yumdirt's Reviews (310)

"You beat a typewriter instead of your meat."

Get this: We have a famous writer (with a substance abuse problem) that both needs and hates a serial killer keeping him tortured, numb, focused, yet ultimately captive (WOMP WOMP). Annie Wilkes is given plenty of psychoanalysis and sympathy—she is a great villain because of how juvenile, dangerous, and real she feels on the page. She exists as both a vessel for King to pour his frustration with his fans and critics into, and as the monster of his vocally addressed past addiction. We practically fully understand that autocritique, chest-beating, and Big Metaphor in the first quarter of this book. It then runs in circles and plays out exactly how you expect it to for the remainder. King writes like a Rolls Royce stuck in the mud, flooring it. It's well-typed, not well-written. Every 't' is crossed, every 'i' dotted, and I cannot stop rolling my eyes.

Of these 6 finished chapters and one unfinished chapter, quite a lot resonated with me. Karl Rossman is an impudent, proud young man, but this early American landscape he finds himself in really tosses him around. There's a constant balancing act of itching claustrophobia and optimistic exultation (about making a home out of whatever horrid situation Karl is in). In a new world like America at the turn of the century, there seems to be endless, infinite opportunities to apply oneself to. But at the same time, there's almost no satisfaction, equity, or prosperity to be seen from any labor and kindness. Wealth in this story is held tightly by those who have it, and even the most penniless, pathetic ruffian berates Karl for their oft-imagined generosity. This book is 100% a surreal fever dream, and I really wish it was complete. The final, untethered chapter about Karl making his way to Oklahoma with an ethereal theater company seemed genuinely exciting and hopeful. My last note is that there were frequent times I cackled out loud with the deadpan nature of imbecilic arguments, awkward fisticuffs, and characters shrieking in indignant aggression.

Across my years, I find I agree with a lot of things Hume put down, but he's slightly too reserved/conservative for me. He wanted to rebalance and temper the outright attacks on metaphysical belief but I think sometimes one should get that sweet ass off the fence. "The most lively thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation." True! The excitement of touch or the taste of honey can get better with memory though, even if it's not as True/Real. Even if my sense-memory of Cinnabon is wildly vivid, me imagining I'm eating one (as I'm often doing to save calories) isn't the move. Sometimes memory embellishes and gives a certain glow to impressions - both good and bad. But I think going beyond Objects, that zingy quote doesn't work. Famed Wise Alec David Hume never factored in Extreme Cringe. I find I've frequently bitten and screamed into my knuckle to sweep away deeply shameful or embarrassing actions I've made, and I know for a fact those memories carry more power than the action did in the moment. But an action is only cringe if you see it as cringe. I don't know man. I don't think this is a good summary of his arguments. Anyway. Berkeley seems more extremely ostrich-hole refusing than Hume. Descartes doesn't sound at all appealing- that guy needs to relax. Good job David Hume, keep up the good work man. I love that you wrote a "friend" pretending to be Epicurus saying what a crock of shit the argument for a God's existence is, just so you could doubly cover your ass from backlash. Dork king. Stand up brother.

Small, yet vivid and well-paced- this thing does not drag. Plotting may be a tad thin, as the turns and reveals aren't necessarily head-scratchers, but it works and it's tightly controlled. Character writing is laden with honest pain, frustration, and tragedy, which helped with the energy of it all, I think. I do wish we had a tiny bit more time with Anji just before this tale (we only get flashback reveals of her experiences and wisdom, so the weight feels a little light). I hate to cheapen this review with comparisons, but if you're a fan of the edgy vignettes out of Arcane or Dishonored, but with some sprinkles of Lovecraftian horror, this goes down quite nicely. The world we traverse feels absolutely robust enough to stage this story in and overall, I have few complaints. There are a couple scenes in here that drip with cinematic sauce!

Fans of DOOM, Hellraiser, Southern folklore, and killing klansmen stand up. 

Fast-paced, short, and yet it's character rich and so very visually clear. The setting being Prohibition era south following the release Birth of a Nation is inspired and robust. This was fun, tragic, grisly and violent, emotionally charged, clearly inspired by your favorite horror media, and paced well. Loved the delineation between hate and anger, and I love the protagonist. Give more women big fucking magical swords. Did I mention the descriptive language feels so effortless? The painting of motion "on screen" and the unveiling of demonic horrors was just the right amount of lyrical and gilded.

"Women did not make the world. All of you are torturers...in one way or another." 

It was not at all what I expected, and honestly I want way more of the first 1/3 of this story. Swathed in this dark hopelessness, we have Severian subconsciously inching towards happiness and a brighter path, away from his dystopian, gruesome job and social programming. The last 2/3 of it reminded me of a Terry Gilliam's BRAZIL or some cheap campy pseudo-sci-fi. The more time we spent with Severian, the less I liked him or cared where he ended up.

Now- before I continue, it is WILD to me how close this character is to the recently written Hadrian Marlowe from the Suneater series. Marlowe's logical puffing is ripped straight from this book, the apathetic tone too. Even the very end of this book - the way the narrator (Severian) tells the reader he doesn't blame us if we do not continue listening - is BEAT FOR BEAT what Christopher Ruocchio does at the end of his first 3 Suneater books. Okay. Anyway. Both Severian and Marlowe explicitly make it a point to wear deep black cloaks and both carry a rare sword, although swordsmanship is not the strong suit of either man. Losing my mind actually. 

This is uncomfortably dreamlike and mostly well structured. I think I don't love this because of Severian's character. He is conditioned to be stoic and sociopathic, being a journeyman in this strange, Tim Burton-esque, Neverending Story apocalyptic world's "Torturer's Guild." But that distance is not what put me off him, it's the way he's aggressive and how he physically reacts without awareness towards the three women in this book (all of whom are necessitated to be in love with him?) There are fragments of a coming of age tale, but it's ALL hoisted upon this intentionally stilted, aristocratic, philosophizing dialogue, so again.... more of that nonchalant distance from the reader. For anyone that enjoyed the Books of Babel series by Josiah Bancroft, you may enjoy this 80's piece.

The eponymous short story of this teeny tiny collection is so commanding in its premise and exudes so much Cool had to get up from my seat and whoop. The dialogue is fire. Those one-liners that Marshall Raylan Givens utters are nukes of confidence and humming with energy. I simply must watch Justified now - there's no excuse. 5/5 for Fire in the Hole, but the rest of the shorts are just decent, and two I've actually already read from his complete Western collection. 3.75/5 for the book as a whole.

What a treat. The audiobook is wonderfully done, giving each story a new narrator. I loved the ones by Henry Rollins and by David Straithairn.