The Mansion of Secrets

The Mansion of Secrets by Frances K. Judd (1942, 1951) This is a later book in the Kay Tracey Mystery series—I guess they were revised, slightly—and this is the first one I’ve read. I didn’t get that much of a feeling of 16-year-old Kay’s personality, though her friends, the twins, Wilma and Betty, are a little more fun. One of them, however, constantly recites verse—that she has composed herself—and if that sounds annoying, it is, more than you can imagine. This isn’t one of the better written series books I’ve read, but the story just kept getting more and more bizarre—so I was pretty entertained. It centers around an old house in which the deceased owner has all kinds of secret hiding places for his riches, and hidden rooms and passages. There are far too few secret rooms in real life, as far as I’m concerned, but at least we have books. My favorite part of this story, though, was an interesting side plot where the kids have a fieldtrip to a perfume factory—it’s obviously a genuine interest of the author. (Frances K. Judd is a pen name—these books are written by various authors.) There’s a lot explained about fragrances, including a detailed explanation of ambergris—and naturally, one of the kids accidentally destroys the factory’s supply of the valuable substance—and naturally, Kay gets blamed for it. She wants nothing more than to be able to replace the ambergris—but where in the world is some of that rare stuff going to turn up?

What Happened at Midnight

What Happened at Midnight by Franklin W. Dixon (1931) Is this my favorite of all Hardy Boy books? It might be. The original version text is one of the funniest and craziest adventures of the series. If you read one Hardy Boy book, find the original text of this one. It includes a depiction of a new-in-town automat, and also, the Hardy’s first visit to New York City, by train—which is extended and hilarious—especially when they attempt to hitchhike back to Bayport, eat at a diner, and have to wash dishes to pay for their breakfast. There’s some good surveillance, tailing their suspect in the city. They visit a seedy, New York, diner and get accosted by a drunk (this is during Prohibition, remember). They even sleep in Central Park. This book has Aunt Gertrude at her most nutso—really funny. Also, this is one of the best books for Chet to really expand his personality. As usual, there is a fraught boat excursion, with fog, and caves, and an even more harrowing small plane excursion, with fog, and parachutes. The story also includes Joe being kidnapped (for an extended period!) and a pretty interesting criminal they’re up against, named Taffy Marr. One more odd thing to note—the old edition cover (which isn’t the original cover, but one that was incorporated in the Forties, I believe) is terrible—one of the worst ever—especially later printings—too dark. The cover of the rewrite, which came out in 1967, however, is one of my favorite covers of all books and editions. The boys are in a rainy park at night, with a masked man approaching them with a boat’s anchor as a weapon. In the background, a courthouse clock strikes midnight. I always thought it looked exactly like the downtown park in the city where I grew up.

Artforum

Artforum by César Aira (2014) Seemingly a series of essays about the author’s obsession with collecting “Artforum” magazine, this is really a short novel, a work of poetic fiction centered around this obsession, with that expensive, square format periodical. It’s, first of all, very funny, also very weird, but deep down full of ideas that lead to other ideas and asks a lot of questions. It’s the first book I’ve read by César Aria, as I only recently became aware of his books—there are a lot of them, and one could imagine a similar obsession with collecting his works. In fact, it’s hard to deny that this tiny paperback volume, published by New Directions, with a photo of a stack of Artforums on the cover—is part of the appeal. He covers a lot of ideas in a few pages—one is the sometimes magical quality of an object. Another part I particularly liked was about when he discovered a huge cache of the magazines for sale—and getting caught up in things like their relationship with the former owner, and whether to buy only one, or a few, or all of them. I’ve had the experience of being on a longtime quest for something, and then suddenly there is an abundance—and the weird feeling you get from that. Also, just our relationship with print medium in general—how there is the conflict of being interested in both the content and the object itself—and admitting that sometimes it’s more about the object. And there is more, much more. I might even read this again—it’s short.

The Mystic Ball

The Mystic Ball by Margaret Sutton (1934) This is the craziest Judy Bolton novel yet. The kids all go to see a fortuneteller named Madame Wanda, performing at a local theater—it’s a huge event in town—everyone’s going and people are even waiting in line to get in. Wanda uses a big crystal ball and other dramatic effects. Her fortunes seem to resonate with people, but they’re brutal. It’s entertaining to the audience, but her insights freak out the subject. Somehow Irene gets picked, and the negative, bizarre predictions have her reeling emotionally. Naturally, Judy suspects a scam is going on, and wanting to protect her friend, she and Irene decide to switch places—even wearing each other’s clothes. It’s pretty funny—and kind of a crazy idea—but it seems to help Irene. Then Judy goes after Madame Wanda in her usual relentless, fearless fashion. It’s a pretty good mystery overall, and there are a lot of surprises. Also, we get to know all the regular characters more deeply—as I’ve said before, you get a lot more out of Judy Bolton books by reading them in sequence. I’m very much looking forward to the next one.

