good grief, is this author some kind of shut-in that has only learned about life via Twitter & TikTok & other embarrassing websites? realizing what angood grief, is this author some kind of shut-in that has only learned about life via Twitter & TikTok & other embarrassing websites? realizing what an author's perspective is on the world is a key part of understanding their works, but when their political stances become the text instead of the subtext, that's just bad writing and I get agitated. e.g. Lovecraft in general is great, but he's unbearable to read when he's going on about scary neighborhoods full of apparently subhuman immigrants. this is like the liberal version of that bullshit. The Book of Accidents felt like it was put together by the editorial board of the Washington Post after being given an assignment to write a horror novel that will earn snaps & claps from terminally online progressives. as a progressive myself, I'm triggered! this book is a macroagression. creativity dies in the darkness of a basement that an author refuses to leave. novels this desperate to score topical points and to be on the right side of history need to be taken out of the house, into the real world, and then shot. put this book out of its misery, it's too embarrassing to live. or to finish.
post-script: if you want horror with a decidedly progressive point of view that engages with current topics such as colonialism and race, yet is still ambiguous, subtle, and full of real characters, check out the Dutch miniseries Ares on Netflix. the subtext doesn't become text until the finale, but the points being made were there all along....more
okay I tried but I just can't with this two dicks popping up from one crotch thing. had to give up. otherwise this is a fast-paced, rollicking adventuokay I tried but I just can't with this two dicks popping up from one crotch thing. had to give up. otherwise this is a fast-paced, rollicking adventure with high stakes and amusing characters, one that would probably be lightly enjoyable, even with all of the extremely over the top sadomasochistic activities happening every other page. the book certainly makes bloodplay sound like just another Tuesday lol. anyway, I tried and failed, again, as this is my second time attempting to handle imagining a double-dong guy, so not blaming the author because apparently this is something that people semi-frequently write about. but two dicks from one guy, another dick from the second guy because this is menage erotica... that's just too many dicks for me. and here I thought I'd never say that last phrase....more
Alberto Moravia was an Italian novelist and journalist. His novels explored matters of modern sexuality, social alienation and existentialism. Thank yAlberto Moravia was an Italian novelist and journalist. His novels explored matters of modern sexuality, social alienation and existentialism. Thank you, Wikipedia, for providing that handy summary. The entry on this author continues by saying that Moravia has a "factual, cold, precise style"... uh, you got that one quite wrong, my good friend. The style displayed in this book is breezy, chatty, casual. Stories are told by very human and often relatable voices, despite the multiplicity of perspectives on display. Those perspectives come from lower and working class youth, mainly boys, predators and prey and often both. The book is deceptively fun and easy going down, specifically due to its semi-comic and rather bright tone, despite the many degradations and predations on display. It is that merry tone that I blame for encouraging me to read over 100 pages of this well-written but mainly nihilistic bullshit.
I cannot stand misery porn! Especially when written by such a condescending author. My buddy Wikipedia also notes that the author came from a wealthy, middle-class family, and oh boy that shows up in spades. This is the kind of book that looks at all human beings from a certain class as bugs living in a gutter. No joy, no love, certainly no satisfaction, life is all a big nothing, nada, a void that is looked into and that looks back, laughing at your so-called dreams. It is intended to illustrate something "important" about the proletariat and about the itinerant but all it illustrates is Moravia's complete inability to recognize that happiness and kindness can exist in even the most diminished of lives and his refusal to illustrate that such human lives have more dimensions than his basic two. If you are a middle-class sort who wants to study the world of human insects so that you can feel good about feeling sorry for their pathetic so-called lives, then this is your book. Enjoy!...more
there is a battle happening within In Silent Graves involving three diametrically opposed forces: Braunbeck's vision, his actual skills, and his urge there is a battle happening within In Silent Graves involving three diametrically opposed forces: Braunbeck's vision, his actual skills, and his urge to shock & disgust. unfortunately the latter two trump the first. the author's vision is striking: he wants to weave a tapestry full of loss and mourning, creepy folk horror and the darkest of dark fantasy and the eeriest of October Season hauntings, storytelling that is layered and ambiguous. but his skills don't support his ambitions. the reviews for this book are schizophrenic: some laud the literary prose while detesting flat characterization, others despise the pretensions of the prose but applaud the realistic characters, still others appreciate the narrative and ideas but don't feel the skills are there to execute. I think I'm in the third camp? I admire ambition but there is such an amateurishness present at times, from the unrealistic dialogue to the regular misuse of words that an editor should have corrected (e.g. "sparse, matted chest hair"). this was often a pain in the ass to read. it brought out my own inner editor and at times I just wanted to grab a highlighter and pen so I could bring to the author's attention the many things that could have been improved if more rigor and reflection had been applied to the writing.
