Title: IN A DARK DARK WOOD
Author: RUTH WARE
Reviewer: VY CHAU
Ruth Ware’s psychological murder mystery hardened my cold dead heart.
Never did I expect that a novel about a bachelorette party gone wrong to stir up such deep pangs of sympathy for the main character, Nora Shaw. Perhaps it is the resemblance of similar struggles that I recognize in her personality to evoke such a reaction in myself. She is seen as the most troubled character out of the group. She is heavily introverted, and will go as far as ordering her groceries online to avoid going out into public.
Title: WINTER’S BONE
Author: DANIEL WOODRELL
Genre: DOMESTIC FICTION
If, like me, you thought this book was a glimpse into the world of albino porn, then prepare yourself for disappointment.
If, however, you are captivated by a story about Ozark Americans with names like (more…)
The planets must have finally aligned, because our favorite resident blogger/Photoshop terrorist/space cadet has written a book. Not just any book- but a SciFi book with a blast of fantasy and a galaxy of humor.
I had the privilege of reading SALOON AT THE EDGE OF EVERYWHERE and am happy to say it was everything I thought it would be- a funny and sweet read that doesn’t take itself too seriously, just like the author himself.
A.H. Browne’s story was so irreverent that I just had to know more about the brain behind the book. Well thank our lucky stars, because today I get to bring you none other than Pouring My Art Out himself, A.H. Browne. (more…)
When I first chose to review HAREM MASTER I was concerned I’d find nothing more than a glorified Penthouse Forum article. Yes, it does involve a middle-aged man who is “entertained” by a self-appointed harem of females ranging from employees to contemporaries to nymphets. And yes, it is at times raunchy and raw and sexually charged. But R.B. Hatch’s development of the narrator, a man simply known as “John,” is well written and highly entertaining.
As a reader I found myself simultaneously repulsed by and sympathetic toward John’s actions that form the relationship between him and his “harem.” In “John” Hatch has created an “everyman” whose wit, intelligence and sense of mystery utterly charm the women around him into willingly becoming his objects of desire. It’s Hatch’s ability to endear John to the reader that helps to create a world that is not only plausible, but downright believable.
More than just erotica, HAREM MASTER is a plot-driven novel that delves into the mind and motives of its protagonist and speaks with a voice that will please its readers.
So on the prompting of a certain wunderkind who calls himself THE ELITE I’ve decided to actually sit down and watch these movies back to back. I’m leaving now to watch Star Wars and I’ll return to the post with an assessment when I’m done.
So Han was hot and all but Luke was super annoying. I honestly don’t know how Han didn’t just kick him off the Millennium Falcon on day one. I also wanted to smack C3PO upside the head throughout most of the movie.
But if you ask me, what made the entire film was Chewbacca. Honestly, if I’d known more about his character it wouldn’t have taken me so long to see this movie. He’s the only one that makes any sense and he doesn’t have a single coherent line of dialogue! Now, onto EMPIRE!
Totally did not see the whole Han/Leia romance angle coming, although I probably should have. Leia’s every bit the “denies/doesn’t show romantic emotions” pain in the ass I am.
Lando’s kind of a dick, but my boy Chewbacca nearly tears him to pieces so that was wicked awesome. I also wish at some point Yoda would have kicked Luke’s whiny ass right into the swamp. Best of all I FINALLY got to see the “Luke, I am your father” scene I’ve always heard people talk about.
But the part that pissed me off most was that at the end of the movie Han is still frozen. I suppose I’m not so upset about it for my sake, seeing as I’m about to watch the next movie in a moment, but I can’t imagine what it must have been like back in the day when people had to wait years for it to hit the theaters. Alright, time to bring on JEDI!
Please all you fans out there, tell me the whole reveal of the “Luke/Leia twin” thing was a late to the table script add-on and not part of the original story arc. Because I went back and skimmed through Empire looking for a specific moment I was sure I saw and……..yeah.
As usual, Chewy rocked. Jabba was awesome and the Ewoks were…well, let’s just say they were cute, but I’m trying to understand why they were necessary. And…I kind of wish Luke didn’t take off Vader’s mask, but that’s just me.
All in all I’d have to say that the movies were excellent, even though I watched them after seeing more recent CGI fueled films like Transformers. And while I doubt I’ll be attending any conventions any time soon, I finally understand how the fans are as dedicated to the films as they are.
Now, my original plan was to watch the next three movies or prequels tomorrow; but my boys made me promise to wait a couple of days. They said they want the euphoria of me finally getting to see the original three wear off before I watched the next ones and got really, really mad.
Whatever that means.
Every so often there comes a moment when we see ourselves through another person’s eyes. Determining whether that’s good or bad depends entirely on what we see. Most of my epiphanies are delivered in the form of my sister telling me my ass looks fat in my jeans, whether I ask for her opinion or not.
Commentary on my fat ass or bad breath I can handle, but what I wasn’t prepared for was the reality of personal feedback in the form of reviews for my novella, Reapers With Issues.
Before I begin I’d like to state that every reader who reviewed my work negatively did not condemn me personally for what I’d written, despite not particularly enjoying the book. I’ve read reviews of other books where the reviewer took the author to task, and I am happy to say I’ve been blessed with a classy group of readers who didn’t feel the need to blast me.
I guess what confounds me most is that I expected there to be more blow back for subject matter. Portraying Jesus as a closet homosexual and writing a scene where Genghis Khan violates a shi-tzu wasn’t going to win me an audience with the Pope, and I knew that going in. I also prepared myself for a critique of the quality of the writing itself, which as it turns out I didn’t receive much of. What I did get was essentially the same question, asked in so many words, of what kind of person could conceive of the Reapers idea at all. Again, good or bad depends entirely on what we see.
[enter the dreaded introspection process]
The first thing I did was try to answer the question of what kind of person I am. Despite an obscene amount of navel-gazing I am no closer to that answer now than I was when I began. My motivation to write Reapers With Issues was just as strong and the subject matter just as easy to conceptualize as Gods of Asphalt’s was, so identifying a specific default in thinking didn’t pan out. The truth is that I’ve got a hundred different stories buzzing around in my head; everything from harmless children’s stories to British comedies to even more Reapers sequels (oddly there’s nothing milling around in there that remotely smacks of Erotica, but that’s a post for another day after an hour on a couch).
So after an even more shameless bought of self-contemplation I began to ask myself a different question, “Why do any of us write what we write?”
Do we choose our genre or subject matter because of who we are, or because of what we make of the world around us? I imagine it’s no coincidence that Reapers With Issues was written during the darkest hours of a friend’s battle with cancer, or that Gods of Asphalt was written while stuck in bed, listening to my two teenaged sons bicker amongst themselves and argue with their father.
It is also not lost on me that I wrote Reapers With Issues from a third-person point-of-view, allowing me to observe at a distance the story of a Reaper whose best efforts to gather souls are thwarted by a Savior, or that the overall theme of Gods of Asphalt is how brothers cope when their mother isn’t around.
I suppose in the end what we choose to write comes from the harmony of both who we are and what we see. I’ve learned that whether my writing is received as harmony or dischord depends entirely on who’s doing the reading, and no amount of alteration of my “music” will accommodate everyone.
For the record, I’m fine with that. I am a Jazz fan, after all.