Approaching a new Paul Zindel novel is something of an adventure…. The reason is that, unless he changes radically as a writer of "young adult novels" (a phrase with which I've never been entirely comfortable), one is bound to be either wildly wild about Zindel's books or wildly disappointed. It is a simple matter, although somewhat coarse and irritatingly unsophisticated too: ask, say, a twelve-year-old what he thinks of a particular movie he's just seen and he will look you squarely in the eye and without hesitation answer, "Terrific!" or "It stinks!"

Simple.

Thus it was when the galley copy of Mr. Zindel's latest effort, The Undertaker's Gone Bananas …, fell into my excited clutches. And like the twelve-year-old moviegoer …, I cast all other "matters of consequence" aside, snuggled up in my bed and, with a full bag of Doritos for company, dove in. I wanted to like it...