You’re reading along, merry as you please, when you come to a page that creates a kind of verbal record scratch to the whole proceeding. The most Snicketish verbal choice, unfortunately, turns out to be the book’s Achilles heel. At least figure out what take you’re going for. Long story short, adults would do well to attempt a couple solo readings on their own before attempting with a kiddo. The parent is granted the choice of making the dark threatening in its initial lures or comforting. Snicket writes it in such a way as to allow the reader the choice of purring the words, whispering them, putting a bit of creak into the vocal chords, or hissing them. The voice of the dark is particularly interesting. Then there’s the repetition you don’t necessarily notice at the time (terms like “creaky roof” “smooth, cold windows”) but that sink in with repeated readings. A cursory search of children’s books yields many a Laszlo author or illustrator but nary a Laszloian subject. First off, there’s the fact that our hero’s name is Laszlo. Snicket’s words require a bit of rereading to fully appreciate them, but appreciate you will. It is also a pleasure to read this book aloud. Not its original purpose but on the horizon just the same. I would not be the least bit surprised if Sunday school classes started using it as a religious parable for death. Interestingly it almost works on a religious level. Remove the threat and what you're left with is something that exists alongside you. The takeaway, rather, is that it is a benign force. We don't quite understand its motivations. In Laszlo's own experience, the dark only seeks to help. When we look up at the night sky, it is looking back at us. The dark, in Snicket's universe, acts almost as an attentive guardian. He doesn't delve into the monsters or other beasties that may lurk in its corners. Snicket does not address a fear of the absence of light by offering up the usual platitudes. In practice, it’s more complicated than that. It has, on paper anyway, a purpose: address children’s fear of the dark. Besides, how can you not love a book that contains the following tags on its record: "cake, depression, friendship, haberdashery, happiness"? Take all that under consideration and The Dark is without a doubt the most normal picture book the man has attempted yet. I say that, but 16 copies of the book are currently checked out of my own library system. Then there was 13 Words which played out like a bit of experimental theater for the picture book set. Past efforts have included The Composer Is Dead which effectively replaced ye olde stand-by Peter and the Wolf in terms of instrument instruction in many a fine school district. When he writes a picture book he doesn’t go about it the usual route. There is nothing normal about Lemony Snicket. Something that helps Laszlo just when he needs it. Something in the bottom drawer of an old dresser. It comes into Laszlo’s room and though he has a flashlight, it seems to be everywhere. Then, one night, the dark does something unprecedented. Generally speaking it lives in the basement, and every morning Laszlo would open the door and say, “Hi. Seems as though the dark is everywhere you look sometimes. “You might be afraid of the dark, but the dark is not afraid of you.” Laszlo is afraid but there’s not much he can do about it. You’ll ne’er see the like again (unless they do another picture book together, in which case, scratch that). Behold the pairing of Lemony Snicket and Jon Klassen. It takes a certain kind of writer and a certain kind of illustrator to grasp this fear by the throat and throttle it good and sound. Picture books love to tackle a fear of monsters, but the idea of handling something as ephemeral as a fear of the dark is much much harder. That said, there are surprisingly few picture books out there that tackle this very specific fear. The dark is where you cannot see and what you cannot see cannot possibly do you any good. In the light of those others, a healthy fear of the dark makes perfect sense. Rogers claimed, though I’ve never met a kid that went that route), etc. So we get fears of dogs, the color mauve, certain dead-eyed paintings, fruit, and water going down the drain (or so Mr. Most childhood fears tap into the weird id (see, here I go) part of our brains where the unknown takes on greater and grander evils than could possibly occur in the real world. The whole reason I was going to do it at all is that after reading a book like Lemony Snicket’s The Dark I find myself wondering about kids and their fears. You have my full permission to slap me upside the head if I start off my children’s books reviews with something that bigheaded. You do not know the temptation I am fighting right now to begin this review with some grandiose statement equating a fear of the dark with a fear of death itself.
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