The Bad Beginning

“Violet Baudelaire, the eldest, liked to skip rocks. Like most fourteen-year-olds, she was right-handed, so the rocks skipped farther across the murky water when Violet used her right hand than when she used her left.”

The author has a sense of mischief, and in this quote, he presents information that will come back later to affect the plot in a surprising way. The fact that Violet is right-handed foreshadows her signing her name with her left hand at the end, which negates the marriage contract. It’s an example of the literary device called “Chekhov’s gun,” by which something that appears casually in the opening of a story later gets used suddenly to stunning effect.

“One of the things Violet, Klaus, and Sunny really liked about their parents was that they didn’t send their children away when they had company over, but allowed them to join the adults at the dinner table and participate in the conversation as long as they helped clear the table.”

Instead of cordoning them off at a separate table, the children’s parents respect them enough to include them among the grownups during formal dinners. The children soak up adult conversations and learn a great deal this way, which ultimately provides a foundation for the theme of Ingenuity. The deal of helping to clear the table is also bleakly distorted later in the novel when the children are forced to clean Count Olaf’s house with no reward.

“‘The fire department arrived, of course,’ Mr. Poe said, ‘but they were too late. The entire house was engulfed in fire. It burned to the ground.’ Klaus pictured all the books in the library, going up in flames. Now he’d never read all of them.

The horrible news about his parents takes time to sink into Klaus’s mind, and he focuses instead on his home’s library and its thousands of books, from which he derived so much pleasure. It’s easier to picture that tragedy than to think of his own parents dying. The vulnerability of these books foreshadows Lemony Snicket’s manuscript in jeopardy at the end. Mr. Poe’s faith in the fire department also establishes an important element of his characterization: his sometimes misguided trust in institutions.

“If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it. For the Baudelaire children, it was of course especially terrible because they had lost both their parents at the same time, and for several days they felt so miserable they could scarcely get out of bed.”

The author can only suggest how horrible it feels to lose a close relative or friend. Saying it’s hard to express is the closest he can come to describing the actual pain, and the emotional import of this moment is deferred to the experience of the reader. This particular metafictional device hence further develops the reader’s direct relationship with the text. For a time, all the children can do is mourn, and the author distorts the temporality of the passage by collapsing several days together, in keeping with the disorienting temporal markers of the novel.

“They could see, in the space of pale skin between his tattered trouser cuff and his black shoe, that Count Olaf had an image of an eye tattooed on his ankle, matching the eye on his front door. They wondered how many other eyes were in Count Olaf’s house, and whether, for the rest of their lives, they would always feel as though Count Olaf were watching them even when he wasn’t nearby.”

The Baudelaires meet their new caretaker, a sinister-looking, disheveled man, and realize they’ve fallen into some sort of trap. The eyeball symbol clearly suggests that the Count won’t watch over them as much as spy on them. It’s the first of many bad omens about the children’s future. When the children wonder “how many other eyes” are in the house, both they and the reader are aligned in the sense of the unknown.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this, but first impressions are often entirely wrong. You can look at a painting for the first time, for example, and not like it at all, but after looking at it a little longer you may find it very pleasing. The first time you try Gorgonzola cheese you may find it too strong, but when you are older you may want to eat nothing but Gorgonzola cheese. Klaus, when Sunny was born, did not like her at all, but by the time she was six weeks old the two of them were thick as thieves. Your initial opinion on just about anything may change over time.”

The story is filled with asides and commentaries in which the reader is directly addressed by narrator Lemony Snicket. In this quote, he separates himself from the telling long enough to reveal a bit of his own quirky mind. As chief chronicler of the Baudelaire children’s grand misadventure, his personality hovers over events and inflects the story with humorous resignation and a subjective tone. These passages are distinctive for their mix of first and second person—most of the novel is in third person—and the reader is hence implicated in the experiences of the novel.

“‘I hate it here, Violet! I hate this house! I hate our room! I hate having to do all these chores, and I hate Count Olaf!’ ‘I hate it too,’ Violet said, and Klaus looked at his older sister with relief. Sometimes, just saying that you hate something, and having someone agree with you, can make you feel better about a terrible situation.”

