When I was ten years old, my cousin regifted me all of her V.C. Andrews novels. I spent the next several years convinced that a story needed only evil grandparents, snotty rich girls named Clara Sue and Gisselle, and some star-crossed incest to make it a masterpiece. I’ve since looked back upon these classics and realized that if ever anything needed to be recapped on the internet, these was it. So let’s all look back at the books that taught us that old women are evil, mothers are insane, and sometimes your brother’s not your brother.