarette—that just made me laugh.

The Merry Mad Bachelors

The Merry Mad Bachelors by Ethelyn M. Parkinson (1962) This book is the sequel to Good Old Archibald (1960), and is about big family in small town (presumably northern Wisconsin) who are a bit eccentric—but not in a annoying, quirky way—kind of like my own family was eccentric. It's a big family—the kids are all boys; one likes to cook in the basement, one likes to give funerals for critters who have died. There's a set of twins, and there's an adopted kid. The narrator is the oldest boy, Trent Conway, and he and his classmates are about to enter Seventh Grade, and they're determined to have a good basketball team. Their newest friend was a rich kid, an outsider, Archibald—from the previous book—now fully accepted with the boys. They make a new friend this summer, Emory, who is an orphan, and is staying with his uncle, who is a dentist, for the summer. The kids' project is to convince the town judge to allow Emory to stay permanently with his uncle—though the judge is steadfastly against it, as the dentist is a confirmed bachelor. So there's a lot convoluted plots to find ways to prove that bachelors can survive without the help of a woman. It gets pretty involved. One of the reasons I like Ethelyn M. Parkinson's books so much is that her sense of humor is pretty sophisticated—though these are definitely written for a juvenile audience. She assumes her reader is intelligent, and can get the jokes, or else will grow into it. The humor is also often very dry, and sometime a bit odd—but never gets stale with me. This book remains one of my all-time favorite kids' books.

The Bungalow Mystery

The Bungalow Mystery by Carolyn Keene (1930) Every time some clouds roll in, Nancy Drew must panic, because within the first six chapters of this book she's caught in two of the worst thunderstorms on record—the first while in a boat, and the second while in her car—and barely escapes death in both instances! In both cases, a “bedraggled” young woman named Laura Pendleton shows up, which would be suspicious, were this a fantasy world where a person is controlling the weather. Laura is an orphaned heiress, hopefully to the Pendleton Woolen Mills fortune, because she and her new friend, Nancy, could desperately use some all-weather gear. This is the third Nancy Drew mystery, which I had never read in either its revised form, or this, the original text. It's a pretty good one, kind of a stripped-down story, ultimately, but a good mystery, with Nancy investigating the questionable guardian of her new friend. There's some real danger, a car chase, and those excellent storms.

The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot

The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot by Robert Arthur (1964) This is the second book in the series, Alfred Hitchcock and The Three Investigators, of which Hitchcock, of course, is involved in name only; he “introduces” each mystery, as if The Three Investigators are real people. It's a pretty good strategy, I suppose. I read a lot of this series as a kid, and I recall this one being among my favorites. It's a good mystery—heavy on the mystery, rather than the adventure—which I like. I mean, there is some danger and intrigue, but mostly you're trying to figure it out, along with the kids. My favorite parts of these books were the descriptions of the junkyard where the Investigators have their office and headquarters, with lots of secret entrances. It reminds me of the forts and hideouts we had as kids. I still get excited thinking about that stuff. Even as a mature adult, I still want a secret hideout. If I ever own my own house, you had better believe I will have a secret room—if not several secret rooms. I'd like to think that Robert Arthur, author of the earliest and best Three Investigators books, also wanted a secret hideout, but was satisfied by making an excellent one in his fiction.

Trixie Belden and the Red Trailer Mystery

Trixie Belden and the Red Trailer Mystery by Julie Campbell Tatham (1950) This is the second Trixie Belden book, and the second one I've read. Trixie and her friend Honey Wheeler head out of town, on a summer trip with Honey's governess, Miss Trask, who is driving, pulling a little trailer, which they're camping in. For most of the book they they are staying at a trailer camp called Autoville. The story continues, to some degree, from the first book, when the girls met and became friends, and met this orphan kid, a boy named Jim. Now, the girls are looking for him, as he has kind of struck out on his own. He is quite capable, and also hard to find, but they know he's somewhere in the area, in which there's woods, farmland, and summer camps. It really made me want to travel somewhere with a trailer! The “red trailer” in question belongs to a mysterious family they encounter. Trixie and Honey go exploring on horseback and on foot—and their two dogs go along with them, but also kind of just run around and explore on their own. It's a good mystery with a lot going on—really, multiple mysteries—and there's some really fun, odd characters. This book made me want to read the next Trixie Belden story, and it seems like it's a good idea to read them in order.

