Poison for Breakfast by Lemony Snicket EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Lemony Snicket
- Language: English
- Genre: Humorous Literary Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
This morning I had poison for breakfast.
This book is about bewilderment, a word which here means “the feeling
of being bewildered,” and “bewildered” is a word which here means “you
don’t have any idea what is happening,” and “you” is a word which doesn’t
just mean you. It means everyone. You have no idea what is happening, and
nobody you know has any idea what is happening, and of course there are all
the people you don’t know, which is most of the people in the world, and
they don’t know what is happening either, and of course I don’t know what is
happening or I wouldn’t have eaten poison for breakfast.
Everything that happens in this book is true, by which I mean that it all
really happened, the poison and the poems, the deadly cactus and the
hypnotic musician, the chicken and the egg and the fatal finale, a phrase
which here means there is death at the end of the story. But the story begins
at breakfast, which I fixed myself, as I enjoy doing. It won’t be necessary for
you to remember what I had for breakfast, because I will keep mentioning it,
but it was
Tea
with honey,
a piece of toast
with cheese,
one sliced pear,
and an egg perfectly prepared,
and all of it, as I have mentioned, I fixed myself and ate all up while reading
whatever I pleased.
I’ve been fixing my own breakfast for many years, beginning one
summer when I was quite small, and I was with my family in a house we
were borrowing. The house was on the shore of a lake which was quite large
and quite cold, and a small flock of geese would gather on the sand, having
loud conversations and making a mess. “The geese will go away,” the owner
of the house told us, “as long as you don’t feed them,” but the geese never
went away, not all summer. In the morning, I would wake up and go by
myself to the kitchen. The early sun would shine on the lake, the ripples so
shiny and sharp that they looked like knives.
I read something once that describes the sea as “all a case of knives” and I
have never forgotten it. It is a description I admire very much, because it is so
startling that you know no one else has thought of it before the author did,
and yet so perfectly clear that you wonder why you never thought of it
yourself. All good writing is like this. It is why a favorite book feels like an
old friend and a new acquaintance at the same time, and the reason a favorite
author can be a familiar figure and a mysterious stranger all at once.
Although I had not yet read “all a case of knives” when I was living next
to the lake, I would sit and watch all the sharp and shiny bits of water outside
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