One day, when I was in fourth grade, I received a book in my classroom "mailbox." In fact, every kid in our class received the very same book, a book that we were not required to read for school but that, rather, we were allowed to take home and keep. We were all flabbergasted. Had there been a mistake? What was this unthinkable treasure, this gift from school that required no labor in return?
I vaguely recall a teacher informing us that it was a book "about math" or "geometry" or some such subject. Clearly, this was intended to be an educational gift, and any pleasure we derived from reading it was incidental. I also found the cover frightening, and somewhat reminiscent of the children's horror film James and the Giant Peach.
But still, I read Louis Sachar's Holes along with everyone else. It didn't meet any of my requirements for great literature at the time (i.e., it didn't have a cat protagonistor even one wizard). And yet, I loved Holes. We all loved Holes. Some children even went so far as to give it the highest of all literary compliments: it was "better than Harry Potter" (I never went that far, both out of honesty and out of fear of being labelled a heretic).
[For more on this story by CHARLOTTE AHLIN, go to https://www.bustle.com/p/what-...ial-complex-12254929]
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