Percy Jackson – dyslexic teenage son of Poseidon – and his friends Grover the satyr and Annabeth, the daughter of Athena, have to fight the rising Titans and save Western Civilization. These books are like coke, and I don’t mean cola. I read the first one a few months ago and wasn’t sure if I was going to continue (I believe I’ve mentioned my hatred of series), but on a whim I grabbed the second one to read over Thanksgiving. Then I was hooked, hooked, hooked, and ended up reading seven Riordan books in a row, keeping me up many late nights and ruining (by contrast) pretty much every moment I was not reading them. They are full of action and humor great characters, and also make brilliant use of Greek mythology. There are vanishingly few books I wish I’d written. These are some of them.
We did all the standard camp numbers: “Down by the Aegean,” “I Am My Own Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa,” “This Land is Minos’s Land.” The bonfire was enchanted, so the louder you sang, the higher it rose, changing color and heat with the mood of the crowd. On a good night, I’d seen it twenty feet high, bright purple, and so hot the whole front row’s marshmallows burst into the glames. Tonight, the fire was only five feet high, barely warm, and the flames were the color of lint.
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