When I was in elementary school, I found my two favorite authors the same way. Both of them had covers drawn by Edward Gorey, a gothic-style illustrator who is best known for his morbid work detailing the gruesome deaths of children. We had an anthology of his work at home, which I would pore over, aghast, and have since stolen from my parents.

John Bellairs and Joan Aiken both had Edward Gorey drawings on their covers, and I bought both of their books initially based on this fact. As a hopeful writer, this sort of frightens me, because I've been told that writers have almost no input on the covers of their books. Especially for youth, the covers are more important than anything else. John Bellairs wrote spooky mysteries about orphaned boys exploring gothic New England and there was a fair amount of magic involved, but spooky magic, not geeky magic. I re-read two of them while I was home, and they weren't as great as I had remembered, but were still pretty wonderful. I remember in around fourth grade that I used to come home from school and make myself a pot of Top Ramen and read John Bellairs. I had some theory about these two things going well with one another. Despite slightly matured taste in both literature and foodstuff, I can't say that I was wrong.

Joan Aiken was my favorite author as a child, hands down. So much so that when I was thinking of moving to London, I had a serious look at real estate in Battersea because of her book titled Black Hearts in Battersea. I'm not kidding. Aiken wrote fiction for children that imagined an alternate history of Britain under the rule of James II. As a California-educated tot, this was my first and practically only exposure to the English monarchy, and was very confused in later life to learn that the Hanoverians had won and that the Romans never invaded the Americas.

In retrospect, Aiken's books were so rich and wonderful that I'm shocked that so few people my age had ever heard of her. Maybe it's an America thing, but I've never met anyone that has read her books. In fifth grade I got a copy of The Stolen Lake and after hurdling through it, wrote on the inside cover, "The Best Book in the World" and my name with a flourish. I even went on our local radio station's book show, on the week that they featured kid's books to review The Stolen Lake. I remember having my mother coach me beforehand on the pronunciation of "Aiken" and "Dido Twite," the main character. In my head, I had been calling her Dee-do.

I've re-read Aiken's books, and I still love them. Just a few years ago she released two more in the same series, The Wolves Chronicles and somehow I found out and got them. I pre-ordered the last one. I didn't even realize that Aiken was still alive, but was delighted that more of these books were coming out. It was only this week, when going through my childhood books and doing some subsequent Googling that I found out that she had passed away before the book I had pre-ordered was released. This made me sad. I loved her books so much that I wish I had written her a letter telling her so, or sent her a recording of my radio plug for the series. Somehow I managed to write to Corey Haim and join his fan club, but not to Joan Aiken.

During my time-wasting, I also found a picture of Aiken, and she looks very different that I think I would have imagined, but absolutely perfect. She looks like a tough-talking, no-nonsense English woman who would write books for children that were absolutely beyond their comprehension and yet completely and utterly absorbing and thrilling. I'm going to read The Stolen Lake again, and then on to my next favorite, Dido and Pa.

I just looked up this series on Amazon and saw that although most are out of print in the US, they are all currently in print in the UK. Which is, of course, great news for nerds like me. Most interestingly, some of theme appear to be really popular on this side of the pond. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase is even taught in schools over here! The sad news? They've given them all new, matching covers and done away with the Edward Gorey drawings that had originally lured me into the series.

Links:
Wikipedia - Edward Gorey
Wikipedia - Joan Aiken
Wikipedia - John Bellairs
Guardian Article about Joan Aiken
Black Hearts in Battersea
The Stolen Lake
The Wolves Chronicles
Dido and Pa
The Wolves of Willoughby Chase

The more obvious ones, like Harriet the Spy and Encyclopedia Brown I got from R.I.F., Reading is Fundamental. Once a semester or so this program in school would give everyone a free book. I still have some of these. I read recently that they're ending this program, which is sad. For a lot of the kids in my school, this was probably the only time anyone ever bought them a book. Luckily, my mom used to take me to the local bookstore and let me run around and pick out books all the time. Luckily, I was part of the petit bourgeois and was semi-literate.

When I was in third grade or so, I read Cheaper by the Dozen. I remember that I picked it because the reading level was fifth or six grade, so I thought it would make me look smart. Even at eight, I was an asshole.

I loved that book so much. I remember when I read the follow-up, Belles on Their Toes, there's a post script that says that one of the dozen children, Mary, died of diphtheria at the age of six and how horrified I was. The descriptions of the bobs and 20s fashions fascinated me. At the, I hated my brother and loved the idea of having a bunch of older brothers who wanted to help make me incredibly popular.

I read all of the Nancy Drew series at the library, and there were dozens and dozens. I read the originals and even started into the new series that made Nancy a little too modern for my taste. I remember her hair being described as "titian," a word I've never heard before or since.

I think I probably read read every middle grade book in the library. When I think about how much I read then, as compared to now, my head spins (not literally). Now, I read a book every six months or so. This is mainly because Google Reader has taken over all of my free time, filling it with tales of nipple slips and other salacious celebrity gossip.

Other books that I read during that time were delivered to my house in big brown grocery bags from the daughter of my parents' friends. Vida was older, cooler, and had new wave haircuts. I read every book she gave me. This was the path to coolness. One was The War Between the Pitiful Teachers and the Splendid Kids by Stanley Kiesel. This was the most unbelievable book ever, and there isn't even a listing for this guy on Wikipedia. I'm bringing this back to Dublin to re-read, because I suspect that much of it was beyond me. It was the darkest, most ridiculous piece of children's literature, ever.

(Big Alice is a girl who was raised in the wild by wolves or dogs or something, but has come back to help the kids win the war against the adults. Mr. Bullotad is the muscled, bullying gym teacher. Here, they are in an epic battle that Big Alice is winning.)

excerpt:

At some period in the past, during the times that Big Alice was given the privilege of participating in human, cultural affairs, she had been exposed to an Appreciation course. That experience had left an indelible mark on her mind.
"Na-chin-skee! Na-chin-skee!" she abruptly began to yell.
Mr. Bullotad was red as a beet and gulping great breaths of air. "What? What?" Mr. B. gasped. He was ready to collapse. "Na-chin-skee what?
"Na-chin-skee! Do Na-chin-skee!"
"Oh my God!" cried Mr. Bullotad. I never saw Nijinsky!"
"Na-chin-skee! Do Na-chin-skee!" continued Big Alice, moving closer.
"I never saw him, I tell you!" screamed Mr. Bullotad, tears in his eyes.
Big Alice opened her mouth and displayed her canines.
Mr. Bullotad executed a beautiful entrechat.

endexcerpt

* Didn't know what an entrechat is? It's a jump in ballet during which the dancer crosses the legs a number of times, alternately back and forth. I remember looking this up in the dictionary and giggling wildly when I read this book.

Absolutely effing hilarious. And as usual, I didn't actually get to the two authors that I had started this post intending to write about, but I'm too sleepy right now. To be continued.