The Re-Read: John Bellairs, The House With A Clock In Its Walls
Sunday's Child Is Bonny and Blithe
Bellairs’ three Lewis Barnavelt and Rose Rita Pottinger books were among my absolute favorites when I was a young reader, and I’ve periodically returned to them since. I wasn’t wild about his other work, except for his more adult fantasy novel The Face in the Frost, which I ought to re-read some time soon.
The House With a Clock in its Walls is one of those books that I never really wanted to see adapted as a film or TV series, and I wanted that even less when I heard Eli Roth had signed to direct an adaptation. I hear from some people that it’s not bad, but I can tell from the trailers alone that it’s not what I’d want. It’s not a book where the people who can use magic are throwing fireballs around.
The magic in the book was one of the two things that really hooked me and I still like it. Magic in this world is a mundanely scholarly subject: you can study it and wield some minor and subtle powers if you know your stuff. It’s low-key and subtle, for the most part: little rituals that do small things, weird magic mirrors and little artifacts. But there’s some dark magic out there that is very bad and powerful: hidden clocks intended to bring about the end of the world, a ring intended to give its wearer power over an evil spirit, a Hand of Glory made from a hanged man that can paralyze anyone who sees it. The main magicians aren’t out there looking for evil. They’re not Gandalf or Dumbledore. Magic is a hobby, but if you come across something bad and dangerous (or it’s in your house already), you have to do something about it. It’s the kind of magic that can operate within an otherwise mundane world without being a big deal and yet drive the story of two preteens and the eccentric adults in their lives along just fine.
The other thing I really liked were the characters. The main character of the first two books, Lewis Barnavelt, is the rare orphan-sent-to-his-eccentric-uncle-after-his-parents-die who is actually sad about what’s happened to him and yet who is able to make a new home. E.g., his circumstances matter, whereas in a lot of stories for children offing the parents before we get going is just a bit of plot contrivance. More importantly, Lewis is overweight, intelligent, and sensitive and is immediately targeted by bullies. I identified a lot with Lewis—there’s a moment in the second book where he’s overwhelmed by strong violent dreams of vengeance against his bullies (he has acquired a magical ring that’s fueling his darker feelings) that I remember being electrified by, like someone had seen inside my own 4th grade thoughts.
As a twelve-year old, I didn’t really pick up on the strong queer elements of the books, but they’ve been written about since by a number of critics. Lewis’ uncle Jonathan is a warlock who lives by himself, and is close friends with a neighboring witch named Florence Zimmerman, who also lives by herself. Lewis’ best friend Rose Rita (who isn’t around until the second book and then is the main character in the third book) is a tomboy who can fight better than Lewis can. (Apparently the film decided to hint at a romantic relationships between Jonathan and Florence and then at the end also between Lewis and Rose Rita, which really is a depressing example of compulsory heterosexuality.) But I did really embrace the way that all the characters are outside the normal lines around them and yet are also living mundanely human lives all the time.
I did pick up on a few other things. I never questioned how Uncle Jonathan and Florence were making ends meet, but it’s pretty clear on this re-read that Jonathan has inherited wealth. Florence seemed to have had some kind of professional life as a witch, but she’s retired (and in the third book, her age starts to be an important issue). The material world of Jonathan’s house is also astonishingly vivid on re-reading. I remembered most of the stand-out elements but it really feels to me now as if the eponymous house with a clock in its walls (well, after the conclusion of the first book, sans clock) deserves a place in the pantheon of the ten most memorable fantasy locations. I suppose that’s another reason I don’t want to see the movie: the book and the Edward Gorey illustrations are all I want.
I've got a whole stack of Bellairs's young reader books on the shelf to my right; I should re-read some of them. I did re-read THE FACE IN THE FROST recently, though alas in an ebook edition that didn't include the charming illustrations from the original print edition (Gahan Wilson, I think). It really loses something without them, but it's still a lovely book.
It's difficult to find, but if you run across his ST. FIDGETA AND OTHER PARODIES, it's really tremendously funny to anyone with Catholic heritage.
I loved “The Face in the Frost,” and I love Gorey. So how did I miss this?