| From
the September/October 2007 issue of The Horn Book Magazine
Hating the Hardy Boys
By John Green
think I was about ten when I began to hate the Hardy Boys. I didn’t
hate the books. I hated the actual Hardy boys, as people. As I followed
them through their minor perils, I kept wishing they would die.
I still hate them, actually. They were so damned
pleased with themselves each time they figured out which lock the
stupid key opened or whatever. They were vapid and preppy and struck
me as entirely too popular. The Hardy boys were never lonely or
inexplicably sad. They got scared sometimes, but only because the
cave was dark. Every ten-year-old worth his or her salt knows that
caves aren’t nearly as terrifying as people.
And so I went looking for a book that featured
characters I didn’t revile. I found the Baby-sitters Club,
and I was in love. I was in love with Stacey, of course, because
she was awesome and cute and industrious and also vulnerable and
prone to getting herself into the kind of trouble that one does
not often find in caves. But I was also in love with the books.
The BSC offered me characters whose conflicts were like my own,
or at least relevant to my own: they experienced interpersonal conflict,
and even internal conflict. If I may paraphrase Faulkner when talking
about the Baby-sitters Club: for me, at least, Stacey’s griefs
grieved on universal bones.
I remained a fan of the Baby-sitters Club for a
long time, even after I realized that the books were not —
you know — that great. I once had an argument with my college
girlfriend while staying at her parents’ house, and I ended
up spending several hours locked in her guest room, refusing to
speak to her. (Or perhaps it was she who refused to speak to me;
that seems more likely.) The guest room happened to contain a sizable
collection of BSC novels; I spent an hour reading Claudia and
the Sad Goodbye, and by the time I reached its end, I felt
much better. I was nineteen years old. By then, I needed more from
books than the BSC could provide — but what they could provide,
I still needed.
From
the September/October 2007 issue of The Horn Book Magazine |
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on series fiction |