My rating: 2 of 5 stars
There’s an old story about how you can’t cook a frog in a kettle of boiling water — he’ll jump right out to escape the heat. But if you put him in a kettle of nice, cool water and gradually turn up the heat, the frog won’t notice the change in temperature until his po’ legs is jes’ fried and it’s too late for him to get out of his predicament.
That helps to describe how I’m starting feel about this series. When I first started reading The 39 Clues, I jumped out of the boiling water, shouting protestations and vociferously decrying the decline in the quality of children’s lit. But the series tempted me back with an installment by an author whose works I enjoy reading. I denounced the series again — but not as forcefully.
By the time I floated my way through Book #4, I could hardly muster the energy to protest at all.
Book #5 in the series begins with a mysterious telegram that sends protagonists Amy and Dan Cahill to Russia. The book is the usual slurry of travel + mild intrigue + not knowing who to trust + historical trivia + bickering. Meh. And MEH.
And, since it’s set in Russia, of course one of the bigger plot points is related to the story of Anastasia. For those unfamiliar with the story, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova was the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II, the last tsar of Imperial Russia. She was seventeen years old when her father was deposed in the Bolshevik Revolution, and she and her family were all executed.
Speculations that she had somehow survived floated around for decades until her remains were finally positively identified in March of 2009.
Author Patrick Carman builds most of this book around that legend. I suppose it’s not his fault that the legend was debunked when the book was probably already well underway, but I can’t help feeling a little dissatisfied. Really, I think he should have built it around something else that was, I don’t know, proven to be true.
But, overall, the action was average, the mystery was average, the reveal was average – no screaming protests here, which is unusual for me.
I think that I’ve been sitting in this pot of hot water for too long. I wanna jump out, but the N kids keep supplying me with books. It’s like the water is nice and warm – and laced with roofies. I’m not going to start gushing over the books anytime soon, but I might stop whining about them. In the meantime, I’m going to just sit in this nice, warm water and relax my brain.
I guess that’s what I dislike so much about books like these. They’re not terrible, but you could easily get used to reading them. They get cranked out at breakneck speed, so there’s always a new one to read. Before you know it, you forget that just because they’re not terrible doesn’t mean they’re good, and your standard for literature could be irreparably damaged.
Hey, what smells so good? Smells like chicken…