The Magic Treehouse Series By Mary Pope Osborne

There is nothing more magical than being transported to a completely different world. No, I am not talking about flying to a faraway vacation spot, or dreaming of an imaginary land, I am talking about the magic in reading a book and being taken to another world. Ever since I was little, I remember being read stories. Each night, my curly-haired mom would tuck me into my childhood bed, complete with a Barbie comforter, and read me a story. They started with picture books that contained little to no words, and eventually evolved into stories by Dr. Seuss and Roald Dahl. As I got older, I no longer needed my mom to read to me, as I could finally do it on my own. Because of this tradition of being read to every single night, my love for books only grew. Since I devoured books like they were candy, I did not realize the impact that they could have- that is until I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

The overt neglect of her prodigal intellect experienced by Matilda leaves her feeling misunderstood and an outsider in her family which differs from the perceived neglect which leaves Coraline struggling with her sense of self. Born to parents described as “gormless” (Dahl 4), Matilda is both blessed and cursed with a prodigal intellect. Causing Matilda to crave knowledge, it is her intellect that leads her at the age of “four years and three months” (9), to defy her parents and everyday walk to the library. Matilda admits to this neglect to Mrs. Phelps, the librarian, when she tells her of her mother, “She doesn’t encourage reading books. Nor does my father” (10). With this statement Matilda shows how her parents have neglected to foster her intellect. Matilda’s eagerness to digest information, and the fact that the only book in the Wormwood home is her mother’s cookbook, elaborates how she differs from her parents.

In the first chapter, Prose already addresses the central hypothesis of the book - to be become a good writer, you must be a good reader. She recalls, of how she too remedied her own obstacles and monsters in her writing through close reading.

I never understood the point of reading. My parents first introduced my siblings and I to its world at the early age of two. We were familiarized with letters, taught to link sound the visual and formed words with a stuttering start. We became accustomed to the quiet of Tuesday nights when my father would sit huddled on the sofa – my mother curled up in bed – his long nose buried in a novel, a black curtain cascading from her head to the pages, morphing into one with their respective books. As the night drew close the browns of their eyes would light up, while my mother’s red lips would quiver with excitement and my father would flash a lopsided smile. “Reading is an adventure,” they’d

When I was younger, the amount of obligations upon me fewer and less likely to affect life in the long term, it was far easier to pursue my passion for fiction. School consumed less time, and the classes were introductions to various principles rather than in depth study. The books contained within the library of my elementary school weren’t great works of literature either. They were simple stories, with simple characters and events, but I loved them anyways. These simple things made sense, a comfort blanket that I simply had to reach into a basket on a shelf to find. When library time rolled around every week, I always managed to find three or four new ones to take home, and then read them all within a day or two. I had never been a particularly athletic child; I had the time and the will to devour as many stories as I possibly could.

She hadn’t imagined the charachters so vividly. She hadn’t realized just what she had written or how much she had overestimated the challenge of finishing it. All she had to do was exctly what she had already done - in just a few weeks - again. She had thought she was too young or too inexperienced to write somthing amazing or intricate or meaningful, but as she read over her novel she realized that she already had.

First, she uses good vocabulary that hooks the reader and makes them want to read on. In the story it says “It might even have a hazy desire for music or crossword puzzles.” this helps the reader infer that whatever the person is talking about might have a hazy desire for music or crossword puzzles this also helps me infer that the whole book she uses good descriptive language that helps her readers visualize what she

“You can tell from the story that the narrator wants to write and that being allowed to do so would help her mental and

It wasn't the firt time and she knew it wouldn't be the last one. She decide to leave the room and sit next to a bookshelf, until, The librarian appeared and sat with her.

At the end of the hall there was an airy sound of a flute reverberating from Gretchen’s room. The door was open. On the opposite side of the hallway was a rack holding a rainbow of dresses. She paraded in and out of the room carrying different colored fabrics.

Bella creaked the door open. Inside there was what looked like a library...but with empty shelves, all except one, On the one shelf, the one book, was glimmering mysteriously. She walked toward the book and picked it up. As soon as she did, she heard a whisper.

She sat down on the bleachers on a bright sunny day and began to feel anxious as she thought about her results to see if she got accepted to Clark. Some part of herself was unsure of the decision she was about to make once she got her results. The field that the bleachers were surrounded in were packed with students playing sports. It’s as if time stood still and she was filled with her fears about getting into this school.

She walks to the centermost oak tree near Mason Hall, she finally has found the perfect shady spot on an 80-degree day. She passes the boy from her Psychology class and gives him a small smile. She’s taking a journey to a jungle she doesn’t normally observe, a place where many humans and animals inhabit. There isn’t a breeze and the air feels drier than usual. The Diag seems unfriendly today, as she sits down she’s nervous of her surroundings. She plants herself on a somewhat clean patch of grass and pulls out her shiny laptop. She is reading “Werner Herzog’s Conquest of the Useless” for her freshman English class. As she dives her way into the reading she starts to think about where she is, what is going on around her, and the journey that she is on. A bushy red squirrel approaches her, she’s confused why it’s coming so close and quickly gets up to escape its presence. “Why in the world is this squirrel so close to me” she thinks to herself. The girl moves from the tree but as she get up she starts to notice specific details she hasn’t before.

I like that she was able to tell me what each color was and how the monster dealt with anger. I notice that she is an active listener. I notice that she learned the word calm and what it means. Schickedanz and Collins(2013),” Story readings fosters vocabulary breadth by exposing children to many new words.”

"Daniel Evergreen, Daniel sitting on the left at the back." She proclaimed proudly. Time then stood still. Marvin slowly crept to the back of the classroom, towards the hard oak bookshelves. Classmates stared at him as he walked closer to the back, his feet had dragged against the coarse carpet. Daniel's heart rate began to pick up, there was almost a thumping sound emitted from the floor.