The Ghost Writer

The Ghost Writer by Philip Roth (1979) This is the first of a series of books with the character and narrator Nathan Zuckerman, who is to some degree based on Philip Roth. Oddly, the first of his books I ever read was Exit Ghost (2007), which is the last Zuckerman novel. I liked it a lot, but still haven't read much by him—maybe I will, yet—I really like his writing. This story is Zuckerman looking back a couple decades, to a couple of days when he visited this older, famous writer at his home out in the country, among some snowy mountains. It's heavy and kind of claustrophobic—also there is the writer's unhappy wife, and young student—who Zuckerman immediately has a crush on—and also speculates may be the writer's mistress—and also possibly Anne Frank. There's a fascinating, terribly dramatic dinner, and then Zuckerman stays over. During a sleepless night his mind is pretty active, trying to negotiate the tense and uncomfortable social occasion, while also thinking about his conflicts with his family about his own writing. It made me think about this idea that I am confounded by—on one hand, it seems like, as a writer, you're likely to make less impact, on either culture or people you know, than any other way imaginable. On the other hand, it's probably the most likely way to piss people off and lose friends. The feeling I got from this book is kind of the acknowledgment of this contradictory nature of being a writer. It's pathetic, hopeless, and a little sad—while at the same time the most exciting and fulfilling possible way to live—if it's the thing you have to do.

The Great Airport Mystery

The Great Airport Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon (1930) When the Hardy Boys are introduced in this book, the 9th in the series, it's revealed that Frank, the older brother, had had an illness at one point and missed a lot of school, so was held back one year, and is therefore in the same grade as Joe. I don't know if I ever heard that in any other Hardy Boy books. Also, they are finishing up their Senior year of high school, here, so they may have been thinking about, in future books, having them both going off to college—you'd kind of want them both going at the same time, right? I looked at the intro paragraphs in the next book (What Happened at Midnight), and sure enough, they're back in high school—of course—and the way they proceeded is to keep them young—high school age—forever. Anyway, they're heading out to the new airport at the opening, and instead of a crazy driver running them off the road, this time it's a drunken airplane pilot who almost lands his plane on their car! Also, interesting is they go back to Cabin Island, but now in the summer. Of course, they get caught in a big storm—always my favorite part of every book! Then, in another unique twist, Frank and Joe get arrested!—as suspects in the airmail robbery. What's funny is that Chief Collig actually suspects them, and even their dad has to be convinced they're innocent. They're even worried, themselves, that they won't be able to clear their names, so they work extra hard to solve the mystery. In order to do surveillance on the airmail thieves, they hide in the back of the their plane, in a cargo compartment. Remember, this book came out in 1930, so think 1920s airplanes! At one point the steering cable gets caught on the sleeve of one of the Hardys and the plane nearly crashes. It's a totally insane way to proceed in this case, which makes it a pretty lively book. They take along blankets, water, milk, sandwiches, and CAKE. I mean, why not.

Fun With Our Friends

Fun With Our Friends (1963) is a “Primer” from the New Cathedral Basic Reading Program. For reasons I can't really justify, I have collected a lot of children's school books, particularly of the “social studies” area. I guess this would be a book used in “reading” class. For one thing, I guess I loved social studies when I was in school, so it's a bit of crude nostalgia. Also, I'm interested in old books with illustrations (not photos, usually), so maybe I'm mostly attracted to the children's book illustration style—that's true. It goes without saying that many of these books represent only white people, and this one doesn't even show a city, or even small town—it's pretty much wealthy, suburban and rural white people. It's wholesome and happy to an extreme. For the most part, I can't find anything of interest in this one, unless it's used ironically. There are a few oddities, though. In one episode, the father is opening a cardboard box (it's his new grill) and it looks exactly like a cardboard box you'd see today—even the Amazon symbol is on it. Just kidding. Then there's a chapter called “A Ride on Clown”—fortunately, though—or maybe disappointing—Clown is the name of a pony. The best thing I saw in here is an episode where they made a big, toxic, yellow, birthday cake, but then forgot it at home, and so the clever grandmother cut a watermelon in half, stuck candles in it, and used that as a birthday cake. I've never seen that before, but I'm going to keep that in mind for future birthday parties.

Beverly Gray's Scoop

Beverly Gray's Scoop by Clair Blank (1954) This is the first Beverly Gray book I've read. It's one of the later ones, the second to last of 25 or so published from the Thirties into the Fifties. I decided it would be too much to try to find them all and read them in order, so I just tried this one—but I liked it enough that I want to read more. There were a lot of characters for a relatively short kids' book, and a pretty good mystery. Beverly Gray and her three friends live in New York City—all young professionals—Beverly works as a reporter for a newspaper. There is a young woman named Kay who is Beverly's rival at a competing newspaper, so they're always trying to “scoop” each other on stories. This mystery involves the secret of the uncle of one of Beverly's roommates' fiance. The uncle has just returned from an excursion in Egypt, has some kind of secret, but dies before he can reveal it. The whole thing gets pretty convoluted—there are multiple underworld figures involved. There's even a subplot involving jealousy and romance. They all have pretty vibrant lives in Manhattan and surrounding areas, and they eat at restaurants and diners quite a bit, which is, of course, my favorite element. But I also found the mystery and intrigue pretty satisfying.