The Ghost in the Glass House by Carey Wallace
Genre: Fantasy
Published: 3 September 2013, by Clarion Books
Purchased: 4 September 1851, from Mr Doe's bookshop
Recommended? Yes (finally)
Dear Gertrude,
Before I discuss my book, I will trade your gossip for some of my own. I thought for
certain you knew it already, for you always seem to beat me to it!
I have heard that Mrs Implton’s son is a confirmed bachelor—by
London standards.
I think it must be true, because if he were anything less
than confirmed, dear Mrs Implton would still be croaking about finding him a wife.
I do not think I’ve heard her mention the subject since Harriet was in short clothes.
It is a shame. If only they had been close in age growing up we might have been
able to come to an agreement that would suit them both.
But this is not at all why I wrote. I wrote because Mr Doe
has finally managed to recommend a book that has neither baffled me nor driven
me to destruction. Aside from the American oddities, of which there were blessedly
fewer in this novel, I thought that The
Ghost in the Glass House was quite enjoyable.
It is true that the story is about a twelve year old girl,
but I do not think that it was written for children at all. It follows Clare,
whose father died three years ago and whose mother went odd in reaction, towing
Clare all around the world and refusing to go home. When they take a summer
house on the eastern coast of America, Clare discovers a ghost boy in the glass
house on the grounds.
Everything is so wonderfully written and realized. There is Clare’s
pack of friends, and her delightful mother, and Tilda the house keeper, and the
parties by the sea. And it also portrays perfectly the unevenness of things. Too
often I find that novels tie all the ends into a single, neat bow. Here, just
enough is left unfinished to imagine that all the characters exist well beyond
the last page
Let me attempt to find its faults:
I suppose, looking back, that those readers who are excited
by lots of bandits and secret passages and running around will be bored. There
is some of this, but there is also quite a lot of very interesting and clever
observation, and I think one must be an observer oneself—that is, to prefer looking under the rocks of people to
lounging back and waiting for them to preform—in order to like this story.
What else? It did seem at times that this particular twelve
year old sounded older than her years. But then, I seem to recall feeling
constantly underestimated by adults at that age, so I suppose it is
possible—likely, even—that I have made a certain awful transition.
I wonder, examining my own behavior to Mrs Implton, if we do
also underestimate the elderly? Do you think she might be more clever than she
lets on? Oh I hope not, Gertie, for we are not far from elderly ourselves. I
will scream if anyone attempts to cut my meat for me before I am an invalid
with both arms amputated.
I think that image is where I will leave you, Gertie.
With love,
Prudence Pennylegion
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