Klaus and Violet already get along well, but their new situation stresses both of them to the limit. Realizing that they feel exactly the same way helps them align their goals and begin to think about how to cope better with their predicament. This moment is striking because of its contrast with the generally stoic characterization of this pair, particularly Violet. Here, there is no need for Sunny’s biting and shrieking to externalize what Klaus and Violet keep in.

“In the time since the Baudelaire parents’ death, most of the Baudelaire orphans’ friends had fallen by the wayside, an expression which here means ‘they stopped calling, writing, and stopping by to see any of the Baudelaires, making them very lonely.’ You and I, of course, would never do this to any of our grieving acquaintances, but it is a sad truth in life that when someone has lost a loved one, friends sometimes avoid the person, just when the presence of friends is most needed.”

The narrator remarks on the fickle nature of some friendship—that it sometimes fails people at the very moment when it’s needed most. The direct address to the reader parodies people who think themselves immune to such failings. It also builds upon an imagined rapport between reader and narrator, since Snicket identifies their apparent shared qualities and uses a collective pronoun, “our.” This quotation also foregrounds the novel’s theme of teamwork: Fortunately, the children have each other, and Violet and Klaus are smart and capable.

“‘Goodness,’ Justice Strauss said. ‘Cooking dinner for an entire theater troupe seems like a lot to ask of children.’ ‘Count Olaf gives us a lot of responsibility,’ Violet said. What she wanted to say was, ‘Count Olaf is an evil man,’ but she was well mannered.”

The qualities of Violet as a stoic hero are apparent here. Because she has been brought up not to express negative feelings, she is too concerned with politeness to scream for help. The authorial presence, however, allows a moment of insight into Violet’s feelings despite them being reported in third person. The children are also aware that adults give caretakers the benefit of the doubt.

“Unless you have been very, very lucky, you have undoubtedly experienced events in your life that have made you cry. So unless you have been very, very lucky, you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit. So it was with the Baudelaire orphans. Having cried all night, they rose the next morning feeling as if a weight were off their shoulders. The three children knew, of course, that they were still in a terrible situation, but they thought they might do something to make it better.”

The Baudelaires accept that they’re in deep trouble—they’re no longer fighting the harsh reality of their predicament—and this focuses their minds not on what they wish were true, but on what’s actually true. The second-person address is emotive because the reader is invited to identify with their night of crying and relate it to their own experience of a “good, long session of weeping.”

“Violet tried to picture Count Olaf as a youngster, but couldn’t. His shiny eyes, bony hands, and shadowy smile all seemed to be things only adults possess.”

Until recently, the children have been protected by their parents from unsafe grownups. The Baudelaire children thus have few notions about such unpleasant personalities, and Olaf is their first introduction to the type. Any childlike innocence seems completely absent in him—it’s replaced, instead, by guile and ruthless cunning. The adjectives—“shiny,” “bony,” and “shadowy”—are similar to those used to describe his house and the objects in it. The glint of shine in his eyes is the only part of his appearance that suggests vitality, linking with the motif of eyeballs and oppression in the novel.

“‘You don’t think those berries were poisoned, do you?’ Klaus asked worriedly. ‘No,’ Violet said. ‘Olaf is after the fortune we will inherit. Killing us would do him no good.’”

Already, Violet understands Count Olaf’s interest in the children. By raising them, he can work his way into a position where he acquires their estate. The children must survive—at least until he’s named as their successor. Despite her fears and frustrations over the children’s predicament, Violet remains clear-headed. Count Olaf isn’t the only shrewd person in the house. This reflects the idea set out when Violet’s habit of tying up her hair is introduced: She, too, keeps her vision clear to look back at and resist Count Olaf.

“There are many, many types of books in the world, which makes good sense, because there are many, many types of people, and everybody wants to read something different. For instance, people who hate stories in which terrible things happen to small children should put this book down immediately. But one type of book that practically no one likes to read is a book about the law. Books about the law are notorious for being very long, very dull, and very difficult to read. This is one reason many lawyers make heaps of money. The money is an incentive—the word ‘incentive’ here means ‘an offered reward to persuade you to do something you don’t want to do’—to read long, dull, and difficult books.”

