In a previous post, I told you I was bashing what I love. This is different. Here, right now, what you're about to read, is a post ridiculing what I hate the most. It is the book series by Ann M. Martin about a disarray of children who form a club of babysitters, and imaginatively call it the Babysitters Club. Read on.
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1. In what universe are all the children, from ages four to twelve years, more literate and thoughtful than the people thirteen years plus?
2. Just why exactly are the neighborhood parents allowing eleven-year-olds and thirteen-year-olds to watch their kids? They are all minors - they are still children themselves! And let's not forget that Claudia misspells words more than Sheldon Cooper speaks them, Mary Anne can't even read an email without blubbering, Kristy has very little regard to her own surroundings, and Stacey has diabetes. If they're babysitters, they should at least be supervised ones; to ensure they don't have an emotional breakdown or a medical crisis while on the job. Such as a diabetic coma. The best thing Ann M. Martin could possibly do is write a book where Stacey falls into a diabetic coma and the rest of the little idiots hit a rift on whether or not she'll come out of it. Oh, and they're finally legal age, by the way; which entitles them to, say, having their first hangovers; going to jail; the freedom to drive or move away.
3. The book "Poor Mallory!" is just stupid. Well, they all are; but this one is in particular because it wasn't Mallory who was fired. Why not make the book about her father - the forgotten main character? And why is it that the father has to sit on his ass and be useless, and the minors save the day? They can't even buy lottery tickets. And what was it that they did...Did the triplets help with the babysitting? Oh, why not, they are after all TEN. What's the harm? Surely a third-grader can help a four-year-old see the brighter side of Mommy getting pregnant. Oh, but wait, I haven't read this shit in about half a decade. Perhaps they tried selling lemonade to save Daddy's ass. Or maybe the babyshitters raised the rates for their services? No, they wouldn't want to put it on their fucking flyers and lose business; which they don't deserve, because they are minors, they do not know First Aid, they do not have Food Safe, and therefore they are an illegal business. So in that case, isn't it so awesome that their charges are always flawlessly healthy and even Jenny Prezzioso can be kept quiet with a box of glitter and pens? Please! What kid doesn't already have toys?
5. All these babysitters are sluts. They already have boyfriends, have been kissed...They're eleven and thirteen! And why don't their parents know? Parents are supposed to interfere, especially when their children are at that age!
6. Who cares how Ben Hobart's accent sounds? Instead of spending three paragraphs or whatever, making the character narrate out the pronunciation of several words; why not just say Australian accent and leave it at that? Oh, wait, I'm being too critical; she is a CHILDREN'S author. How could I have forgotten when she writes at a second-grade level? Oops, I wasn't thinking when I wrote that; because second-graders could write more sufficiently.
There's probably more; but I'm going to call it a night. To read a similar opinion, visit http://bscbookblog.blogspot.ca/.
