And to think all we had growing up was that lame rag Boys’ Life. Today’s generation of young males don’t know how good they have it, with THE DANGEROUS BOOK OF BOYS, Conn and Hal Iggulden’s all-purpose guide on how to be a boy.
The word “dangerous” is apt, because a wealth of knowledge is just that. In imparting wisdom, tips and general miscellany the authors only wished they had known in their childhood, this book teaches as much as it entertains. It’s too damned charming, too damned clever, too damned fun. Can you tell that I love love love this book?
Part instruction manual, part blueprints, part encyclopedia, part textbook, part advice column, part almanac and all fun, this British import made a splash overseas, no doubt due to its simplistic genius. It even looks ominous, like a sacred ancient text passed down from several generations ago, containing untold gems of wisdom – perhaps even spells of magic – and, in a way, it is.
Its 270 pages are designed so that you can thumb your way to any entry at random and gleam what you will, but I think reading it as a whole rather than a reference guide is the way to best experience its immense allure.
Want to build something, like a go-cart, a treehouse, a water bomb, a bow and arrow, a magnet or even the “greatest paper airplane in the world”? Just follow the instructions. Need to learn how to create secret messages, play chess, tie knots, do magic tricks or skip stones? Ditto. Think you should brush up on famous battles, kinds of spiders or even baseball’s MVPs? Yep, it’s here.
And so are sections on paper games, pirates, planets, poker and many other subjects not starting with the letter P. Like an über-valuable, eight-point essay of advice regarding girls. Oh, how much easier puberty would’ve been had I known that “they remain unimpressed by your mastery of a game involving wizards, or your understanding of Morse code. Some will be impressed, of course, but as a general rule, girls do not get quite as excited by the use of urine as a secret ink as boys do.”
As if you couldn’t tell, that characteristic dry British wit in intact and in full force. And so is the occasional tell-tale sign that this book was born in the UK, such as a bit on rugby, but that’s wholly forgivable, what with the juggling and the artillery and the marbles and, well, everything else.
Its breadth of details and derring-do make this prodigiously illustrated treasure a must gift item for your son, little brother or some snot-nosed nephew who doesn’t deserve it, but whose life will be better off for it. After you buy one for yourself, of course. –Rod Lott
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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
Tell the truth, did you:
A. Buy a copy for review and then give it away to a small child.
B. Buy a copy for review and then bought another copy to give to a small child.
C. Buy a copy for review and then just keep it because those little ungrateful kids don’t deserve it!
D. Get your copy for review by stealing it from a small child.
Gal
None of the above, but D is closest. Seriously, though, next “boy birthday” we gotta buy a present for, this is gonna be it if I care for the kid at all.
Only sissies who think paper-cuts are worth crying over and deluded Walter Mitty losers who think they’re macho because they “read” violent stories, would buy a book like this for their sons and nephews.
If adults really want to toughen up their kids, they shouldn’t buy them books that “talk” about the virtues of rugby; they should instead use the same money to buy an actual rugby ball and let those kids learn the virtues of playing an actual physical sport on a team – for real.
Ah, the attitude that destroys the true intent of sports. Who says you can’t do both?
Who pissed in your cereal, Bob. This book is all in good fun.