Please, Lemony Snicket, I ask imploringly, a word here which means "so as to have more free time," write a book that doesn't suck me completely into the story, one that doesn't monopolize my reading time, and make me less than attentive as a zoom through the book I read alternately with yours just to get back to yours. Please? Then I'll have more free time for doing things like fixing that leaky faucet, or solving the halting problem, or one of roughly a dozen other things I'd be doing if I weren't busy reading your books.

Granted, please let me know if you decide to write an uninteresting book, so that I know to avoid it at all costs, no matter what the organ grinder and his monkey may try to convince me. You may send notice through the normal means, with the exception of heliograph, as I have recently taken up occupation with a family of feral bats, and they do not take so kindly the flashing lights, no matter what manner of information is being conveyed.

Nevertheless, I would just like for you to know that I recently picked up and read The Austere Academy, and I would like to say the following things about it:

I found it truly vivid, your description of the Baudelaire's stay at Prufrock Prep. I had the chance to visit the same not too long ago, and was indeed reminded, as their motto states, that someday I will die. Vice Principal Nero certainly seems the sort to act in a way you described: busily practicing violin (of which, I have heard, he is a musical genius, and not, as you say, bad at it) so as to not notice the dastardly Count Olaf disguised as Coach Genghis, ready to spirit the orphans away in some dastardly scheme. Additionally, I enjoyed learning about the surviving Quagmire triplets, who, like the Baudelaire orphans, were orphaned due to a fire burning down their home, and how they assisted the Baudelaire's in foiling Olaf's scheme. Those poor children.

The story, however, could have done without mentioning Carmelita Spats. She is truly terrifying. My therapist, who, currently, is a computer program, as I have recently developed a fear of those educated beyond a Masters degree, has had to spend countless hours psychoanalyzing me to help me forget the dreadful beast of a child.

I found the book, unfortunate as the subject matter was, to be well written, and a very honest account of the trials and tribulation faced by our orphaned heroes.

Please, continue to impress me, assuming you are well and able to write more. Otherwise, I shall take comfort in the fact that I have secured all thirteen of your unfortunate tomes (and two dreadful holiday books), and am meanwhile scouring the bazaars for any other writings I may procure authored by you.

I was told, once, by a man who could stand perfectly still like a statue, but still hold a rousing conversation, that one who was interested in some fellow named Handler might enjoy (if truly enjoy you can these unfortunate works) the accounts of the Baudelaire orphans. I have not myself verified this, as most respectable bookstores that sell the works of Handler do not accept my guano-stained currency.

Respectfully yours. ( )

I like the books but they could have been a lot better. ( )

In this book the Baudelaires are sent to the Prufrock Prepartory School, fantastic name, and make friends with the orphaned and bereaved triplets (not twins) the Quagmires. The story is, of course, not all happy, as the Baudelaires are confined to the Orphan's shack, full of snipping crabs and have to endure the terrible violin playing of Vice Principle Nero. One of the delights of this series of books is the naming of things and people. Of course Count Olaf makes an appearance, disguised as Coach Genghis, the story takes a dark turn. Superb. ( )

Intermediate/Middle
This a good example of fantasy. It is almost on the lines of realistic fiction, the characters are realistic except for Violets amazing inventing abilities. The situation on the other hand is so over the top that it is fantasy. The writing stile is very interesting with the conversational tone of the narrator.
Media: Ink ( )