Third Snicket Book Offers Wide Window Into Author's Demented Mind

When I learned that the film A Series of Unfortunate Events covered not just the first volume in Lemony Snicket’s ingenious series but the second and third as well, I decided it was high time I got around to reading the second and third books. I did not want to go to that movie without having read them. I fulfilled half of my ambition, but it was only this week that I finally purchased and breezed through The Wide Window. I couldn’t resist the lure of seeing Count Olaf on the big screen, even if I had not yet encountered the scheme he would try on the poor Baudelaire orphans in the third book.

I was worried, as I opened the third book in the series to the first thick page, that knowing the gist of the plot might detract from my enjoyment, but I needn’t have been concerned. In the delectable transition between the second and third paragraph, I was caught with a chortle in my throat, and I never looked back. As I read, I was just all the more aware of the fact that while Snicket is wildly inventive with his landscapes, characters and sticky situations, it is his distinctive narrative style, both demure and deranged, that truly captures my fancy. A part of me thinks I really shouldn’t find such horrible events so fiendishly entertaining. But his tone is so tantalizing I can’t help myself.

The fun begins on the back cover, where the author sees fit to place a warning that includes several items that may well steer the reader of gentle constitution away from his woeful chronicles. Now, I can buy that leeches, a villain, a hurricane and even cold cucumber soup are rather pernicious elements to include in a children’s tale, but what is so alarming about a signaling device and a doll named Pretty Penny? Only the stout of heart dare attempt to find out. From the outset of the book, we know the orphans are in for an especially dreary time. Not only are they in close proximity to such morose landmarks as Lake Lachrymose and Damocles Dock, but they are sent to live in a creaky house teetering at the top of a cliff and occupied by the most paranoid woman on the planet.

While this new guardian is not sinister like Count Olaf, the distant relation whom they know as Aunt Josephine is hardly the ideal companion that Uncle Monty was. I miss the jolly Scotsman with his wide array of snakes. Now we are stuck with an antiseptic old lady who fears doorknobs, phones, welcome mats, ovens and, above all, realtors. Aside from her panphobia, her most notable trait is her passion for the proper use of the English language. On a recent trip to my old elementary school, my esteemed middle school English teacher confided that she’d overheard a student refer to her as a “Grammar Nazi.” While I certainly don’t think that is a phrase fairly applied to my beloved instructor, it might just fit Aunt Josephine, who is so obsessed that she insists on pointing out that every word the infant Sunny says is grammatically incorrect.

As dreary as their lives with their new guardian are, inventive Violet, studious Klaus and teething Sunny are managing fairly well until the inevitable occurs. Count Olaf shows up in yet another disguise. I admit to finding a certain charm in the crusty sea captain – the appropriately named Captain Sham – though knowing right off the bat who he really is holds that attraction at bay. It is easy to see, however, how a miserable old sea widow could be taken in by a flattering old fellow whose leg was apparently eaten by the very leeches that took her husband’s life. Most of the adults in this series are laughably incompetent, particularly Mr. Poe, the executor of the Baudelaire estate. Though he’s kind-hearted enough, he is utterly blind when it comes to detecting the Count’s schemes. It’s a good thing that the orphans are both precocious and industrious. It’s an even better thing that in spite of all the misfortune that comes their way, the three children have one another, which makes even the grimmest situations somewhat bearable.

I’m conflicted as to the time frame of this series. The design of the books, from the hardcover format with uneven pages to the gothic line drawings, seems old-fashioned, as do the children themselves. The girls wear dresses; Klaus wears a suit. They do not speak like contemporary children, and I am curious to see whether other children will show any more signs of modernity when I finally encounter them in the fifth book. The presence of cars places the series firmly in the twentieth century, while the distasteful neon lights at the Anxious Clown restaurant indicate a time even closer to the present. I get the sense the time period is meant to be ambiguous, while allowing for the possibility that such fantastic – a word which here means “fantastically awful” – adventures can indeed occur in modern society.

One of the most distinctive things about Snicket’s books are their overt didacticism. He constantly addresses the audience, issuing warnings, unleashing unlikely metaphors and, most frequently, delivering practical vocabulary lessons. Sometimes he allows one of the characters to do the defining for him, as in this amusing exchange in the first chapter that recalls Airplane:
Mr. Poe: It didn’t seem polite to ask how she became a dowager. Well, let’s put you in a taxi.
Violet: What does that word mean?
Mr. Poe: (raising eyebrows) I’m surprised at you, Violet. A girl of your age should know that a taxi is a car which will drive you someplace for a fee...
Klaus: (whispered to Violet) Dowager is a fancy word for ‘widow.’
Mostly, however, he just sticks the meanings in himself, either providing a general, all-purpose definition or furnishing one specific to the occasion. Occasionally he steps aside to attack an idiom, giving an interesting etymological lesson and a bit of foreshadowing all rolled into one.

In this book, there is even more education than usual, as every other sentence out of Aunt Josephine’s mouth is some sort of grammar lesson. Of course, this is intended not so much to be useful as to demonstrate that even helpful things like grammar can become destructive if they are obsessed over to excess. This is a lesson in itself, however, and a very practical one at that. It is selfish to be more concerned about punctuation than the welfare of orphans, and it is foolish to correct the grammar of one who holds your life in his hands. While reading The Wide Window might be a worthwhile exercise for someone eager to get a head start on studying for the English portion of the SAT, this is not the only subject in which a reader might find himself educated. Violet’s fascination with inventions and Klaus’ love of reading combine to make for many opportunities for scientific epiphanies. The most notable of such discoveries in this tome involves the aforementioned signaling device. Moreover, there are historical facts to be garnered, and Snicket makes mention of such notable figures as Alexander the Great and Archduke Ferdinand.

My favorite examples of Snicket’s attempts to impart knowledge, however, are in his metaphors and explanatory illustrations, which range from ludicrously obvious to patently bizarre. These are the moments that most often cause me to chuckle. I suspect certain passages affect particular readers differently, and each reader must make his or her own search for those gems of sentences that especially stand out. As for me, I cannot resist sharing the two that made me laugh loudest and longest:
If you are allergic to a thing, it is best not to put that thing in your mouth, particularly if the thing is cats. (p. 102)
Stealing is not excusable if, for instance, you are in a museum and you decide that a certain painting would look better in your house, and you simply grab the painting and take it there. But if you were very, very hungry, and you had no way of obtaining money, it might be excusable to grab the painting, take it to your house, and eat it. (p. 136-7)

While The Reptile Room was particularly enjoyable for me thanks to the warmth of kindly Uncle Monty, The Wide Window, whose overall tone was gloomier, did a better job of tickling my funny bone, and that was mostly due to random narratorial comments such as those listed above. The Baudelaire orphans may be unreasonably unfortunate to be subject to so much misery, but we are extremely fortunate to have Lemony Snicket so astutely chronicling their adventures.