[Originally posted on the blog: www.rtfbpod.com/?s=b&h=15]

I have a question, dear reader. I think this might be the kind of universal experience that (maybe) everyone goes through, but (maybe) doesn't talk about that much, so I have to ask -- when you were growing up, watching movies, did you hit a point were you suddenly realized that an actor from one movie was actually the SAME GUY from another?

I don't mean the general discovery that actors are, in fact, able to play more than one role in their careers - not like figuring out that Indiana Jones and Han Solo are the same guy. I mean, a kind of past-altering realization when you discover an actor you know now had been playing another role you also knew? But, like, in your recollection from before it wasn't played by anyone, really?

For example, you've seen, I don't know, Jumanji (the Robin Williams one) and you've seen Spider-Man (the Willem Dafoe one) growing up, but then you see Jumanji again when you're older and you remark "Wait -- Kirsten Dunst was in this? That girl was HER?" (Side note: this example was pulled from actual life events, and could also have worked with Interview With the Vampire. Or, maybe a more germane example: when I re-watched Constantine and realized that Shia LeBeouf was in it?)

Do you know what I mean? Are you still with me? OK, assuming you just said "yes" to your computer screen.

Now -- have you ever had that happen to you with a book? You notice, years later, that two different books you liked when you were a kid were both by the same author? "Judy Blume wrote Superfudge AND Blubber?!," you would, theoretically, exclaim to yourself.

Maybe that situation is even more common than with actors? I know I couldn't be bothered to remember an author's name until Goosebumps came along and, I'm ashamed to admit, I was in my thirties before I could recall which books were Judy Blume and which were Beverly Clearey. (Pro Tip: Romana is Clearey, Fudge is Blume.)

Well, whether it's that common of an experience or not -- one of these moments of discovery happened for me not too long ago with Louis Sachar.

As one does, when my kids have been looking for new books for our bedtime stories, I have suggested a few books that were along my favorites growing up. One of the first chapter books that my oldest and I read together was Sideways Stories from WaySide School. Which is really good, by the way, if you haven't read those, you definitely should, even as an adult. In fact, maybe more so as an adult; you'll pick up on the absurdity and the backwards names better.

Having finished that series, I dug into my box of old books in the upstairs closet and pulled out another of my childhood favorites; There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom. Sitting down to read it the next night, I had that a-ha moment, reading the by line, and realizing that, yes, Mr Sachar wrote that book too.

In retrospect, it makes sense. The tone of the two books is different, the story in the later is more focused, less episodic than Wayside School; but the beating heart behind them both is the same.

By the way, again, if you haven't read this book (Girls' Bathroom) and you have boys of any age in your house, you should put it onto your bedside stack. It's great. It's funny, sad, insightful, heartwarming, heart breaking, tragic, and redemptive in equal turns. It captures a certain aspect of boyhood friendships unlike anything else I've read while quietly extolling the virtues of a good school counselor and the importance of parent involvement in their kids' schools and their schoolwork.

Once we had finished that, I set off to the Googles, just to make sure there weren't any other of my cherished childhood memories that I owed to Mr Sachar ... and while I didn't, in fact, find out that he had also written, I don't know, Beetles, Lightly Toasted (I can't currently vouch for the quality of this book, but I know we made mom read it to us more than once), I did find another one, which I hadn't read: Holes. So, on the next trip to the book store, Holes went into our bag.

And ... my kid read it all himself before I even got a chance to suggest it for bedtime reading. In case you were wondering, he thinks it's pretty good.

Once he was done with it and I got to read it to myself, I devoured it in a couple of nights. I mean, it's not Crime and Punishment length, you could probably get thru it in a long Saturday afternoon. When I was done, I had a new favorite childhood book, that I read when I was 36.