The reader is once again made aware that they are reading a book as Snicket makes a metafictional comment upon the ending that they are to expect. The narrator makes fun of the pretensions of people in the professions and hints at the financial elements driving the damaging bureaucracy in the plot. The narrator’s definition of “incentive” also is an example of his humorous method, applied throughout the book, of defining words for young readers by using sardonic comments in the manner of famous satirist Ambrose Bierce.

“The book was long, and difficult to read, and Klaus became more and more tired as the night wore on. Occasionally his eyes would close. He found himself reading the same sentence over and over. He found himself reading the same sentence over and over. He found himself reading the same sentence over and over.”

In an impishly humorous metafictional joke, the narrator puts the reader neatly into the state of mind of the exhausted Klaus by simulating the boy’s struggle to read an important book. It’s at once a disorienting moment and a wry commentary on the challenges of reading under stress. Snicket again alerts the reader that they are reading a work of fiction with the inevitable structure of tragedy.

“‘A stubborn mule,’ Count Olaf explained, ‘does not move in the direction its owner wants it to. In that way, it is like you children, who insist on mucking up my plans. Any animal owner will tell you that a stubborn mule will move in the proper direction if there is a carrot in front of it, and a stick behind it. It will move toward the carrot, because it wants the reward of food, and away from the stick, because it does not want the punishment of pain. Likewise, you will do what I say, to avoid the punishment of the loss of your sister, and because you want the reward of surviving this experience.’”

During this speech, Olaf reveals both a deeply cunning mind and an utter contempt for the children’s intelligence. They’ve been outsmarted, but within this latest disaster lies a glimmer of hope: Olaf seriously underestimates the children he has trapped. His attempted prediction of the outcome—“you want the reward of surviving this experience”—both mirrors and distorts the omniscience of the narrator, Snicket, and highlights their antagonistic positions in the novel.

“[S]he remembered something her parents had said to her when Klaus was born, and again when they brought Sunny home from the hospital. ‘You are the eldest Baudelaire child,’ they had said, kindly but firmly. ‘And as the eldest, it will always be your responsibility to look after your younger siblings. Promise us that you will always watch out for them and make sure they don’t get into trouble.’ Violet remembered her promise, and thought of Klaus, whose bruised face still looked sore, and Sunny, dangling from the top of the tower like a flag, and began working faster. Even though Count Olaf was of course the cause of all this misery, Violet felt as if she had broken her promise to her parents, and vowed to make it right.”

Violet feels a great responsibility toward her siblings. This passage reveals that the absent parental figures in the text are the origin of her stoic characterization. While the parents are absent from the text, however, Handler uses these temporal shifts to incorporate past memories into the present. The present returns with force through the harsh images of Klaus’s face and Sunny dangling. Count Olaf’s cruelties may have hurt Violet, but they haven’t dissuaded her from the duties she assumed long ago. In fact, the more he threatens her family, the harder she works to defeat him.

“I am certain that over the course of your own life, you have noticed that people’s rooms reflect their personalities. In my room, for instance, I have gathered a collection of objects that are important to me, including a dusty accordion on which I can play a few sad songs, a large bundle of notes on the activities of the Baudelaire orphans, and a blurry photograph, taken a very long time ago, of a woman whose name is Beatrice. These are items that are very precious and dear to me.”

The narrator describes his own room and its eccentric contents. In fact, he’s describing the author’s own room: Daniel Handler is known for his musical performances and recordings on accordion. Beatrice is a recurring character in the Series of Unfortunate Events books; the poet Baudelaire had a muse named Beatrice, and women named Beatrice occur several times in history under tragic circumstances. The author’s private obsessions thus leak out through the narrator’s comments.

“Violet reflected on all the awful things she and her siblings had experienced recently. Their parents had died, suddenly and horribly. Mrs. Poe had bought them ugly clothing. They had moved into Count Olaf’s house and were treated terribly. Mr. Poe had refused to help them. They had discovered a fiendish plot involving marrying Violet and stealing the Baudelaire fortune. Klaus had tried to confront Olaf with knowledge he’d learned in Justice Strauss’s library and failed. Poor Sunny had been captured. And now, Violet had tried to rescue Sunny and found herself captured as well. All in all, the Baudelaire orphans had encountered catastrophe after catastrophe.”

