Bookshelves of Doom

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I’ve migrated over to Ghost; hope to see you there!

Hi, friends, We thought spring had sprung, but as usual, March had other plans—it’s been snowing since late last night, so I stomped outside early to top off the birdfeeders, and our yard has been absolutely packed with feathery nerds all morning. Goldfinches, grackles, blue jays, starlings, bluebirds, nuthatches, titmice, red-winged blackbirds, at least three types of woodpeckers, juncos, and wild turkeys. It’s a madhouse out there.

I always have a few long-term reading challenges running—nothing I’m too aggressive about, just a few vague goals. For instance, as a mystery lover, I’d love, SOMEDAY, to be able to say that I’ve read all of the juvenile Edgar Award winners and honor books. And so, occasionally, I dip in to that list. In 1961, Phyllis A. Whitney’s Mystery of the Haunted Pool was the first-ever winner of the Edgar Award for Best Juvenile Novel.

Hi, friends, False spring got us again! Last week we had an ice storm that knocked our power out for a couple of days and our internet out for the better part of the week, this weekend was beautiful and sunny and warm… and now our meteorologists are freaking out about a storm that is supposedly going to dump over a foot of snow on us?

—Captain Ghost, by Thelma Harrington Bell Looking back, I am not sure why I tracked down Captain Ghost? There’s a minor mystery element, but it’s much more in the vein of Swallows and Amazons or a Jolly Enid Blyton Romp™ than my usual fare.

The 1974 School Library Journal review of The Accident Kids begins: An idiotic safety primer, this tries to clobber kids with its message of “be careful.” If a review STARTS with a line like that, OBVIOUSLY I’m going to get curious. Some brief background on where I’m coming from here: When it comes to books and reading and opinions about literary quality, I have mellowed a LOT over the years.

—Vacancy, by K.R. Alexander Decades ago, there was a disaster at the Carlisle Hotel, and everyone there—guests and staff alike—died. Well, almost everyone? There was one survivor. But that person was so traumatized that she couldn’t explain what had happened, and she skipped town the next day. The authorities in Gold River never settled on an explanation—gas leak? food poisoning?—but the coroner said it looked like everyone had died… OF FRIGHT.

Here I am, hanging out in the 1970s again—I discovered that the full text of old School Library Journals are available via our statewide digital library, so I’ve been dipping into them during quieter moments at the circulation desk.

—The Angel of Indian Lake, by Stephen Graham Jones Everyone in My Family has Killed Someone, by Benjamin Stevenson Set at a remote Australian mountain ski resort, this one features a family reunion that was bound to be uncomfortable and awkward at best—two of the attendees are brothers who haven’t seen one another since one of them testified against the other in a case that resulted in his three-year prison sentence—and that’s before the murders start.