"The Reptile Room" by Lemony Snicket, Chapters 1–3

Lousy Lane traverses the Grim River, a body of water that is nine-tenths mud and that contains extremely unnerving fish, and it encircles a horseradish factory, so the entire area smells bitter and strong.

Lousy Lane traverses the Grim River, a body of water that is nine-tenths mud and that contains extremely unnerving fish, and it encircles a horseradish factory, so the entire area smells bitter and strong.

The Baudelaire parents had left behind an enormous fortune, which would go to the children when Violet came of age, and Count Olaf was so obsessed with getting his filthy hands on the money that he hatched a devious plan that gives me nightmares to this day.

“His name is Montgomery Montgomery?” Klaus said, smiling.
“Yes, and I’m sure he’s very sensitive about that, so don't ridicule him,” Mr. Poe said, coughing again into his handkerchief. “‘Ridicule’ means ‘tease.’”

Mr. Poe pulled the car up a steep gravel driveway and toward an enormous stone house.

Each hedge was a different kind of serpent, some long, some short, some with their tongues out and some with their mouths open, showing green, fearsome teeth. They were quite eerie, and Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were a bit hesitant about walking beside them on their way up to the house.

Violet, what happened to the ribbon in your hair? I thought you looked very distinguished in it.

They saw a large oil painting of two snakes entwined together that hung on the wall.

“None of that ‘Dr. Montgomery’ stuff,” he said. “That’s way too stuffy for me. Call me Uncle Monty! Why, my fellow herpetologists don’t even call me Dr. Montgomery.”

“Questions show an inquisitive mind. The word ‘inquisitive’ means—”
“We know what it means,” Klaus said. “‘Full of questions.’”

Is there someone who will come and take care of the children while you are out collecting specimens?

Gustav, my top assistant, left an unexpected letter of resignation for me just yesterday.

There’s a man named Stephano whom I have hired to take his place, but he won’t arrive for a week or so, so I am way behind on preparations for the expedition.

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny waved back, hoping that Mr. Poe would remember to roll up the car windows so the stench of horseradish would not be too unbearable.

“I had a sudden urge to speak a little Italian. I’m so excited to have you three here with me, you’re lucky I’m not speaking gibberish.”

“Oh, that’s right, Mr. Poe told me,” Uncle Monty said, grimacing as if he had just tasted something terrible.

The orphans were so interested in the cages that they didn’t even notice what was at the far end of the Reptile Room until they had walked the length of each aisle, but once they reached the far end they gasped in astonishment and delight once more.

It seemed as if every book written on reptiles, from An Introduction to Large Lizards to The Care and Feeding of the Androgynous Cobra, were lined up on the shelves, and all three children, Klaus especially, looked forward to reading up on the creatures in the Reptile Room.

You are implored to come inside here, my boy. Starting first thing tomorrow morning, all of us must be here every day in preparation for the expedition to Peru.

The Baudelaire orphans followed Uncle Monty to the cloth-covered cage, and with a flourish—the word “flourish” here means “a sweeping gesture, often used to show off”—he swooped the cloth off the cage.

Klaus looked at his baby sister, who was still in his arms, as she playfully gave the Incredibly Deadly Viper a big hug around its thick body, and he realized Uncle Monty must be telling the truth. “But then why is it called the Incredibly Deadly Viper?”
Uncle Monty laughed again. “It’s a misnomer,” he said, using a word which here means “a very wrong name.”

And then, when all my fellow herpetologists have jumped up on chairs and tables and are shrieking in fear, I’ll tell them that the snake wouldn’t hurt a fly!

There is a type of situation, which occurs all too often and which is occurring at this point in the story of the Baudelaire orphans, called “dramatic irony.” Simply put, dramatic irony is when a person makes a harmless remark, and someone else who hears it knows something that makes the remark have a different, and usually unpleasant, meaning.

Klaus had chosen a room with a cozy alcove in it—the word “alcove” here means “a very, very small nook just perfect for sitting and reading.”

With Uncle
 Monty’s permission, he had carried up a large cushioned chair from the living room and placed it right in the alcove, under a heavy brass reading lamp.

They met the Dissonant Toad, which could imitate human speech in a gravelly voice.

Uncle Monty taught them how to handle the Inky Newt without getting its black dye all over their fingers, and how to tell when the Irascible Python was grumpy and best left alone.

While he was telling them about the different reptiles, Uncle Monty would often segue—a word which here means “let the conversation veer off”—to stories from his travels, describing the men, snakes, women, toads, children, and lizards he’d met on his journeys.

“What does ‘giddy’ mean?” Violet asked, when they had finished reading the note.
‘“Dizzy and excited,’” Klaus said, having learned the word from a collection of poetry he’d read in first grade. “I guess he means excited about Peru. Or maybe he’s excited about having a new assistant.”

“Remember that time,” Klaus said wistfully, “when we were bored one rainy afternoon, and all of us painted our toenails bright red?”