John Bellairs published "The House With a Clock in Its Walls" in 1973. I was one year old at the time. I had somehow managed to skip over this one when I was a young reader, or, if I had read it, I don't recall doing so. I found a dog-eared, faded Dell Yearling edition at my local library's used book sale recently. I wish I could say that it beckoned me, but, alas, it was merely one in a pile of books that I bought that day. It has, until a few short days ago, rested comfortably, anonymously, on a shelf in my bedroom. I picked it up arbitrarily, as I tend to do with books, and I began to read.
The joy of reading is one that I developed early, thanks in large part to my parents and grandparents, as well as my many elementary school teachers. I was fortunate to have liberal parents who did not discourage me from reading certain types of books. They did not steer me away from the books I tended to like---books with spaceships, green scaly astronauts, haunted houses, werewolves, and unicorns on the cover. They did not tell me my reading choices were "silly" or "immature". They encouraged me to read anything and everything, which I did. I still do.
The reason for stating this is because I had friends who had parents and teachers that, unfortunately, taught them that there are "silly" books not worth reading, as opposed to "serious" literature, the kind that has stood the test of time and taken on the label of "classic". Literary snobs would call these types of books "canonical". Everything else, according to these people, is fluff. "Popular" literature is beneath them. It's sad to say, but many of those friends of mine have children who are probably banned from reading the likes of J.K. Rowling, R.L. Stine, Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Stephen King, Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, and Walter Dean Myers. Oh, what they are missing…
Reading Bellairs's wonderful novel reminded me of my days in school, when going to the library was better than an evening at the movies or spending time at an amusement park. It triggered that excitement that I had, looking at the vast shelves upon shelves of ancient wisdom bound within the pages of those glorious tomes, knowing that I had access to all of it. To think that some people purposely deny themselves the luxury and excitement of reading is a depressing thought, and to deny one's children such a pleasure is unacceptable. But I digress...
Bellairs was the forerunner for dark fantasy authors like Rowling, Neil Gaiman, and John Connolly, and his stories were a perfect blend of supernatural creepiness and tween angst black humor.
"THWACIIW" introduces readers to Lewis Barnavelt, a ten-year-old who, at the beginning of the story, has lost his parents in a car accident and is forced to live with his Uncle Jonathon in New Zebedee, Michigan.
Uncle Jonathon is a bit eccentric, to say the least, but he is friendly and is excited to have Lewis stay with him. He has a thing with clocks---the house is full of them, tick-rocking away---and a weirdly flirtatious relationship with the widow next door, Mrs. Zimmerman, with whom Lewis is immediately enamored due to the fact that she is constantly bringing him fresh-baked cookies.
Nights are odd in the large, beautiful, but somewhat eerie house. Before bed, Uncle Jonathon walks through every room of the house, turning off all the clocks. Late at night, in bed, Lewis can inexplicably hear the rhythmic ticking of a distant clock, seemingly within the walls.
After some initial investigating, Lewis discovers some very frightening things. Some of them turn out to be not-so-frightening: Uncle Jonathon, it turns out, is an amateur wizard, and Mrs. Zimmerman is a witch. They aren't bad witches, though. The frightening thing he learns is that the original owner of the house, a man named Izard and his wife, were also practitioners of witchcraft. The bad kind: black magic. They despised everyone in the entire world and hoped to destroy it, but their deaths prevented them from getting around to it. Unfortunately, Lewis accidentally releases the ghost of the late Mrs. Izard, who is searching for her late husband's clock in the walls, which has the ability to end the world. On top of that, Lewis is dealing with bullies at school, and he isn't doing well in math class.
To say that I loved this book is an understatement. It is a truly fun, creepy little Gothic horror story with just the right amount of humor to make it palatable for most children and take the edge off the truly scary bits. It is, also, apparently the first in a series featuring young Lewis Barnavelt. I'm not sure how many books in the series Bellairs wrote, but I am sure that they are all wonderful.
If you don't mind reading something "silly", and if you especially don't mind letting your children read such silly fluff, you could certainly do worse than finding a copy of this wonderful book.