Finishing the third book in the same afternoon might be viewed by some as taking the mickey just a bit, but suddenly mine eyes have been opened to the addictive qualities of the narrative recounting the misfortunes of the Baudelaire children, as another unfortunate relative in another odd location attempts to provide, in their own unique way, a stable and loving environment, and fail to see the approaching calamity that is Count Olaf, despite repeated strenuous warnings from the children. Both piquant and hilarious, somehow, nonetheless, I suspect I shan't finish a fourth volume tonight. That'd be a bit much. Tomorrow, then?