Klaus Baudelaire was a smart boy. Seven when his parents died, Klaus was already reading book in reach. Anytime he came to a word her didn’t understand, he would just puzzle through, wanting to finish the book so he could start another as soon as possible. When he and his siblings left home, Klaus took the initative to read anything he thought could help them along the way. Klaus Baudelaire, the middle child, loved books. Or, rather, the things he learned from books. The Baudelaire parents had an enormous library in their mansion. A room filled with thousands of books on nearly every subject. And nothing pleased Klaus more than spending an afternoon filling up his head with their contents.