The Riddle of the Traveling Skull

The Riddle of the Traveling Skull by Harry Stephen Keeler (1934) This is the one book by this maniac, Keeler, that I could find in a local store—it’s a nice reprint—though it would be exciting to find an original copy of one of his many books, most of which were published in the Thirties and Forties. This is supposed to be one of the better ones, I guess. He’s famous for his bizarre storylines and ridiculously convoluted plots, and as far as that goes, I was not disappointed. And for as strange and outlandish as the story twists are, you can actually follow them, all the way around the Chicago locations to the reveal in the last sentence. The book is also very funny—the exception being, far too many jokes based on racial stereotypes and the main character’s derision of pretty much everyone who is not in his small circle. Looking over the book now, which I read very recently, I couldn’t begin to attempt to put the entire mess back together. The whole thing kind of resembles a house of cards which only held up due to the forward movement of the narrative, but if you go back and try to reconstruct it based on memory, watch out!

Atomic TIme

Atomic Time by Elissa Rashkin (2019) This is an excellent 70-page book of poetry—from Nixes Mate Books—by Elissa Rashkin, who has published books on Mexican women filmmakers and the Stridentist Movement, as well as the most beloved books on my shelf (under the name of Elissa Joy—from Pas de chance, in collaboration with Ian Phillips). There is a lot of humor here—but not the standup comedy type—it’s often resigned and knowing—but worth unearthing, because it adds to the richness of the poetry. A lot of sadness—but not the sad-sack kind—but real, wailing mournfulness—what we, most of us, or all of us, guard ourselves from—but is part of life. Prayers, of course, and songs—religious songs, hand in hand with punk rock—not the football player kind—but the whispered, sometimes secret, but miraculously surviving. Love, of course—and the cinema, Godard, and Belmondo, and Chantal Akerman. Also, clowns and angels. I’m not summing up—I’m not that dumb (well, I am, but I’m not summing up, here)—you’ve got to read the poems, and then forget them, and then read them again.

The Yellow Phantom

The Yellow Phantom by Margaret Sutton (1933) This is the 6th Judy Bolton mystery, and the first in which she ventures to New York City (and she has a much better time of it than the Hardy Boys, who a couple of years earlier, stumbled into NYC like a couple of hayseeds, got pick-pocketed and had to sleep in Central Park). Judy, Pauline, and Irene take a bus, and take Blackberry, Judy’s cat along! They meet a novelist on the bus, get embroiled in some odd business right off the bat, and stay at Dr. Faulkner’s swank Gramercy Park townhouse. In order to get to the bottom of the new mystery, Judy gets a job with an odd literary agent who enjoys a little “medicine,” gets involved with poets, and eventually ventures deep into Brooklyn. This is a pretty crazy story, by the end of it, but I won’t give any more away. It’s not my favorite of the Judy Bolton books I’ve read, but it’s good—and like I said before—it’s much better if you read the Judy Bolton books in order, from number one—as it is, so far at least, like one continuous story. Was there ever a Judy Bolton movie or TV series? There should have been!

The Sea-Wolf

The Sea-Wolf by Jack London (1904) I realized I had never read anything by Jack London except that story that everyone reads in high school—so I picked out The Sea-Wolf, more or less at random—wanting to read some sort of nautical tale, as I’m always fond of. I went into it not knowing a thing about the story (even though countless movies were made, based on it, over the years). It was quite a revelation—not so much that it’s a great book, seeing how it’s a famous book from way back—but I was surprised at the story and scope of the book and where it took me. It’s exciting and satisfying, because each step of the story was a surprise—and I didn’t see where it was going, for the most part. It’s about a well-off gentleman who is rescued from a shipwreck by an oceangoing ship, a schooner, which is embarking on a seal hunting journey. Instead of returning him to shore, the ship’s captain, an amazing character named Wolf Larsen, essentially kidnaps him and makes him work on the ship. He only survives because he’s remarkably resilient, and also, the captain takes a liking to him, as they are both readers and they enjoy discussing their various philosophical views. There are lot of great characters, actually, but Wolf Larsen is exceptionally complex. He’s a monster, but you have to admire a side of him, an incredible human being, too—his strength, skill, and willpower—but not without weakness. The reader is pulled into the moral quandary—would you kill this man if you had a chance—or try to escape from him—or even follow him? The story takes some vicious turns—to say the least—and constantly defies expectations. Eventually, a woman is rescued from another shipwreck, and her introduction into the mix brings things to the boiling point—as one might expect!

