If one studies the titles in the Series of Unfortunate Events up to the
point at which I am currently stopped, an interesting pattern emerges.
While Lemony Snicket makes full use of his alliterative license in each
of the first four titles, only two of the titles contain an adjective
that could be construed as negative. In spite of the doom and gloom that
prevailed in the second and third volumes – including the demise of two
characters, one of which was particularly beloved – the orphans at
least were in the care of guardians who were benevolent, if a bit too
trusting (Uncle Monty) and a bit too paranoid (Aunt Josephine). One of
the signs that the guardian in The Miserable Mill will be
different is that there is no “uncle” attached to his moniker. We never
even learn his name. Like the mysterious first name of Spock, the
character in possession of it merely brushes it aside as
unpronounceable. What’s more, we do not see his face. The new caretaker
for Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire has a face that is forever
wreathed in cigar smoke. His contact with the children is minimal, and
they only know him as “Sir.”
All this would perhaps be of
little consequence if only the orphans were in suitable living
conditions. But the perpetually unlucky waifs go from a house teetering
on the edge of a cliff to a small bunk bed in a room full of mill
workers. Moreover, they are forced to work in the lumber mill
themselves, performing tasks far more difficult and dull than are
appropriate for minors. Trapped in this manual labor, they have no
leisure to invent or read or bite things, and the noise of the machinery
renders them unable to talk to one another. All of this is quite
dreadful, but Snicket really takes the agony up a notch with one of the
greatest of possible childhood calamities: a pair of busted glasses. I’m
almost surprised this didn’t happen to Klaus before, since it certainly
takes him out of the picture for a while. And that is perhaps the
scariest thing of all: the prospect of these Three Musketeers being
separated. In fact, this is the most likely tragedy to befall any given
set of contemporary orphans. Few will be hounded by evil men after their
fortune or dragged from one bizarre locale after another in search of a
guardian who will not keel over or kick them out. But many are
separated in the quest to place them in decent homes, and I would be
surprised if at some point in the series the inept executor Mr. Poe does
not try to separate the children from the only thing they have left in
this world: each other.
Happily, though, it has not come to
that yet. Still, I found this by far the darkest of the first four
books. Klaus does find himself separated from his sisters for a time,
with disastrous results. Each orphan must learn to think outside his or
her normal range of expertise in order to save the day when a sibling
more suited to the task is incapacitated. The fact that they have been
unable to exercise their ingenuity since their arrival at the mill can’t
help either. The days at the mill are dull and hopeless, not to mention
exhausting. Even living with Count Olaf was better than this – except,
of course, that Sir does not have any intention of killing them. That
doesn’t make him any more pleasant a character.
It’s up to
more minor folks to help maintain the orphans’ faith in the human race.
Though their guardian is cruel and unreasonable, the orphans find an
ally in his partner, Charles, a gentle man who agrees that it is unfair
to force youngsters to work in a mill. Unfortunately, Charles is a
pushover, completely unable to uphold his end of an argument against his
fierce cohort. Little better is Phil, the first person they meet upon
entering the dormitory at the outset of their stay. Snicket patiently
explains that Phil is an optimist, and as one can surmise, someone with
such an unconditionally cheery disposition really is out of place in the
midst of so much misery. Though he tries to sympathize with the
orphans’ plight, he can’t help but try to look on the bright side.
Sadly, Violet, Klaus and Sunny know all too well that “bright side” is
often still very dim indeed.
Snicket makes the orphans’ latest
home so unpleasant that we almost don’t miss Count Olaf when he fails
to show up early in the book. But he makes sure to remind us that the
devious fellow is always hot on the trail, and eventually he does make
an appearance, this time as a receptionist named Shirley (as in “Surely
you don’t expect anyone to fall for that get-up, Count Olaf!”). His
henchman actually plays a much larger role that is not revealed until
very late in the novel.
I didn’t find The Miserable Mill nearly as funny as The Wide Window.
I rarely caught myself laughing aloud, and none of the metaphors or
definitions struck me as particularly brilliant or witty. I did find it
interesting, however, how often Snicket referred to his own adventures
in this volume. I suspect that if I read his Unauthorized Autobiography
right now, it would make a lot more sense. There are plenty of
references to exceedingly odd things that happened to him, and he
brushes them off so nonchalantly as part of his educational endeavors
that the reader might be inclined to do a double-take, wondering about
the statement’s plausibility. What kind of life does this guy lead? It
becomes clearer and clearer that the narrator is a dynamic character in
and of himself, perhaps even more fully formed than the young
protagonists. Also of interest is the enigmatic Beatrice, the love of
Snicket’s life to whom every book thus far has been dedicated, in spite
of the fact imparted in this book that she dumped him before her death.
Does this woman have a real-life counterpart whose memory drives Daniel
Handler to write these stories, or is she just as artificial as the
Count and the Baudelaires?
I didn’t enjoy The Miserable Mill
quite as much as the others thus far, mainly because I felt grim was
overtaking silly to an uncomfortable level. I’m hoping there is a bit
more levity in the fifth book, which I suspect I will be starting very
soon. Nonetheless, the fourth book is a fine installment, most of which
is certainly deserving of the label “unfortunate.”
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