but there was nothing to be improved about Braunbeck's weird child-centered obsessions that really, as they say, go there. you can't improve bullshit. the urge to disturb people can be a slippery slope for writers prone to self-indulgence, and I think that some don't realize their story is sliding into eye-rolling bullshit with every new instance of vile, inexplicable behavior that they are trotting out and putting on display. in this book, these over the top scenes involve infants & kids & the physically disabled & a father grieving over his dead family: repulsive bizarro moments where readers like myself are taken out of the story and shoved into a place of reacting with disgust over what was just read and then questioning the author's motives for even bringing me to that place. there's only so much that I can tolerate before I have to say n to the o to the no no no. and so I gave up, I think about halfway. life's too short to deal with this....more
it's funny to consider the different things we can and cannot tolerate as a reader. take this book for example. the premise: a 10-year-old boy begins it's funny to consider the different things we can and cannot tolerate as a reader. take this book for example. the premise: a 10-year-old boy begins displaying the mannerisms of his dead uncle, starts romancing his widowed and delusional aunt, and soon enough, inexplicably ages into an adult (at least physically)... that's super creepy! but I can definitely tolerate "super creepy". the writing: Bob Randall had some success back in the day with his thriller The Fan, but I wonder how, since the characterization here is a glib joke, the internal monologues of the two sisters (in alternating chapters) sound exactly the same except one curses more, and the lack of writing chops overall is... well let's be generous and say that the surprising amateurishness made me smile. I can definitely tolerate "so bad it's good". but the straw that broke this reader's back: the offhand cruelty of the characters towards the black housekeeper who raised the sisters and, much worse (because I can deal with racist characters), the feeling that Randall wrote this laughable Mammy caricature without a second thought about how completely awful he was being. it's embarrassing when an author shows ignorance like that. I just couldn't tolerate it, so I gave up. good riddance, ya dumbass book!...more
Sad to say, this massive and annoyingly expensive 700+ page guide defeated me. It was interesting while it lasted, but about halfway through, I had toSad to say, this massive and annoyingly expensive 700+ page guide defeated me. It was interesting while it lasted, but about halfway through, I had to give up. Bit of irony that I gave up right when I came to the entry on Thomas Ligotti, who of course is the master of writing tales about people who have given up. The horror, the horror. I'm sure I will return to it from time to time, but despite this being a comprehensive survey full of in-depth articles on a range of authors known and unknown to me, in my favorite genre... I just can't fucking deal with it anymore! Possibly my irritation was compounded by reading this while watching the short-lived 1980 tv series Hammer House of Horror, which is likewise filled with dross that overwhelm the occasional bit of treasure.
A very basic but still important thing I learned: reading pieces on authors is only as interesting or as insightful as the writer who is writing on that author. Some of these entries are quite good (in particular I enjoyed the piece on Algernon Blackwood) but some are just eye rolling. When a writer decides to lump Angela Carter and - of all people - William Kotzwinkle (author of the E.T. novelization) together as examples of quality authors who are overlooked, I just have to keep an eye out for that writer and view any of their subsequent articles with suspicion.
It became really mind-numbing seeing all of these entries on 80's & 90's b-authors with a collection of goofy one-word titles whose works sound terribly uninteresting (and those articles on this particular era are so dryly written, comparing unfavorably to the sparkle and verve within Paperbacks from Hell)... all of these entries on obscure authors from well over a century or so ago with one horror title to their name and 2+ pages of other titles listed (as Shawn noted in his review)... all of these entries that are basically spoiler-filled plot synopses that do little to give me a sense of the author's prose and/or ability to create an interesting atmosphere. That last one was a real problem for me, as style is as important as plot mechanics when it comes to my enjoyment of a story. Although, to give the many article writers' their due, each author's themes are pretty much always noted and explored. Orders must have come from on high to make sure that happened so consistently, because otherwise the quality of these pieces are quite inconsistent. He said with a really snobby tone of voice.
