Daniel Pinkwater almost makes me angry.
Having read all of his personal essays and NPR pieces (I even own his dog training book!), I could see that many of the elements and characters from this book were drawn from his own life. And it's just not fair. My teenage years were nothing like Robert Nifkin's! Or Pinkwater's, or Alan Mendelssohn's, or any of his other characters. I never skipped school, only to find a strange and fascinating group of delinquents and intellectuals to fall in with. I'm not saying I'd like to be an overweight boy who smokes cigars, but I wouldn't mind winning thousands of dollars by betting on a horse named Kanthaka. I wouldn't mind going to a school where you could choose to go to class, or not, and read whatever you wanted, and occasionally go to a coffee shop to talk about it with your teacher.
In point of fact, I would have killed for such a school experience.
All of Pinkwater's heroes are, on the surface, losers. Often very introverted, very passive, they nevertheless fall into strange but wonderful company and have strange but wonderful adventures. If I moved to Chicago, I doubt I could find anyone like a Pinkwater character, and well . . . it's just not fair!
So I suppose I will just have to read about Pinkwater's Chicago, and how Robert Nifkin educated himself, essentially, with the help of his coterie of odd friends. This book was classic Pinkwater, Pinkwater at his best, frankly. I was howling with laughter for the entire book, yet as I pointed out to my husband, I think the book would have been wasted on a younger reader. Do kids these days know about the "Red Scare" of the 1950's? Would they get the jokes about Beatniks? Or even be able to decipher Mr. Nifkin Sr's thick Polish accent? All I can do is wait a few years and then read this with my own children when they are a bit older, making sure that they understand how freaking funny it is.
I owe it to Pinkwater, for the hours of joy he's given me.
Even though I'm jealous.