Secret Window

Once upon an ages ago, during that period of time known as “the hood of the child” (translated from the, um, Dutch), I read a book in which some siblings discovered a secret window in their home. EXCITING. This was not their usual home, but a summer home, or perhaps a new home. They had been into the home’s attic, and seen nothing out of the ordinary; but from outside, they espied a certain window, which may or may not have been of the stained-glass variety, in the vicinity of their attic. Through some investigation, they then discovered a boarded-up room within the attic, which room held some sort of cool mystery.

A couple of months ago, this memory, devoid of all defining details, popped into my head. I suddenly very much wanted to read the book again. I had set some time aside for writing, but I instead spent the time Internetting (from the verb “to Internet”, translated from the awesome) with various searches such as “children’s book secret window stained glass hidden room awesome memory childhood google please help me out”.

I did not find the book I was looking for. I did, however, realize the following truth: basically every children’s book ever written is about siblings discovering a secret window or a hidden room. For real. I found many, many, many* books that met the basic search criteria, but which were decidedly not the one I remembered.

But of the books I wasn’t looking for, two stood out as ones I’d actually like to read.

The first is The Diamond in the Window by Jane Langton, in which two siblings discover a secret window shaped like a keyhole that leads to a hidden room in their attic. Scratched on the inside of the window is a long poem; as the kids decipher it, they somehow learn about Thoreau and Emerson and Louisa May Alcott and the transcendentalist movement. Intriguing. Learning can be fun!

The second is The Steps up the Chimney by William Corlett, in which siblings discover a secret window in their chimney that leads to a hidden room in which they discover a time-travelling magician (?). Adventure ensues. This gets bonus points for taking place in Wales, where much good children’s literature takes place.

So while my searching found me some books I’d like to read, it entirely failed to find the one I meant to.

Somehow, just yesterday, I ended up at the Wikipedia page that lists The Boxcar Children books. Yes. It’s the magic of Internetting. Now, the only excuse I can come up with for not checking this list before is the age-old one: I am an idiot. Because I read many, many, many** Boxcar Children books as a yoot, which books contain a) siblings and b) mysteries. Of course, the target of my search was among them. The book I was thinking of is The Treehouse Mystery. The vague details I remembered were all right on… but compared to the other two books mentioned above, this one actually seems really boring. And now that I’ve found it, I have no desire to read it again.

I feel like there’s a lesson here, but I’m not entirely sure what it is.

*(many)

**(many many)