Still, my copy of this monster is full of post-its marking books of interest, so it has definitely been useful. Here are some of the books/authors that I will look into later, thanks to this book (although honestly, sometimes it was just the title that interested me - I'm a shallow guy):
Webs- Scott Baker "The Cat Jumps" & "Look At All Those Roses" - Elizabeth Bowen The Garden & Dead of Light - Chaz Brenchley "Couching at the Door" - D.K. (Dorothy Kathleen) Broster The Horses of the Night - Michael Cadnum "By Reason of Darkness" - Jack Cady In Search of the Unknown - Robert W. Chambers Strange Objects - Gary Crew The Angelic Avengers - Isak Dinesen (as Pierre Andrezel) Wormwood - Terry Dowling Cold Blue Midnight & Shadow Games - Ed Gorman Moon Lake - Stephen Gresham Little Brothers - Rick Hautala The Ghost Pirates - William Hope Hodgson Dead in the Water - Nancy Holder Ancient Echoes & The Fetch - Robert Holdstock Supping with Panthers - Tom Holland A Shropshire Lad [not horror] - A.E. Housman The Unknown Sea - Clemence Housman 'Darktree' & 'Lladloh Wheels' [story cycles] - Rhys Hughes The Green Piper [YA] - Victor Kelleher (aka Michael Kitchener) Solitary Hunters, and the Abyss & Tales from Underwood - David Keller The Undying Monster - Jessie Kerruish Lord of the Hollow Dark - Russell Kirk The Ceremonies - T.E.D. Klein Conference with the Dead - Terry Lamsley...more
Peter V. Brett: "Come on in Rape! You know you're always Someone at the door: "Knock Knock!"
Peter V. Brett: "Who's there?"
Someone at the door: "Rape!"
Peter V. Brett: "Come on in Rape! You know you're always welcome in my house. Take a seat next to my other favorite tropes, Muslim Fanatic and Incest Farmer and Slutty Bitch and of course Tragic Backstory. They all love Rape too, almost as much as I do!"
pages 1-210: central character Jardir is reintroduced; he trains as a warrior, undergoes many painful trials and tribulations, achieves much honor, after much scheming and many deaths unites his nation under his rule, decides to conquer the known world in his quest to fight a holy war against demons, always beset by antagonists left and right. it's tough being a guy with problems!
page 213: central character Leesha is reintroduced; she complains about her mom who is nagging her about turning into a spinster and then frets about a crush a boy has on her. it's tough being a gal with problems!
OVER HALFWAY THROUGH THIS SEQUEL AND NOW A THIRD MAJOR CHARACTER LOSES THEIR VIRGINITY VIA RAPE AND I'M BEGINNING TO THINK THAT THIS SERIES HAS SOME KINDA PROBLEM AND I JUST WANNA READ ABOUT A BAD-ASS LOINCLOTH-WEARIN FULL-BODY-TATTOOED GUY KILLING DEMONS THAT COME OUT AT NIGHT I MEAN IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR AND I ALREADY HAD TO DEAL WITH OVER 200 PAGES ALL ABOUT SOME SHITTY SICKENINGLY TOXIC WARRIOR CULTURE BUT I SOLDIERED ON AND THEN CAME THE CHEESY SOAP OPERATICS BUT I SWALLOWED IT WHILE GRIMACING AND I JUST NOW REALIZED I'VE BEEN READING THIS BOOK FOR OVER A MONTH WHEN I USUALLY GET THROUGH 2 BOOKS A WEEK AND ALL I WANT IS SOME DEMON-FIGHTING ACTION NOT ALL THIS MIND-NUMBING CRAP I MEAN I JUST WANT MY MIND NUMBED BUT IN A FUN WAY YOU KNOW ARGH I JUST WANT TO ENJOY THIS GODDAMN BOOK I JUST I JUST I JUST
okay, I gotta get this yoke off my neck, I give up. so many cardboard characters and so many boring, predictable scenes. that feeling of running in place. the repulsive and stereotypical depiction of Middle Eastern culture including some of the most grindingly repetitious dialogue I've ever had the displeasure of reading. no depth, no nuance, no style. the sheer bloat of it all. Once Upon A Time the author wrote a sharp, no frills, high thrills, high concept but in a good way fantasy novel (and a couple short stories). it had its issues, mainly in its depiction of women. but overall it knew what it was doing. but then that author tried to focus on building his world and deepening his characters, usually laudable goals. unfortunately, what really came into focus was his flaws and biases....more
Ugh, argh! I tried, I really tried. Stopped halfway through when I remembered I wasn't going to live forever, unlike poor Melmoth.
The author's wonderfUgh, argh! I tried, I really tried. Stopped halfway through when I remembered I wasn't going to live forever, unlike poor Melmoth.
