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Summary
Summary
THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM....
Are Harold, Howie, and Chester simply lost in the woods with Dawg, their strange new friend? Or have they been lured away from their campsite intentionally, leaving the Monroes at the mercy of evil spirits with mayhem on their minds? Lulling Dawg to sleep with a bedtime story may be their only hope of escaping -- but is the hare-raising tale of the origins of Bunnicula, the vampire bunny, really a bedtime story?
Author Notes
James Howe was born in Oneida, New York on August 2, 1946. He attended Boston University and majored in theater. Before becoming a full-time author, he worked as a literary agent. His first book, Bunnicula, was published in 1979. It won several awards including the Dorothy Canfield Fisher Award and the Nene Award. He is the author of more than 90 books for young readers including the Bunnicula series, the Bunnicula and Friends series, the Tales from the House of Bunnicula series, Pinky and Rex series, and the Sebastian Barth Mystery series. His other works include The Hospital Book , A Night Without Stars, Dew Drop Dead, The Watcher, The Misfits, Totally Joe, Addie on the Inside, and Also Known As Elvis.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In this further witty adventure of the Bunnicula crowd, Harold and Howie find themselves out in the woods on the one night of the year that evil spirits come out to prey. Ages 8-12. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
Gr. 3-6. The well-loved Bunnicula characters are back: canine narrator Harold, Chester the cat, and Howie the dachshund set off on a first camping trip with their human family.
School Library Journal Review
Gr 3-6 It's another outing for the companions of Bunnicula (Atheneum, 1979) the (supposedly) vampire rabbit. This time, they are on a camping trip with the Monroes, their cheerfully oblivious owners. Chester suspects danger from the outset, and his worst suspicions are confirmed when the Monroes set up camp near Bud, Spud, and their dog, Dawg, a sinister threesome right out of Deliverance. When Dawg leads Howie, Harold, and Chester on a chase deep into the surrounding forest and they become lost, Chester tells them a scary story to lull Dawg to sleep so that they can escape to rescue the Monroes who, they are sure, are in mortal danger. The story, of course, turns out to be about Bunnicula, Chester's favorite subject, and his origins, which turn out to be similar to the plot of any standard vampire movie and which, curiously, seem to involve Bud and Spud. Dawg brings about logical explanations which convince even Chester until he learns about Pete's secret merit badge project: breeding Bunnicula. . . . This fourth story in the series is the weakest, relying too much on readers' familiarity with vampire movie cliches and tolerance for weak puns. The journey into Bunnicula's roots is labored at best. The central conceit of this is done wittily but is getting threadbare. Is Chester right or merely hysterical? Readers would like to know. Christine Behrmann, New York Public Library (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
Howe's latest mock-Gothic horror tale, peopled with the most likable cast of pets this side of those 101 Dalmatians, is a welcome addition to comic writing for the age group; his puns and wisecracks will make this a particularly successful choice for reading aloud. Harold, Chester, and Howie, beloved pets of the Monroe family, are taken along on an overnight camping trip. The crew meets a couple of men and their dog, who seem to have sinister intentions. The dog leads the heroes on a nightlong romp in the woods, during which the resourceful cat, Chester, gives the novel's most satisfying bit of narrative: the story behind the birth of Bunnicula. In the morning, the animals are reunited with their humans, and the fears of midnight are proven to be largely imagined. One can't fault Howe for simplicity of plot because he is so successful at other effects. His characterization is witty, anthropomorphic enough to be engaging but suitably animal-like as well. The novel runs on humor; children who complain about the stultifying sobriety of so much of their reading will turn with great pleasure to Nighty-Nightmare, and they won't be disappointed. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Excerpts
Excerpts
When the Monroes arrived right after us, the man by the fire looked up. "Well, howdy," he said. "You folks out camping?" "We...we thought we'd camp over there," Mrs. Monroe said, pointing to a sandy patch near the water's edge. "That is, if you don't mind." "Mind? Heck, no. We never do get to see people in these parts. I'm Bud. And that there is Spud." Spud, I thought. How fitting. The Monroes introduced themselves and us. Spud looked everybody over, turned the knife in his hands, and spat on the ground. "Nice-looking animals you got there," Bud said, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. "Yes'm. Nice looking. Now, you take Dawg, he's seen better days. He cain't help it, he's been around by life, and sometimes he jes gets downright mean and orn'ry. But he's a good dawg, Dawg is." "That's your dog's name?" said Mr. Monroe. "Dog?" "Dawg," said Bud. He flipped the fish in the frying pan. Spud spat. Dawg dragged himself to his feet and, drool and all, headed in our direction. "He looks a little like Max," I commented, trying to cheer myself by bringing to mind a friendly bulldog of our acquaintance. "Yeah, the way a rattler looks like a garter snake. Happy Saint George's Day," Chester said, and the hairs continued to rise all the way down my back. "What kind of mutt do you call yourself?" Dawg growled as he came closer. His teeth were stained and pitted like old linoleum. "Nonviolent," I said, hoping he wouldn't catch the tremor in my voice. He snorted, sending a waft of rancid breath my way, and started to circle me, sniffing. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's this humiliating sniffing routine that passes for a handshake in the dog world. I would have suggested that he "give me five," but I was a little too nervous. Besides, I didn't have the feeling Dawg was the kind of old dog who was keen to learn new tricks. In fact, I didn't have the feeling Dawg was too keen at all. "Watch this," he said, when he'd tired of sniffing. He sauntered over to the campfire, stopping only when he was so close that his mangy fur took on a red glow. I exchanged puzzled glances with Chester and Howie, wondering what it was we were supposed to be watching. The Monroes, meanwhile, had moved down the slope to their campsite. Bud, who had gone back to his fish, ignored Dawg, while Spud just stared off into space, slowly turning his knife in his hands. After a moment, Dawg barked. The two men looked up and Bud started to shout, "Lookee, Spud. Hot dawg! Hot dawg!" His wild laughter made him sound like a demented goose. From the way Dawg and Spud curled their lips, I gathered that this was meant to be a big joke. Suddenly, I had the feeling I knew how prehistoric cavemen might have entertained themselves. I decided maybe television wasn't such a bad invention after all. "Gee, Uncle Harold," Howie said, "What do you think?" "I think Chester's right," I replied. "The woods are full of spirits tonight." "Evil spirits?" "Stupid spirits," I said. Chester mumbled something, but I couldn't hear him over the sound of the can opener in the distance. Dinner was about to be served, and I wasn't going to miss it. Excerpted from Nighty-Nightmare by James Howe All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
