I have tears streaming down my face and I have been cackling like a maniac for 10 minutes.
I LOVED the Hardy Boys. They felt serious for that age. The hardbacks had a classic feel. The pages were thick, the illustrations mysterious and the covers were heavy and ornate. When I finished one I felt like I accomplished something. I would put it on the shelf in between 10 others and decide on the next one - usually by coolness of cover. I vividly remember the scene in "Missing Chums" when they drove the boat into the smugglers cave. My heart was pounding. I remember I got so nervous that I hid under a table and shifted positions constantly while reading it. It may have been the first time I got completely immersed in a book.
Knowing that he called the books, "The Juveniles," and that he viscerally hated every every word of every page, is like finding out that Santa Claus doesn't exist - at age 32.
And just to twist the knife, on my birthday the author wrote in his diary:
June 9, 1933: "Tried to get at the juvenile again today but the ghastly job appalls me."
Ok I just woke my girlfriend up by laughing so hard. I don't know what to think. Goodnight HN. Thank you for the best thing I've read all year.
Comments
I have tears streaming down my face and I have been cackling like a maniac for 10 minutes.
I LOVED the Hardy Boys. They felt serious for that age. The hardbacks had a classic feel. The pages were thick, the illustrations mysterious and the covers were heavy and ornate. When I finished one I felt like I accomplished something. I would put it on the shelf in between 10 others and decide on the next one - usually by coolness of cover. I vividly remember the scene in "Missing Chums" when they drove the boat into the smugglers cave. My heart was pounding. I remember I got so nervous that I hid under a table and shifted positions constantly while reading it. It may have been the first time I got completely immersed in a book.
Knowing that he called the books, "The Juveniles," and that he viscerally hated every every word of every page, is like finding out that Santa Claus doesn't exist - at age 32.
And just to twist the knife, on my birthday the author wrote in his diary: June 9, 1933: "Tried to get at the juvenile again today but the ghastly job appalls me."
Ok I just woke my girlfriend up by laughing so hard. I don't know what to think. Goodnight HN. Thank you for the best thing I've read all year.