The author's wonderful prior book, The Essex Serpent, was one of my recent favorites. I was prepared to love this one. Certainly the writing remains quite beautiful; Sarah Perry has talent to burn. And burn it up she does.
First complaint, the lesser one, is that the title character in question held very little interest, and wasn't remotely intimidating or fearful or awe-inspiring. Perry is a fabulous writer, but one gap in her array of formidable skills is any ability to create an atmosphere of smoldering horror. I can't put my finger on the reason for the lack, but I'm not sure I need to. The basic fact of the matter, for me at least, is that dread was missing. And frisson. It didn't help that the entity in question - poor, weepy, immortal Melmoth - is a bit schizophrenic. Is she haunting anyone who despairs, or just those people whose apathy and complacency have led them to a self-flagellating despair? I dunno.
Second complaint, the major one, is regarding the author's inexplicable decision to provide a cast of characters who are specifically defined by their incredible drabness. She really outdid herself in illustrating these awfully blah characters and their blah lives. If not blah, then toxic. Sometimes both at the same time. If not blah and/or toxic, then pitiful. In all cases, uninteresting. And so a book about completely uninteresting people ended up... completely uninteresting? No surprise there, I guess. The book was a chore to read. Maybe it gets better, but I'll never know. Perry fills her novel with charming, often gorgeous prose, and a narrator who sounds like they are recounting a fairy tale. To what end though? It was like getting served a bowl of gruel with a delicate chocolate sauce ladled on top. The inspired prose actually served to make the book even more intolerable.
Because I loved The Essex Serpent so much, I decided to remind myself of how insightful a writer she can be when writing about things that are interesting, or that she makes interesting. For example, this award-winning travel piece:
She visits the Philippines, the land of my birth. She does no disservice to the people or place. I know the people she describes and they are in that piece, as alive there as they are in my life. An excellent and moving article....more
A person who puts a large amount of effort into achieving a certain image, or counter-image, to the point where it is obviously contrived. Ratry-hard
A person who puts a large amount of effort into achieving a certain image, or counter-image, to the point where it is obviously contrived. Rather than achieving an image through genuine personality, the try-hard consciously attempts to fit a certain style through deliberate imitation, forced style, or scripted behavior. That is to say, he/she is trying hard to create an image.
oh, Jonathan Winters. you were such a delightful and original presence throughout much of my life, so I'm just going to have to edit my memories and poh, Jonathan Winters. you were such a delightful and original presence throughout much of my life, so I'm just going to have to edit my memories and pretend I never tried reading this collection of half-baked stories that go nowhere fast, have nothing to say, and have punchlines that are either so awkward-corny-grandpa or so weakly nihilism-lite that I spent an inordinate amount of time rolling my eyes. and man check out that obnoxious run-on sentence I just wrote, egads how embarrassing.
I'm amazed that this was a bestseller in its time. I'm old enough to remember reading or hearing some controversy about the one story featuring a transvestite lad dolling himself up so he can seduce his beloved grandfather, who promptly drops dead from shock. I didn't like that story either, it kinda made me feel sick to my stomach.
that said, I still love you Jonathan Winters! possibly the first comedian who was open about his mental illness. this book, despite its deep flaws, also makes it clear that you were a socially progressive man who empathized with veterans and loved children and animals. I'm just going to pretend you never actually wrote this. except for the intro that featured a moving poem from your daughter to you, which I also loved....more
it's not me, it's you, Stranger Things Happen. what is it the kids say these days? I just can't. I'm just not that into you. but it's not my fault! Goit's not me, it's you, Stranger Things Happen. what is it the kids say these days? I just can't. I'm just not that into you. but it's not my fault! God knows I was patient and I tried to be supportive and I tried and I tried and I tried. a whole long month of trying. I just can't with you though. and not to play the blame game, but seriously it's all your fault, not mine!
you have talent to burn so I don't blame myself for having high expectations. you're like a combo of Aimee Bender and, as others have said, Robert Aickman and Angela Carter. now those are two of my favorite authors (and Bender is pretty great too) so how could I not expect something amazing? or at the very least absorbing. but you didn't absorb me at all, quite the opposite. you were a chore to read, all the quirk and eccentricity and ambiguity curdled into something precious and cutesie-poo and not at all refreshing. your characters felt like they were held at arm's length from me so there was little to draw me into caring about their tiresome, fragile little lives. all of the attempts to tie their trials and tribulations into various fairy tales and fables didn't resonate; it just felt like being clever to be clever, or putting on too much make-up and jewelry instead of letting any inner beauty shine. you made a dazzling first impression (especially that cover!) but I soon realized we had very little to talk about.