The Operation That Happened to Rupert Piper

The Operation That Happened to Rupert Piper by Ethelyn M. Parkinson (1966) This is the first of four full length Rupert Piper books, by Ethelyn M. Parkinson (after three collections of Rupert Piper short stories). It has the feeling of the stories, but I like it better, in that it’s not merely humor; it’s a longer, fairly serious story, but still very funny. The convoluted plot of this one has to do with Rupert needing an appendectomy, and his parents and doctor kind of tricking him into the hospital—acting like there is a patient identity mix-up with one of his friends who has accidentally swallowed a coin. It sounds crazy, but it has to be read to believed—it’s totally logical and quite clever. The ongoing drama in the saga is about Rupert and his friends trying to help the cause of getting a local public swimming pool financed and built. There is ongoing anxiety among the boys about pleasing the pool’s wealthy patron, the competition with their female classmates, and the possible romantic interests of a teacher the boys all have a crush on. The real heart of the story, though, is a boy who Rupert meets in the hospital who is recovering from a horrific accident in which both of his parents were killed. This sounds terribly heavy, and it is, but the whole thing stays fun and delightful because of the way the author really gets into the perceptions of kids this age—the kind of irreverence and eccentricity that is so seldom evident in stories that get mired in sentimentalism. It’s not light, but it’s always entertaining, sometimes weird, and often hilarious. This book is a classic that should be reprinted year after year by some major publisher, but probably will not be—and may only be remembered by the loyal fans of the amazing Ethelyn M. Parkinson.

The Big Sleep

The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler (1939) I had a similar experience reading this to reading The Long Goodbye (1953) in that it was hard to forget the movie versions. In the case of The Long Goodbye, it’s the crazy 1973 Robert Altman movie, which reimagines the story for contemporary (at the time) Los Angeles. The equally as good 1946 Howard Hawks movie is closer to the book, but perhaps even more strange than the Seventies reimagining, but in a more subtle way. I’m kind of obsessed with that movie, actually, because of the oddball screenplay, written by Leigh Brackett, William Faulkner, and Jules Furthman (I guess—something I’d like to read more about someday—likely influenced in equal parts by high-mindedness and alcohol—or something). So, anyway, there was no chance for me to read this book without thinking of the movie version—just because I’ve seen that movie as many times as I’ve seen any movie, ever. If you happen to be someone who has somehow never seen any of the movie adaptations—and haven’t read this—consider yourself (like people who need people) to be among the luckiest people in the world—in that you can read this book first, and then later see the movie. But I did my best to reimagine the characters—the versions in this book—who are similar, but different. (Sean Regan is Rusty Regan, and so forth). A lot of the pleasure of the novel is the language—concise, no-nonsense writing that still has plenty of style. Ultimately, I was able to get involved in the world of the novel. It's an incredibly involved and complex story. There’s a lot to follow. My favorite thing, though, isn’t even the story, it’s the names of the characters, and the southern California setting—the place names, the feeling. The way Philip Marlowe moves though it all is, of course, what it’s all about. I guess this was the first Philip Marlowe novel—followed by several more—all of which are worth reading—and perhaps rereading—because Raymond Chandler is the best.

Donna Parker at Cherrydale

Donna Parker at Cherrydale by Marcia Martin (1957) This is the first book of the of Donna Parker series, from Whitman Publishing. Somehow, I have about six books from this series—a couple of them have amazing covers—so it was hard not to buy them, I guess. In this one, Donna and her friend, Ricky, get jobs as counsellors at a summer camp called Cherrydale, and it's a pretty detailed depiction of the duties and responsibilities they have, looking after younger children. It sounds really hard, actually, and they both experience a lot of anxiety, but eventually learn a lot and get comfortable with it. I wonder if the summer camp story is kind of a sub-category of children's series books—there seem to be a lot of them. I never went to camp myself, aside from a brief stint in the scouts—I don't think I even made it to Webelos. I sure don't think I'd have been able to put up with being a camp counsellor—it sounds pretty rigorous. The girls don't even get paid for it, either! They struggle a bit, but ultimately learn a lot and enjoy it. Donna is hardworking and responsible, but Ricky is a bit of a troublemaker, and kind of pushes Donna into a mystery, somewhat against her better judgement. The mystery in this book is pretty much a subplot. This is actually a fairly long kid's book, and I practically felt like I spent the summer at camp, myself. I'm ready for autumn—to get back to school and so forth! The most interesting thing to me was this one character, a young boy, who has had some kind of trauma and doesn't speak. We later find out that he had been sick with encephalitis, which might have affected him mentally. I had encephalitis myself when I was about seven, and was hospitalized with the worst headache I've even had. All through school, the one thing I was known for was being quiet (though not totally mute like this kid) but I never thought of it being related to any illness. Maybe it was, and maybe I had a number of good people like Donna Parker helping me through things, for which I'm thankful.