A single paragraph sums up the litany of disasters suffered by the Baudelaire children. It’s almost as if their misfortunes were carefully planned by a malevolent force. This is, in fact, exactly what has occurred, though the full explanation awaits the sequel books. Despite the violence of the disasters, the passage retains a darkly comedic element in keeping with the tone of the novel: the bathos occurring in the shift from the children’s parents’ deaths to the fact that “Mrs. Poe had bought them ugly clothing.”

“‘I tried to rescue Sunny,’ Violet said, ‘using an invention of mine to climb up the tower.’ Klaus went over to the window and looked down at the ground. ‘It’s so high up,’ he said. ‘You must have been terrified.’ ‘It was very scary,’ she admitted, ‘but not as scary as the thought of marrying Count Olaf.’ ‘I’m sorry your invention didn’t work,’ Klaus said sadly. ‘The invention worked fine,’ Violet said, rubbing her sore shoulder. ‘I just got caught.’”

This passage demonstrates the rise and fall pattern of the final chapters as resolutions are offered and then spoiled. Violet’s grappling hook does its job, even if the result doesn’t come out as planned. Violet’s characterization is evident in her speech: Handler modulates Klaus’s use of the word “terrified” to “very scary” for Violet, deescalating her outward impression of fear.

“‘Do you think you could invent something that would help us escape?’ Klaus asked, looking around the room. ‘Maybe,’ Violet said. ‘And why don’t you go through those books and papers? Perhaps there’s some information that could be of use.’”

The Baudelaire children simply won’t give up. Working together to try to free themselves from their predicament, they divide up the work according to their strengths and continue wracking their brains for new ideas. This division of labor emphasizes the symbiotic relationship between Klaus and Violet. The books and papers also mirror the “large bundle of notes on the activities of the Baudelaire orphans” in Snicket’s room, which foreshadows the similar sense of peril felt by Snicket in spreading the Baudelaire story in the final letter.

“On one hand, they were of course filled with dread. From the murmur of voices they heard on the stage, the two Baudelaire orphans could tell that the performance of The Marvelous Marriage had begun, and it seemed too late to do anything to foil Count Olaf’s plan. On the other hand, however, they were fascinated, as they had never been backstage at a theatrical production and there was so much to see.”

Despite their anxieties, Violet and Klaus retain an ability to observe the world around them and search for anything that might help them escape the peril they’re in. It’s an ironic situation to be in fear of one’s life yet interested in nearby goings-on. Their interest in the paratheatrical elements of the play lays the foundation for the blurring of the dramatic events of diegetic reality and The Marvelous Marriage during the denouement speeches.

“Finally, Justice Strauss began speaking, and Klaus saw that she was reading directly from the legal book. Her eyes were sparkling and her face flushed as she performed onstage for the first time, too stagestruck to realize she was a part of Olaf’s plan.”

Strauss’s enthusiasm for her part, as the judge who marries Violet to Olaf, blinds her to what might, on another occasion, have attracted her notice. The marriage certificate’s City Hall imprint could have caught her eye, or the Count’s insistence that the entire wedding ceremony be read from Strauss’s law book might have given her pause. Her “sparkling” eyes remind the reader of Olaf’s “shiny” eyes earlier in the novel and link her role in the play to his oppressive vision and attempts to be all-seeing.

“‘[Y]our parents’ will is very specific. You must be adopted by a relative. Tonight you will stay with me in my home, and tomorrow I shall go to the bank and figure out what to do with you. I’m sorry, but that is the way it is.’ The children looked at Justice Strauss, who sighed heavily and hugged each of the Baudelaire youngsters in turn. ‘Mr. Poe is right,’ she said sadly. ‘He must respect your parents’ wishes. Don’t you want to do what your parents wanted, children?’”

Mr. Poe’s interpretation of the will leaves no room for exceptional circumstances; Justice Strauss upholds the law nobly, but this causes great trauma to the children. Her heavy sigh and hug emphasize the mundanity of her response to tragedy. The final rhetorical question to the children leaves no room for any number of workarounds—a delay in the proceedings, a temporary assignment to Strauss until Poe finds a worthy relative, and so forth. Both authorities blindly follow the system they’ve spent decades mastering. It’s a commentary on how adults sometimes fail to help those they’re charged with protecting.