still, you're no 1-star relationship. we did have that weekend together, "The Specialist's Hat". it was a wonderful weekend, eerie and endearing and chilling and just the right kind of strange. I loved it! a perfect weekend. for that, at least, you get 2 stars....more
or maybe i did - i was only able to get to page 212. 212 often very excruciating pages.
so the Boy Detective lives in a postmodernthe book fails too.
or maybe i did - i was only able to get to page 212. 212 often very excruciating pages.
so the Boy Detective lives in a postmodern world of amazing crimes that can be solved by boy detectives to much public acclaim, featuring villains without faces (or memories), buildings that disappear, a shadowy conspiracy, adorable but lonely children whose pet cat has been beheaded, a sister who has inexplicably committed suicide, etc etc. The Boy Detective Fails is many different things: a comic told in prose; an empathetic deconstruction of what "mental illness" really means; a Kafkaesque office comedy; a surreal love letter to 50s adventure serials; an actual puzzle box; an elegy to lost youth; and most of all, a forlorn mystery that is concerned with big questions such as Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People, Why Do People Go Away, Why Do People Change, Why Do I Feel So Alone. the novel is jaunty and wistful and creative and haunting. it should have been perfect for me.
sadly i must report that all of the jaunty wistfulness, all of the haunting creativity, all of the quaintness and wittiness and sweetness... just drove me right up the wall. it was all so precious and cutesy. so twee. so saccharine. sugar overload!
it also has no internal logic. i get that this is not intended to be a remotely realistic novel, obviously. but even unreal narratives, even works that are the great-grandchildren of the postmodernist novels of olden times, need to make some sort of sense between the pages. even if it is its own kind of sense. but The Boy Detective Fails reads more like a collection of dreamy, half-baked non sequiturs rather than something that has been carefully put together to create a certain kind of world. the result for me was a sad recognition of the book's superficiality - one that i was at first loath to see because the author's good intentions are quite clear. but there is no there there. which unfortunately belies the seriousness of what Meno is trying to say and explore.
still, the book has a whole lot of heart. an extra star for that.
so it took over 400 pages before I finally gave up. should I congratulate myself for making such a colossal effort or should I be ashamed at the colosso it took over 400 pages before I finally gave up. should I congratulate myself for making such a colossal effort or should I be ashamed at the colossal waste of time? I think shame is the appropriate emotion. it feels like I've watched Clive Barker jacking off for over 400 minutes, finding myself occasionally interested but mainly bored and annoyed, and then just walked away before Clive climaxed. for shame, mark, for shame! shame on you for wasting so much time and shame on you again for writing such a disagreeable analogy. now I have an image of Barker jerking away, on and on and on, and that image will probably haunt my dreams tonight. thanks a lot, Clive Barker mark!
imagine someone telling you about an amazing mansion in Louisiana, in the middle of a swamp, populated by supernatural presences and immortal aristocrats and hyenas on the lawn and porcupines up the stairs. now imagine eagerly going into that mansion, only to find that it's actually some shitty apartment building that is completely empty of both atmosphere and mystery. ugh!
imagine hearing about a fascinating celebrity couple, or a mysterious matriarch, or this compelling person or that intriguing personality. imagine meeting them and realizing they are completely flat and boring - and that they have nothing of interest to say. not only do they have no depth whatsoever, whenever they open their mouths all that comes out are the most banal and crass comments imaginable. ugh!
several scenes take place in a Trump Tower penthouse. after some careful reflection (about 2 minutes worth plus a couple swigs of my whiskey & ginger ale), I've realized that is a perfect location for this book. much like Trump himself, the book is a hollow, bloated monstrosity that wants to have something to say but can only speak in crass banalities. ugh!
the book is about the history of two families, one immortal and supernatural, the other a lot like the Kennedys (I suppose). it did have potential, I will give it that....more
Frost's follow-up to his highly entertaining The List of Seven, which featured the adventures of a Dr. Watson-esque Arthur Conan Doyle and mystical seFrost's follow-up to his highly entertaining The List of Seven, which featured the adventures of a Dr. Watson-esque Arthur Conan Doyle and mystical secret agent Jack Sparks, widens his world but sacrifices a lot of the fun. it all felt so forced and by the numbers; I realized after the 150-page mark that I was forcing myself to continue. why do that? there are so many other books to be read. and so I gave up.
