Crazy in poughkeepsie, p.1
Crazy in Poughkeepsie, page 1
Praise for Daniel Pinkwater
“Daniel Pinkwater is so obviously the funniest writer of children’s books that he should be made a Living National Treasure.”
—The Washington Post Book World
“I do believe that Daniel Pinkwater is my favorite writer, living or dead.”
—Cory Doctorow
“Pinkwater is the uniquest. And so are his books. Each uniquer than the last . . . A delight in oddness. A magic that’s not like anyone else’s.”
—Neil Gaiman
“Daniel Pinkwater is, in my opinion, not only one of the best YA writers ever, but also a life-changing force in the life of a reader.”
—Leah Schnelbach, Tor.com
“The most perfect manufacturer of weird and absurd stories this side of Karel Čapek (with whom he seems to share a thing for lizards) or maybe Douglas Adams (with whom he shares an interest in sardonic aliens and travel through space-time).”
—The Forward
“Daniel Pinkwater helped to shape me as a storyteller and his books have delighted generations of young readers. We’re so lucky to have him as a guide to all the realms of the beautifully weird and whimsical.”
—Charlie Jane Anders, author of The City in the Middle of the Night
Praise for Adventures of a Dwergish Girl
“Adventures of a Dwergish Girl is a book with every single thing I love about Pinkwater novels. Reading Daniel Pinkwater—as a kid and as an adult—was hugely important to my development as a writer and a human being. Meeting another Pinkwater fan is always a sign that you are among good people.”
—Cory Doctorow, author of Little Brother
“Captivating, cool, and crazy! This story is an inspiration to us all: Be brave. Have adventures. And, most importantly, follow your dreams.”
—Sam Lloyd, author of Mr. Pusskins
“Zany characters and a heroine with a taste for adventure fill the pages of this charming middle grade novel. Dwerg life is not for Molly O’Malley, who decides to “skedaddle” from their quaint village hidden in the woods to find excitement in the big city. With touches of magic, conversations with ghosts, and a dash of danger in the form of gold-stealing gangsters, Adventures of a Dwergish Girl is sure to delight.”
—Alane Adams, author of the Legends of Orkney series
“Richly-drawn, quirky, and mysterious, Daniel Pinkwater’s Adventures of a Dwergish Girl pulls readers into a dazzling adventure, complete with android Redcoats, urban magic, and of course, the very best pizza New York City has to offer. Molly O’Malley, who might or might not be a magical Dwarf, and who might or might not be related to the folks who knocked out Rip Van Winkle for two decades, leaves behind her peaceful Catskills village and traditional expectations for females of Dwergish heritage. In true Pinkwater style, madness, mayhem, and metaphor ensue as Molly forges ahead, discovering her true strengths, and pursuing her destiny. And fleshy androids programmed to commit arson—don’t forget them. After all, one should never forget to watch out for homicidal androids! Readers of all ages will enjoy this slightly twisted modern folktale as it celebrates history, strong women, and the magic of modern life.”
—Susan Vaught, author of Footer Davis Probably Is Crazy
“Adventures of a Dwergish Girl by Daniel Pinkwater has that rare sense of wonder that makes you feel as if you have entered into a magical kingdom. So few writers have this knack, and it appears to come effortlessly to Mr. Pinkwater. I was delighted to jump into one of his amazing worlds.
—Joe R. Lansdale, author of Of Mice and Minestrone
“Adventures of a Dwergish Girl has a strong voice which, I admit, is Pinkwater’s voice and much the same in all of his books but I never get tired of it. It’s also packed full of Pinkwater’s usual run of weird and quirky characters. The end teases a continuation of the story, and should that come to pass I would absolutely love it. Highly recommended. I’m going to buy a hard copy when it’s published so I can throw it at my nephew when he’s old enough to appreciate it.”
—Welcome to Camp Telophase
Other titles by Daniel Pinkwater
Young Adult
Wingman (1975)
Lizard Music (1976)
The Last Guru (1978)
Alan Mendelsohn, the Boy from Mars (1979)
Yobgorgle: Mystery Monster of Lake Ontario (1979)
The Worms of Kukumlima (1981)
The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death (1982)
Young Adult Novel (1982)
The Snarkout Boys and the Baconburg Horror (1984)
Borgel (1990)
The Education of Robert Nifkin (1998)
The Neddiad: How Neddie Took the Train, Went to Hollywood, and Saved Civilization (2007)
The Yggyssey (2009)
Adventures of a Cat-Whiskered Girl (2010)
Bushman Lives! (2012)
Adventures of a Dwergish Girl (2020)
Series
The Hoboken Chicken Emergency
The Hoboken Chicken Emergency (1977)
Looking for Bobowicz: A Hoboken Chicken Story (2004)
The Artsy Smartsy Club (with Jill Pinkwater, 2005)
Magic Moscow
The Magic Moscow (1980)
Attila the Pun: A Magic Moscow Story (1981)
Slaves of Spiegel: A Magic Moscow Story (1982)
Mrs. Noodlekugel
Mrs. Noodlekugel (2012)
Mrs. Noodlekugel and Four Blind Mice (2013)
Mrs. Noodlekugel and Drooly the Bear (2015)
The Werewolf Club (with Jill Pinkwater)
The Magic Pretzel (2000)
The Lunchroom of Doom (2000)
The Werewolf Club Meets Dorkula (2001)
The Werewolf Club Meets the Hound of the Basketballs (2001)
The Werewolf Club Meets Oliver Twit (2002)
Collections:
Young Adults (1991)
5 Novels (1997)
4 Fantastic Novels (2000)
Once Upon a Blue Moose (2006)
A Note about Piracy from the Publisher
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Crazy in Poughkeepsie
© 2022 by Daniel Pinkwater
This is a work of fiction. All events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form without the express permission of the author and the publisher.
