I can’t watch scary movies. In fact, I’m such a wuss I can’t even watch movies that are supposed to be parodies of scary movies, or even have scary violins in them. I always blame it on the fact that we lived off of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, with scary hangy-over-the-road trees, but it probably stems more from me being kind of a sheltered wimp. I wasn’t allowed to read the Goosebumps books as a kid because they would give me nightmares (this isn’t verified of course, since I didn’t actually read them, but my mom said they were satanic, just like Clifford and Harry Potter, and I was too frightened by the bookcovers to argue).
My mom probably wouldn’t have let me read The Aviary either, because it has a pretty grim looking cover, and the font is kind of gothic, and birds are the minions of the devil, probably. But this is pretty much the only type of ‘scary’ I can handle.
Scary-For-Prepubescents. That’s about my limit.
I always battle with myself whether to read the back copy or not, since the majority of the time the back copy (much like my blog posts) gives away most of the story. So, to compromise, I just skimmed it, and went into the book knowing that the birds in the giant aviary in the Clara’s backyard were once children (hey! Don’t blame me for ruining it for you—they shouldn’t have put it in the synopsis!). Continue reading