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A review by satyridae
The Secret of the Mansion by Julie Campbell
2.0
I know many wonderful people who love, love, love Trixie. My earliest memories of this series center around a supermarket in Coldwater Michigan which sold cheap Whitman hardcovers for 69 cents. Every so often, if I'd completely run out of REAL books (which is to say, books about HORSES), my mom would buy me a Whitman book. It's where I first learned about abridged books, to my everlasting shock and chagrin. I remember the odd Trixie Belden, but didn't retain anything more concrete than a dismissive sort of feeling.
At the urging of some people whose taste in kidlit I respect, I revisited the first of the series. My recall was accurate. I'm not a Trixie fan. From the smarminess of calling one's maternal parent "Moms" to the inaccuracy about snakebite (garter snakes don't leave puncture wounds!) and the loathsome whiny Honey, I was left unmoved. And if Trixie said "yummy-yum" one more time, I was going to dive into the pages of the book and box her ears.
It got better toward the end, and I confess to a certain degree of curiosity about where they will find Jim. Tell me, Bob-Whites, do they improve as one continues?
At the urging of some people whose taste in kidlit I respect, I revisited the first of the series. My recall was accurate. I'm not a Trixie fan. From the smarminess of calling one's maternal parent "Moms" to the inaccuracy about snakebite (garter snakes don't leave puncture wounds!) and the loathsome whiny Honey, I was left unmoved. And if Trixie said "yummy-yum" one more time, I was going to dive into the pages of the book and box her ears.
It got better toward the end, and I confess to a certain degree of curiosity about where they will find Jim. Tell me, Bob-Whites, do they improve as one continues?