The House With A Clock In Its Walls by John Bellairs was published in 1973, when I was four.
I'd already had an attraction to books (I'd requested an atlas for Christmas when I was around 5), but this was the first piece of fiction that left an impression on me.
Aimed at preteens (this is not Harry Potter-level), it was layered with spooky atmosphere and richly-detailed, relatable characters that perfectly entranced the young me, who was still too young to read the likes of King (I probably first read it when I was around 7).
It permanently instilled in me the notion that, just maybe, odd things could very well be right around the corner, just out of sight, that the wispy fingers of the unreal could be reaching out at any moment. A lifelong interest in horror fiction, ghosts, UFOs, etc. was basically born because of this book, as well as the seeds of my own writing (it is Bellairs' spirit and atmosphere I've sought to capture, not King's).
This book was also where I first encountered the art of Edward Gorey, whose work I also love to this day. His grainy renderings of almost-ordinary mirrors and windows, winding roads, sinister staircases and cavernous corridors were an absolute perfect fit for Bellairs' writing.
Sometime after having read THWACIIW for the first time, but still while in elementary school, Bellairs was invited to speak at our school. What a phenomenal thrill! I only wish he'd made it... I don't recall the reason given (perhaps an illness, perhaps a publisher issue), but the visit was cancelled.
As we tend to do with most good things from childhood, I set it aside for years and years; after the age of 10 or 12, I probably never read THWACIIW again until sometime in my 30s, and possibly not until my 40s (although I did at least have it on my bookcase). By the time I cared again, the internet existed and it was suddenly easy to learn everything about anything at a moment's notice. It turns out that Bellairs had moved to Haverhill, Massachusetts (maybe 20 minutes from me) the year before I was born, and (as far as I can tell) remained until his death, which had happened in 1991.
Learning that he was already gone was a blow. I suspect we all harbor secret (or not secret) fantasies about meeting our heroes, but I really would've gotten a kick out of shaking his hand and telling him what this book meant to me. I've read much more King than Bellairs, and while meeting King would be great, I'd have much preferred to meet Bellairs.
Bellairs wrote several other books for young people, all along the same lines as THWACIIW, and I've read almost all of them (House is my favorite, but damn close is The Treasure Of Alpheus Winterborn). I'd love to recommend them to you all, but I suspect that the magic (which still lives and breathes on every page, for me) just wouldn't be there for an adult who'd never read it as a child. But then, if you were up for it, The House With A Clock In Its Walls is a quick 180 pages - if you wanted to give it a try, I wouldn't protest very strongly at all.
I hope this film succeeds; I hope it attracts attention to Bellairs' works and pulls new readers in; somewhere out there, there are young kids who could be lit up by this as I was and roam the roads of New Zebedee with Lewis as he plots midnight excursions and witnesses the mystery and mysteries of Uncle Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmerman...and Isaac Izard.