In my childhood I had a brief love affair with the Oz books. I think that Ozma of Oz was the last one that I made it through and I remember it being my favorite. I also remember the library’s copy being one of those big, beautiful, illustrated giants. I kind of wonder if that was why I loved Ozma so much.
Actually, I came across a live action version of this book on TV a couple of years ago and I was super excited. I begged Hubby to let me watch it even though it was nothing he would ever be interested in and I rambled off the basic plot points easily. It’s only now that I have been trying to read a chapter a night from Oz that I realized how messed up these books are.
Did you know that there is a character in this book who takes people’s heads and wears them as her own? How about the Wheelers, a breed of creature that has wheels instead of hands and feet, wheels made of a substance like bone or fingernail? The joy of Oz lies in the fact that it isn’t all beautiful and wonderful. There may be Emerald Cities but there are also Gnome kingdoms. For every beautiful woman who wants to help you, there’s another that wants to wear your head.
Still, I’ve been really enjoying these books. I bought the complete Oz books on my Kindle a while ago and it’s nice being able to read before bed (or during one of my newly frequent mid-night awakenings) without twisting around to turn on a light. Plus, as far as bed time stories go, these are pretty great. They have magic and beauty and adventure and excitement.