So, the basic idea here is that young Stanley Yelnats (spelled the same forwards and backwards) has been found guilty of stealing a pair of shoes from a famous baseball player, though he claims he is innocent. As punishment, he is sent to a quote unquote camp in Texas where he will rehabilitate in the hot sun doing hard labor. The labor he and the other boys at the camp are assigned is to, every day, go out onto a dry, baked lake bed and dig a hole, five feet wide and five feet deep. Then they do it again the next day. Hence the name of the book. Holes.

And a lot of other things happen, but this is a book that I really don't want to spoil if you've never read it. So, leave it at that, I guess.

What's so good about this book?

For me, the first thing to mention is simply how it unfolds; the way it takes its time to get to the real point. The story complicates itself in ways that are, at first, baffling, then slowly start to make sense, weaving together something that is much deeper than you might've expected. You, as the reader, are just like Stanley, digging slowly but surely into that lake bed and unexpectedly uncovering: the culture of the labor camp and the adults that run it; the other boys, their code names and their attitudes; Stanley's cursed family history and the history of the lake itself.

The next thing to discuss: how Mr Sachar, as with There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom, captures the way the boys interact with one another - it just feels so genuine. I had learned way back with the Wayside School books that Mr Sachar had been an elementary school recess teacher before he was an author and you can tell he was really able to internalize some key aspects of life on the school yard. That constant struggle to find and maintain a pecking order, the way kids act when they're both in trouble with, say, their teacher and hoping to avoid more trouble with their friends once that teacher's back is turned, how to hide insecurities or to secretly ask for help without feeling like a weakling.

That said, the thing that sticks with me, especially after re-reading it again (this time aloud, to my kid) is a certain section of the book that will spoil kind of a lot of the end.

Again, I really don't want to ruin the story for you -- so, if you've never read Holes, check out of this post now, go read it, then comes back and nod in agreement with all of the stuff I said before and in sage recognition of all the spoilery stuff that's coming next.

Ok? Did you do that? Good.

So, the part for me, is when Stanley (now Caveman) and Zero have both escaped from the camp and are making an ill-advised bid to try to cross the vast desert-like lake bed to the distant mountains that never seem to get any closer.

Both of them are out of water. One of them has a stomach full of probably long-spoiled peach preserves in his stomach. They are exhausted, sun burnt, and unsure that their destination is even achievable. But, Stanley thinks to himself, Zero is still going and he's way more tired than I am... so, if he can keep going, so can I.

They reach the mountains and start to have to climb, but Zero's strength gives out and Stanley has to carry him. Eventually, they collapse mercifully close to the edge of a muddy bank. They are just able to dig down far enough into the muck to scrape some small, dirty, trickle of water to drink. Slowly, they begin to regain their strength and Stanley, by virtue of going back to where he had to ditch their supplies in order to carry Zero, realizes he must've done so far further than he ever imagined or even thought possible.

When they are well enough to talk about it, Zero (now Hector) tells Stanley that the only reason he was able to keep going was that he, Stanley, was still struggling to carry on, even though he could tell how exhausted he was... and if he can keep going, so can I.

I'm not exaggerating when I say I probably think about that scene 2, 3 times a week.

It hits me so hard because I realize I say the same thing to myself all the time.

When things seem rough, or I get stressed out, or overwhelmed and over-stimulated, or I feel trapped or standing on the edge of depression, I think of the people I love. I think of the ones in my life who are even more exhausted than I am, who've been trudging across a dry lake bed for longer, who have a figurative stomach full of spoiled fruit and maybe dying for a small drink of water, but who are still finding a way to keep trudging... and I think to myself, if they can keep going, so can I.

Now that I think about it, maybe that's a more of a universal experience than we tend to let on.

To close this thing out, I'd like to at least mention a kind of running gag in the book, where the boys, relaxing a bit after the days' labors and a shower, are constantly discussing and revising which hole is the hardest. The first hole is the hardest, because it takes the longest to dig. The second hole is the hardest, because you're tired from the first one, and you still have to dig, plus the fun's gone. You're right, the second hole is the hardest -- Are you kidding? Third holes the hardest. I think about that fairly often too. Whichever hole you are digging (or maybe digging your way out of) - that one is the hardest.