Illustrations by Aaron Renier
Interior and cover design by Elizabeth Story
Tachyon Publications LLC
1459 18th Street #139
San Francisco, CA 94107
415.285.5615
www.tachyonpublications.com
tachyon@tachyonpublications.com
Series editor: Jacob Weisman
Project editor: Jaymee Goh
Print ISBN: 978-1-61696-374-3
Digital ISBN: 978-1-61696-375-0
Printed in the United States by Versa Press, Inc.
First Edition: 2022
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1.
When I got home from summer camp I found a little old man stretched out on the spare bed in my room. On the other bed, my bed, fast asleep, was a skinny, shaggy dog, all angles and tufts of fur, with a long snout. The little old man was reading one of my brother’s comic books, and the dog was drooling on my bedspread.
“Look, Mick! Your new roommate!” my father said.
“And his dog!” my mother said. “You’ve always wanted a dog.”
I will explain in a little while why this statement was ironic.
I was not expecting this, neither the old man nor the dog. No one had prepared me, or told me anything. My parents obviously knew about it and had said nothing to me. They were all smirks and chuckles, as though it was an extra-nice surprise. My brother knew about it. It was clearly his doing. He was beaming with pride, as though he had brought off something wonderful.
“It’s the guru!” Maurice said.
“The guru?”
“This is the guru I went to the Indo-Tibetan border to find! Guru Lumpo Smythe-Finkel, meet my little brother, Mick,” my brother said.
“It’s cool with you if Lhasa and I crash in your room, isn’t it?” the Guru asked.
“Lhasa is the dog’s name? What is it, a collie?”
“She’s a Kali. It’s an old Tibetan breed.”
“The Guru almost didn’t come with me,” my brother said. “Lhasa was off somewhere, and he refused to leave his cave because he was waiting for Lhasa to come ho me.”
“Lhasa come home?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s fish sticks for dinner tonight,” my mother said.
My brother, Maurice (pronounced, ‘MAW-riss,’ and not ‘Mo-REECE’), is an average and standard older brother. I love him, of course, he’s my brother, but there’s nothing particularly unusual or interesting about him, except that he took a trip to the Himalayas to find a guru. Maurice had a heavy fascination with Dr. Jiva. This was a character in a not particularly popular comic book. Maurice collected every issue, going back to number one, and had three rare and hard-to-get posters on the walls of his room. He dressed up as Dr. Jiva for Halloween. Dr. Jiva had special powers. He could read minds, cause solid objects to float up into the air, and hold his breath for fifteen minutes. He could do these things because he had been the pupil of a mystical guru who was two hundred years old and lived in a cave high up in the Himalayan Mountains.
So naturally, Maurice wanted to find a mystical guru too, so he could be more like his hero. He had dropped out of community college after one semester and was working full time as a kibbler so he could save up money for the trip. Maurice did his kibbling at Katz’s Kosher Kibble Kompany, which is owned by our family and is the maker of Katz’s Kosher Kitty Kibble, and Katz’s Kosher Kute Puppy Kibble. Some explanation is in order here, so I will say that if you look up “kibble,” the best definition you will find is, “something that has been kibbled.” It is chunks or bits, usually of grain, for use as animal feed, and it comes in bags. “Kosher” refers to food that has been prepared in a manner according to Jewish law. There is no evidence that any cats or dogs belong to a specific religion, including Judaism, so it is highly unlikely that whether or not kibble is kosher would mean anything to them. Also, it is unclear whether kibble can even be kosher. To be precisely correct, the wording on the label should be in quotes, Kosher, or better, Kosher Style. Nobody seems to care.
This is why my mother mentioning that I have always wanted a dog was ironic. You would think a kid who belongs to a family that owns a dog food company would have a dog, wouldn’t you? My parents explained that they liked dogs, but it’s hard to keep a completely neat and clean house with pets in it. Apparently the Guru’s dog, Lhasa, was all right, but she was his dog, not mine, and didn’t even seem to be very interested in me.
Before his trip to Asia, Maurice was always on the lookout for a mystical guru in the neighborhood. He would ask anyone who came from the general vicinity of the Himalayas if they knew of one, and also ask anyone who looked to him as though they might have. This included people from India, Tibet, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, and also Mexico, Puerto Rico, and Hawaii. I believe most of these people were frightened by my brother.