Tender Buttons

Tender Buttons by Gertrude Stein (1914) I read this book years ago, at which time I was pretty excited about it because I'd never seen anything like it. When I recently reread it, I found it oddly comforting. I still have not read anything about how Gertrude Stein wrote this—which might be illuminating—but it's fun to guess. An object makes you think of a phrase connected to the object, maybe a memory. But if you try to eliminate that, then what? What if you try to eliminate nostalgic connections to words and ideas? If there is no narrative, as you read along, is it possible to connect what you're reading now to what you just read? It's a lot of fun and, for a book that's over a hundred years old, feels oddly contemporary. If I live long enough, I'll probably read it again. One funny side note—I just realized there is a subtitle near the beginning: “A PIECE OF COFFEE.” When I saw that, this time, I remembered that I wrote, in my novel, “The Doughnuts,” about a character in a donut shop writing in his notebook, writing about a character “drinking a piece of coffee.” I must have “stole” that from “Tender Buttons,” I realized. Without a conscious memory of it, of course—but the stuff goes in your brain, and who knows where it will come out. Of course, it's likely my “character” stole that from Gertrude Stein, without realizing it. On the other hand, it's possible that my character and I stole it (unconsciously) from some noir passage, either a book or a movie—whose author may have stolen it from Gertrude Stein, whether consciously or unconsciously. I guess we have this relatively tiny palate of words to work with, and we put them in order, and it creates meaning, maybe no meaning—and each person reading the words is going to interpret them in their own way, anyway. It's a lot of fun.

She Said

She Said by Jodi Kantor & Megan Twohey (2019) The subtitle of this book is: “Breaking the Sexual Harassment Story That Helped Ignite a Movement.” When you read about the scope of Harvey Weinstein's sexual assault, harassment, and misconduct (allegations so numerous as to warrant their own Wikipedia page) over such a long period of time, you have to think: how could this be? But then, reading this book—about the New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey, who were pursuing an ongoing investigation and exposé on Weinstein—you get an understanding of how could it be—and an understanding of how difficult it was to expose him. This is a really fascinating and well-documented account of the methodical and inspired work going into this investigation—including pretty harrowing accounts of the bravery it took by a lot of women for the case to get anywhere. The investigative journalism part of this story is pretty riveting, even though you know the outcome. A later section of the book is about the Brett Kavanaugh hearings and looks at what Christine Blasey Ford had to go through in order to testify—because she felt it was was right thing to do. I found this pretty terrifying, actually—when I tried to put myself in her position, and ask myself what I'd have done, I had to admit I'd probably have disappeared. I found both of these depictions to be believable. The people involved are admirable and heroic, without it feeling like a false victory. That's because it's also realistic—in that power is power, nothing is really fair, and much work still needs to be done, and that's always going to be the case.

I Am the Cheese

I Am the Cheese by Robert Cormier (1977) I became intrigued with this book because I saw multiple copies in my local used bookstore—I mean more copies than any other book in the children's section. So I figured I'd just read it before looking up anything about it. What a total bummer this book is! Not to give anything away—but it seems like I am the only one who didn't know about it. It's odd, because it's considered a “young adult” book—and it came out when I was a young adult—and in high school, even, so you'd think it would have been something I'd have read. To be honest, I probably would have liked it much more then. In 2021 it feels unnecessarily bleak. I wonder if older adults have less patience for tragic stories—I mean, once you've experienced enough real tragedy. Still, though, I liked the mystery involved, and finding out little by little what was going on. And it's got an interesting structure—alternating between time periods (or seeming to)—even if that structure does get annoying, eventually. But ultimately I didn't care for the resolution—and the danger, the threat, felt like more of a fantasy than reality—which led me not to care. It felt a bit pointless. Also, I couldn't help feeling that this should have been a short story—and as a novel it was stretched a little thin.

