Misanthropy

When I was in fifth (or maybe sixth? fourth?) grade I read my first Gordon Korman book. I thought it was the funniest thing ever. I think I even did an oral book report on I Want to Go Home. On a drive to LA, my sister, her friend and I took turns and read the entire book out loud and giggled the whole time. (My parents were amused, but also slightly disturbed. But I suppose they thought it was no more strange than our practice of yelling "Ah, oh la la" every time we saw a horse. No, I don't remember the why behind that.)

I had my own copy of I Want to Go Home, but his other books I checked out of the library. In my so-called adult life, where I've been given unfettered access to a credit card and someone invented this internet thing and then invented this amazon used books thing, I've been buying a few nostalgia books. Some of GK's books have been among my acquisitions. So there I am, reading The War with Mr. Wizzle on a few subway rides. How can you not grin? How can you not bite your lip to try (unsucessfully) to contain the snickering? I ask you, really.

And in a side note, what the heck happened to GK anyway? Back when I was a kid every book was great, but it seems he isn't writing those types of books anymore. Did he loose his inner smart ass or is it the pressure of commercialism? Either way, it's a sad, sad thing.