Our father paid Maurice a miserable wage, and even though he lived at home and saved every dime, it was going to take him a very long time to get to India.
Then our great-aunt Elizabeth died. This was someone we had never met. She died and left each of us, Maurice and me, three thousand eight hundred and seventy-six dollars.
“I’m going to India,” he told me. “I’m going to buy a ticket to Darjeeling, and then I’m going trekking.”
“What’s trekking?”
“It’s walking. I’m going to trek up into the mountains.”
“And look for a guru.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“And you’re inviting me to come with you.”
“Of course, I would love that, but Mom and Dad are going to make you put your three thousand eight hundred and seventy-six dollars in an interest-bearing account, so you can apply the money to college.”
“What if I don’t plan to go to college?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re a minor, and they can make you do whatever they want.”
“What about you? You’re a minor yourself.”
“I finished high school, and I’m working at a job. In this family, that makes me an adult, and I can do what I like with my money. The parents and I had a big discussion about all this.”
“So you get to go on a cool adventure, I get to put my inherited money in some bank.”
“Ah, but I saved the good part for last. You get to go to summer camp.”
“Summer camp?”
“Swimming, hiking, canoeing, crafts, archery, nature study, wood lore, and Mom and Dad are paying for it, won’t cost you a cent.”
“Summer camp? Have you ever been to summer camp?”
“No, but it’s a great idea. I argued if I get to take a trip, you deserve something, too. Summer camp is fun and educational.”
“Crafts? Nature study? Archery?”
“You’re going to love it, buddy.”
“Wood lore? What’s wood lore?”
2.
Mr. McShwartz, who teaches phys ed at my school, was friends with my father—not close friends, they had their hair cut in the same barber shop or something like that. In the summer, Mr. McShwartz and his wife ran a summer camp, Camp Hakawakaha, and he showed my father a printed brochure with color pictures. Then, one evening after supper, Mr. McShwartz came to the house. He had with him a long bulky object that turned out to be a screen, like a movie screen, that unrolled like a window shade and stood on wobbly tripod legs that folded out. He was also struggling with a thing that looked like an odd-shaped suitcase, which turned out to contain a slide projector; you put these little transparent color pictures into it, and a bright light projected them through a lens onto the screen. We turned off the living room lights, Mr. McShwartz switched on the slide projector, and he showed us scenes from Camp Hakawakaha. Slide projectors are old tech now. They used to be popular. From the clothes the kids in the pictures wore, and their haircuts, and the weird brighter-than-real color, I got the impression that the pictures had been taken a long time ago.
Listening to Mr. McShwartz talk with my father, I found out that Hakawakaha was a pretty old camp, and it had gone out of business in 1959 because of some kind of ghost scare. It was abandoned, forgotten, and falling apart. Mr. McShwartz got it cheap because it was all overgrown with weeds and poison ivy, some of the buildings were ready to collapse, and the lake was mostly dried up.
Mr. McShwartz fixed up the old camp. He hired a guy to come in with a machine called a brush hog, like a giant lawn mower, and clear out the thick undergrowth, weeds, and young trees. Then he slapped paint on the wooden buildings, got rid of most of the mouse nests from inside the cabins and most of the snakes from under them, sprayed for bugs, mopped goo on the roofs to keep them from leaking, and tacked patches on the camp canoe—not that it would ever be used. To get to what was left of the lake you’d have to drag the canoe through a quarter mile of gumbo mud and quicksand. During the cleanup, Mr. McShwartz had rummaged around in the office, found the projector and a box of color slides from the year 1957, and was ready to get people like my parents to send their kids to Hakawakaha for the summer vacation of their lives.
So while my brother Maurice was on an airplane heading for northern India, I was on a bus with a lot of other kids heading for Lake Hakawakaha.
I have to say, I loved the place. It was the first time I had ever been away from home. I loved being away from home. It’s not that my parents aren’t nice or that I don’t get along with them. It’s nothing like that. It’s like this: there are clear, see-through plastic slipcovers on our living room furniture. The idea is that with the plastic covers, the furniture will stay fresh and new, never get dusty, or have anything spilled on it. The plastic covers are meant to come off when important visitors come . . . like maybe the Queen of England. My parents don’t know the Queen of England, or anyone else important enough to rate removing the covers. The plastic covers don’t mean my parents are bad people, or that living at home is unbearable torture, but staying in a place without plastic covers, or upholstered furniture, or even glass in the windows, made me feel comfortable and also free. I hadn’t ever thought about it, but now I knew that if it were up to me, I would never have plastic furniture covers, and one day it would be up to me. Being away at camp let me realize that I was my own person, different from the family I lived with, and could have tastes and ideas that were mine alone. That might have been enough to make me love Camp Hakawakaha, even if there were no other reasons . . . but there were. The food was great! Mrs. McShwartz was famous for her “bottomless pot” of mashed potatoes, and she made scrumptious fried fish sticks too. I suppose this says more about the cooking at my house than the cooking at camp, but I really liked those fish sticks.