steampunk has its stateside corollary in weird tales of a dusty america full of magic and spirits and wide, open spaces and an often wide-eyed sort of tone as well, one befitting a fairly new country. List of Seven was an early steampunk novel and after reading this novel's synopsis, I expected to enjoy all of what I just described in its sequel. well, it was all there but the enjoyment was missing. alas.
not a bad book, but I guess not my kind of my book.
the plot was fun, but the writing often felt flat and hackneyed, and the characters often irritatingly cartoonish. and that's about all the bitching I feel up to for today. ...more
dude if you can't even read your own novel effectively then hire someone! I for one am not a fan of overly emphatic narration that sounds like the readude if you can't even read your own novel effectively then hire someone! I for one am not a fan of overly emphatic narration that sounds like the reader has too much saliva in their mouth. and it's right there inside of my ears. spit or swallow, Sigler! it was so gross that I didn't even have a chance to get grossed out by the plot itself. and I doubt! that every sentence! ends! in an exclamation! point! or a breathy whisper. even worse: female characters voiced by the author as high-pitched ninnies who sound all too much like Minnie Mouse.
this is my second and probably last audiobook. I really don't get the appeal. clearly they are not for me. ugh!...more
Once Upon A Time I thought maybe I would be getting a clever and probably over-the-top horror updating of The Witch versus Hansel & Gretel but insteadOnce Upon A Time I thought maybe I would be getting a clever and probably over-the-top horror updating of The Witch versus Hansel & Gretel but instead I got a a terribly written and very irritating story of an old woman whose powers are way too strong yet who is also way too pathetic and a family that is obnoxious and repulsive and cardboard and and there's way too much pointless backstory and droolingly depicted sex scenes and way too many parentheticals and in general the writing is grindingly obvious and it wasn't even scary it was just gross, and nursery rhyme and fairy tale characters turned into laughably grotesque caricatures with no meaning except hey let's just make them grotesque and then there's the torture of little kids, ugh my God, I guess I should have expected that but what I didn't expect was that the torture-the-children scenes are described in the same drooling fashion as the sex scenes and sure sex and horror go hand in hand but I doubt the author intended any kind of commentary he just wanted to disgust me, hey good job mission accomplished, and so I read the positive reviews of this one to try and maybe reignite my interest and all that I could think was that some readers need to expand their horror reading tastes a bit more if they think this shit is actually good and so I went back and tried to give it a go one more time and it was like stupidcrazystupidcrazyblahblahblah and I'm like Just Shut Up Already, Book and and and and and I just fucking gave up because this book sucks, The End!
there is just something so enervating about writing a review on a book that turned out to be a frustrating waste of time. I should be angry at myself over the loss of hours and dollars but - poor sport that I am - I find myself angry at the book instead.
fabulous premise: the good ship Carpathia rescues passengers from the Titanic; unfortunately there are vampires on board the rescue ship. uh oh!
terrible execution: grindingly dull prose, cringingly bad dialogue, and trite characters including a nonsensically 'perky' heroine & two tedious heroes who form an odious love triangle. zero suspense. a distinct lack of both atmosphere and wit.
sigh. this book sucked the life outta me! I'm going to bed....more
crew and cast of an Elvira-esque tv program in a ghost town during a blizzard; vampires attack. much stupidity ensues.
this is shockingly bad, especialcrew and cast of an Elvira-esque tv program in a ghost town during a blizzard; vampires attack. much stupidity ensues.
this is shockingly bad, especially after reading Curran's rather awesome Dead Sea, a tale of men trapped in an other-dimensional horror-world.
but let's make some lemonade, right? sadly, I couldn't even turn the experience into a fun, mindless rollercoaster ride because the writing - by turns desperately overwritten and excruciatingly banal - continually took me out of the story. and neither the focus on being a 'real man' nor on how wet a cliché goth girl gets over vampires helped much either. eventually I had to give up. it was for the best. I have several more by Curran on my kindle and I don't want to be completely turned off to the author. I know he has some skills. sometimes. just not here.
"Beneath noxious membranes of crematory ash..."
"Stanislav laughed and there was something oddly unsettling about that laughter. Like the strangled, retching bark of a sick dog as heard in the small hours of an October night."
"That's what they want. By nature, they're cowards. All predators are."
"Megga felt threatened by her and feeling so, she wanted to yell at her,"
membranes of ash? all predators are cowards? something 'oddly unsettling' about a laugh that sounds like a dying dog? in October? late at night? Megga felt threatened and since she felt that, she wanted to yell - and she's not the only one. I felt annoyed by this and feeling so, I also wanted to yell.
and those quotes came from random page picks. sweet Jesus....more
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