It's curious how Gudmund seems to be uncomfortable around the determined and self-assured Hildur, but he's smitten with Helga, who even retracts his accusation towards his old boss (who impregnated her) because she's afraid of his soul (he's about to lie in court). Noble maybe, but also slightly implausible and makes Helga seem like an angel descended from the heavens.

The story itself is a sweet romance (not saccharine, thank god), but also a sort of morality tale. I read an old and battered copy from 1920, which may have affected in my opinion on the prose a little, because I'm fond of old Finnish. I still didn't like this that much, though. I'm mostly looking forward to reading Lagerlöf's other works (mainly The Wonderful Adventures of Nils and Gösta Berling's Saga). I just happened to stumble upon this at my parents' house, and I need to give this back to my mum. Too bad, since the paper cover seems to have been painted by hand, and it's incredibly beautiful.

Patrick Bateman has nothing but emptiness inside of him. Not even darkness, just emptiness. The discussions of the people he hangs out with were in turn boring as hell, and in turn quite amusing. Bateman's hollow shell acts so charmingly, that his own secretary has fallen in love with him.

I kind of knew what to expect (seen the movie), but even in my wildest nightmares I couldn't have imagined how repulsive the violent scenes at the latter half of the book would be. No word is enough to describe them, but surprisingly I read every single line. This has been under discussion. How someone can read something like this, even though puke is very near rising in your throat? How those who like the novel justify the abundant descriptions of violence targeted especially towards women (the word 'rat' will always bring a certain scene to mind, and I know I'm not the only one)?

It's obvious this novel isn't for all. I'm extremely hesitant of recommending this to anyone. Still, I can honestly say that I liked this more than I thought I would. Ok, maybe 'like' is for the first time a word I wouldn't use. It's more like I appreciated and understood the book, but I didn't like it per se. I justify this by saying that the violence wasn't the main thing, but Ellis wants to point something out to the reader. Then what is it?

The 1980s is at the background of all of it. Especially in big cities superficiality steamrolled the weaker individuals, stimuli were needed more and more to wake up the most rich and bored from their slumber. People went on overdrive way too much, and the imagery of violence increased significantly. Bateman himself proves this by listing almost compulsively different ways of torture, bands, and clothes with the same style, but without any kind of passion. Not even murdering excites him. He boils one woman's head in a kettle, but he's just popping pills in a very calm and impassive manner, not caring about what he's doing.

From the numb style you can nevertheless spot, that only things Bateman describes in this way have real meaning to him. When the reader is horrified after realizing this, we can move on into the next question: why is Bateman the way he is? Why people are only material beings to him, who have no value? The simplest answer is that Bateman is a psychopath, but perhaps he also represents the numbing effect 80s had on people. So, Ellis himself doesn't condone violence or ask anyone to accept it, but wants to challenge the reader to interpret the reasons for it in his/her own way.

I'll admit, the execution of the basic idea could have worked with a smaller page number (I only skimmed the band descriptions), but the intent was clear. Ellis knows how to describe the emptiness of yuppies. Everyone constantly mistakes people as someone they're not, because individual personalities don't really matter. The most important thing is who can supply drugs and buy the next bottle of Cristal. And maybe who has the hottest girlfriend. Some things also pop up several times (their meaning I could only guess): food, bums, Les Miserablés musical, Patty Winters Show, and bottled waters.

On the other hand, is there light at the end of the tunnel, when Bateman is incapable of hurting people who care about him? Don't think so: "My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago (probably at Harvard) if they ever did exist.". So, why a book that has a good message (although describing abhorrent violence) and is fairly well written, should be banned, when year after year more horror movies where the violence is the main thing are appearing around the corner? I personally prefer American Psycho to Saw.

One of the most popular tourist destinations in Germany, the Black Forest region is known for its wood-carving, Black Forest Cake, gourmet cuisine, and beautiful scenery, but the dense and sinister forests have also served as inspiration for myths and storytellers (the most famous ones are of course the brothers Grimm). Émile Erckmann's and Alexandre Chatrian's werewolf story draws from that tradition, but also reminds us of the classical historian Tacitus, who wrote that Germans dress in the skins of wild beasts.

Every year, on the same day, count Nideck suffers from fits, and his chief huntsman invites the narrator to the castle to try and cure the count of his malady. A mysterious old woman called the Black Plague is seen on the castle grounds every year, and is therefore suspected to be a witch and responsible for the count's howling and yelling.

Hugues-le-loup is rich with descriptions of the Vosges mountain range, and you can feel the mysterious air of the castle and the crisp silence of a wintry forest. Traditional horror this is not, instead it leans more towards the Gothic genre with its wolf howling, dark rooms, family curse, decaying aristocracy, fainting lady, and brooding master of the house.

I do take issue with the bland narrator, who constantly disrupts the action with his long and boring ponderings. At one point he contemplates the nature of Knapwurst, "this dwarf, - - an ill-shaped caricature", and during a chase he's thinking about animals and whether "the wolf, the fox, and the ferret seek the darkness that conforms to their ugly deeds". Shouldn't you, uh, maybe stay sharp in case the witch is trying to kill you?

The story would be perfect for cold and quiet winter evenings, but the fact that it could have been told within half the space somewhat detracts from the enjoyment. Plot-wise not the most balanced short story either, but the atmosphere and the involvement in the Black Forest tradition might prove interesting to others as well.

This is also pretty much a definite must-read for those who are intrigued by the older mythical werewolf stories, and how the "condition" is portrayed in them. In that sense Hugues-le-loup is (like Hugues the Wer-Wolf) without a doubt interesting, because it treats lycanthropy as a thing of the mind (at least if I interpreted the transformation scene correctly), and one particular scene is effective in all its creepiness.

(Will probably check the other stories in the collection later on, but for now I was only after the title story.)

Combining fairy tale and etiological myth, this story of the Victorian art critic Ruskin has familiar motifs found in fairy tales (the number three, bad siblings vs. good siblings, a quest, goodness is rewarded and selfishness is punished), and it apparently worked for contemporary audience, because the story sold out three editions and became an instant classic.

I didn't find the story particularly interesting. Under all the flowery prose the plot is quite simple, and reminds me of fairy tales of lesser quality I've been reading lately. I don't see the kind of charm and magic that would make this memorable, even though there's nothing atrociously bad either. To be fair, Ruskin wrote this for his future wife and never intended this to be published, but maybe his friends wanted his work to be known, who knows.