Eminent Hipsters

Eminent Hipsters by Donald Fagen (2013) Donald Fagen has a particular sensibility that reminds me of a couple of my friends were are about ten years older than me, which he is, so it makes sense I would relate—he's kind of cranky, a little angry, and has a dry sense of humor. If you're not a fan of his music, including his years as the co-leader of Steely Dan, I don't know why you'd read this book—unless you like reading music related essays and memoir—and in either case you'd be in luck. The writing is good and consistently interesting. There are a number of essays on the odd and not so odd cultural influences on his younger self—including The Boswell Sisters , Ray Charles, Ennio Morricone, visiting jazz clubs, and listening to a late-night radio DJ. My favorite chapters, though, are the last two, which are the bulk of the book. One is about his time at a Bard College—which is the most Steely Dan related chapter in the book—and we get a bit of insight about the formation of that band. And then nearly half the book is a fairly contemporary tour diary, while touring with the Dukes of September. I'm just generally a fan of tour diaries, and this is the best one I've read. He manages to sound both totally miserable and like someone relating the excitement of doing exactly what they want to be doing in life—which is what I'd imagine a tour to be like. We also get a really intimate look at Donald Fagen—if you've ever wondered—because you don't necessarily really know anything about him from his lyrics (other than he's a fine lyric writer). This is probably the most personal look we'll ever get at Fagen, unless of course someone makes a full length documentary about him—which, as it seems to be rage lately—might be underway, right now, for all I know.

Puzzle in Purple

Puzzle in Purple by Betsy Allen (1948) I have to admit, I'm really kind of a sucker for the book series that use colors in their episode titles, like this one. Other ones I know of are Walter Mosley's “Easy Rawlins” books (they start with Devil in a Blue Dress and A Red Death), and John D. MacDonald's “Travis McGee” books (starting with The Deep Blue Good-by, Nightmare in Pink, and A Purple Place for Dying). Connie Blair books also start with Blue, Red, and Purple—coincidence? I also have to admit that a book series I'm currently working on also has colors in some of the titles—and I'd love to continue that—but sometimes it's better not to force the color issue if you don't have to. A good title is the best title the book can have, regardless of the gimmick. Anyway, this is the third book in the Connie Blair Mystery series, and the third one I've read. Once again, Connie is living and working in Philadelphia, and this time she enrolls in art school, which is where the mystery takes place. Art school in a big city in the late Forties seems like a an enticing setting. It's not exactly “Art School Confidential,” but it is a somewhat cynical look at the personalities of the young people in question. There are some baffling crimes, of course, and among the possible suspects we get a pretty good cross-examination of three very distinct types—three different young men who all seem to excel in this particular program, but also have flaws. The three are also somewhat vying for the attention of the new girl at school, Connie Blair—and she completes fairly thorough character profiles of each of them in the course of both deciding who she likes best while also considering them as suspects. The crimes involve the defacement of art—on both a prank level and a serious, criminal level—which is also an interesting twist in the mystery. I hope it doesn't give anything away if I say the outcome is a bit “Scooby-Doo-ish”—but what it comes down to, that's not really the most interesting part of the book, I don't think. For me, I like the social aspects, and the well-drawn characters that we get to know. And, kind of a bonus, Connie's twin sister, Kit, is somewhat more involved in this book—so we get a little identical twin mischief, which is always fun.

The Ghost Parade

The Ghost Parade by Margaret Sutton (1933) I believe this is the fifth in the Judy Bolton mystery book series, which I'm reading in order—a plan I'd recommend for Judy Bolton books. Also, I'd just plain recommend this book—it's the craziest one yet. It's also the first to take place in a location away from Judy's hometown region, in rural Pennsylvania. She and a group of friends head north, just over the New York state and Canadian border, in the the Thousand Islands region, where they stay at a summer camp. Sadly, there is no depiction of them eating salads with Thousand Island dressing, but there is plenty of other bizarre food related elements to the story, for people (like me) for whom the food descriptions are a close second to the mystery. On the way to camp, they stop off at an auction, and Judy bids on these surprisingly large, odd, and inexpensive Native American masks—of course wins the auction—so they have to take them along—and naturally, they are at the center of a mystery. It kind of reminded me of that Brady Bunch Hawaiian episode where one of the kids comes upon a powerfully cursed Tiki idol. I'm not at all superstitious (ha), but I was saying, “Just get rid of those masks!” The funny thing is, they'd have had a pretty eventful time even without the mask angle—partly due to meeting the eccentric “Cat Lady,” who is the best character in this series so far. I can't go more into detail there without ruining it for first-time readers. The other funny thing is they take along Blackberry (Judy's cat) and The Ghost (Horace and Irene's cat) without really checking to see if it'd be okay, in advance, at the camp. Well, this was 1933—it's seems like there were a lot less rules then. Anyway, the cats do get significantly involved in the mystery.

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!