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Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Mar 15, Sarah Bollt rated it really liked it Shelves: have-ebook.
I enjoyed this book. It was a bit difficult to follow, at times, but I thought it presented some interesting viewpoints on religion, faith, and social interaction.
I do wish books like this would advertise on the cover if they're the first in a series, so I can be prepared with book two when I finish the first one. It's a little aggravating when you don't find out until the last page.
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Katy marked it as to-read Jan 08, Em added it Feb 09, Randy Harmelink marked it as to-read Feb 12, Katie added it Apr 16, BookishDreamer marked it as to-read Oct 20, Deborah added it Feb 16, Larry marked it as to-read Feb 17, Amelia marked it as to-read Apr 05, Jennifer marked it as to-read Apr 06, While most kids dream about being off from school, and find their summer to rocket by like a cheap amusement park ride, Harry Putter found summer to be the bane of his existence. It was because each summer found him at number 4 Privy Drive, living in the house he grew up in with his Aunt Hachooie, Uncle Vermin, and cousin Mudley, collectively known as the Dirtleys.
Even though he was still spending this summer in the same place, it had started off with a bang, and had been like no other summer in his life. Each summer Harry was treated like a subspecies. In fact, from as early as he could remember he slept in the doghouse, literally, leaky roof and all. That is, until the summer after his first year of school, — preschool. He came home and discovered the doghouse was gone. That summer he lived in the closet under the stairs. And even though Uncle Vermin squeezed a bed in there, Harry liked to sleep under it, rather than in it.
Harry thought he was in heaven, only a heaven where someone was trying to kill him. He thought Uncle Vermin was being nice, but later he found out that Hasbeen threatened to beat the snot out of his Uncle Vermin. So, Harry had his own room that summer, in the guestroom, a real bedroom, upstairs and everything. Of course, he still slept under the bed.
But not this summer! This summer he slept in the master bedroom under a king-sized bed. Uncle Vermin and Aunt Hachooie had the guestroom. Each summer Harry was treated like a slave. He had a list of chores a mile long. Some were difficult chores like, laundry, dishes, washing cars, scrubbing floors, sweeping chimneys, etc. They were just living up to their disgusting name. He would spend each day cleaning until night when he would fall asleep exhausted. His only goals were to do a good job and thus avoid kicks to his ribs or the seat of his pants from the Dirtleys.
Each summer Harry felt like he was slowly starving to death. He sure mentioned it a lot.
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Harry found it very surprising later in life that food and doghouses were a good deal less expensive than Uncle Vermin had him believe. Harry was not allowed to be in the kitchen unobserved. All the work he did cooking and cleaning in the kitchen was conducted under the watchful eyes of Aunt Hachooie.
He occasionally was able to sneak into the kitchen to steal something to eat, usually a handful of uncooked rice or macaroni. However, he always risked a thorough beating when doing so. This summer, Harry had developed a small spare tire on his slight frame. Once he had accidentally mentioned that his food talked to him, but was able to convince the analyst that he was only joking. Sure, this summer had started out exciting enough, but despite all the improvements, Harry Putter found himself bored.
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Today was too muggy outside, so Harry stayed in his room where the window air conditioner hummed and kept life bearable, another improvement realized only this summer. He looked out of the window of his bedroom and sighed. All the neighborhood kids stayed far away from 4 Privy Drive even though Uncle Vermin had a swimming pool installed in the backyard in April. They all had known for a long time that the weird kid with the L-shaped scar on his forehead lived there. Stay away from Harry Putter! In fact, many of the sorry lot looked up to Mudley for leadership, — a sorry lot indeed.
That was fine with Harry, he wanted someone of intelligence to talk to, Ron, Hermione, heck, he would settle for Neville Largebottom. But no one interesting was around. The only sign of life was the mailman heading from mailbox to mailbox delivering the mail, or as those in the wizarding community referred to it, the muddle mail. Muddle being the word they use for the poor humans that muddled through life without the use of magic.
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Wizards of course had a much more sophisticated mail delivery system. Had the mailman looked up, he would have seen a skinny teenager with neat black hair and unibrow, wearing glasses that had been makeshift repaired with masking tape staring out of the window back down at him.
But even Hedbutt was nowhere to be seen. Harry sighed again, flopped on the bed, and rummaged through a pile of comics. He considered the quibbage comic, The Adventures of the Furious Whacker, but settled on his copy of the latest Dr. Nova comic. However, he found himself only leafing through it with disinterest, he had read it three times already. He lay down on the bed and his eyes wandered around the room until he found himself staring at the Loose Cannons poster on the wall.
The Loose Cannons were his favorite professional quibbage team. He sighed.
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