I haven't bought fullpriced fiction (that wasn't a paperback romance) in a very long time. I've gotten a few titles from book sales here at work or picked up bargain titles from the bookstore, otherwise, it's all non-fiction for me and my wallet. That American musical theater book was $45 pre-employee discount (which still meant that I paid $35 for it after tax), so it'll probably be my last book purchase for some time.
I'm still buying too many DVD sets, though--just got the Simon Schama History of Britain set at B&N (TV sets are 40% off right now, FYI!), and I bought the Spaced set a month or so ago.
Yeah, I'm selling books these days, not buying. The library is my friend.
Selections from H.P. Lovecraft's Brief Tenure as a Whitman's Sample Copywriter: [link]
Caramel Chew: There is a dimension ruled by a blind caramel God-King who sits on a vast, cyclopean milk-chocolate throne while his mindless, gooey followers dance to the piping of crazed flutes. It is said that there are gateways in our world that lead to this caramel hell-planet. The delectable Caramel Chew may be one such portal.
Now I really want a Caramel Chew.
I wanted to beat Nelly Dean to death with a shovel.
Can I help, please! She always drives me absolutely crazy. For different reasons, I feel the same way about Mrs. Danvers in "Rebecca".
I, too, am a member of the 'will read anything including the cereal boxes' club.
Right now I'm enjoying the "Vampire Kisses" series and "'Salem's Lot", again.
Jane Austen tries her hand at advertising: [link]
I, too, am gobsmacked by the book shop manager thinking it odd that you are an eclectic reader. That's pretty bloody pathetic, imho - I mean, fine, s/he isn't one, but to find it
odd
that a fellow book store employee has broad taste in books... pathetic.
Lockwood is the narrator. I always felt Withering heights would be a good story, but seeing it through Lockwood/Nelly Dean drove me fucking nuts. As did the stableman's accent.
If I used emoticons, this would be the moment when I inserted a wee sadfaced emoticon, because I loved the hell out of
Wuthering Heights.
And I was actually pretty damn delighted by Joseph's dialogue, (although I appreciate that you wouldn't have the same reaction I had) because that is EXACTLY how people speak in my town - but one so rarely sees the dialect in print. It gave me a warm little glow of nostalgia/regional-patriotism (is there a word for that?) a bit like watching Sean Bean being interviewed on telly. I was all: "My People!" (Which is hilariously inappropriate of me, being so very generic-middle-class expat Brit, and NEVER having had a Yorkshire accent myself.)
I've not read
Atonement,
but I recently read
On Chesil Beach
and really didn't love it. But that wasn't just about an unsympathetic narrator.
It's years and years since I read
The Aeneid,
but I do remember finding it pretty difficult to give a shit about Aeneas after he'd left Dido in the lurch and she'd topped herself. I realise that The Big Macho Mission To Found Rome was supposed to be the point, but I still pretty much thought he was a weasel from that point on, and that he and the future Romans could all bugger off. He and his gods totally screwed Dido over. (Possibly I'd have a different take upon rereading today - I
was
sixteen at the time.)
I loathed
American Psycho
and its protagonist with every fibre of my being, and continued reading it to the end in the vain hopes that I would find some closure. I absofuckinglutely did NOT need to harbour the image of (seriously, don't read the whitefont if you're squeamish/haven't read the book)
him jamming a pipe up the vagina of one of his victims, and sticking a starving rat into said pipe, and watching while the rat had a field day chowing down on the inner organs of the still-living girl.
Seriously, I didn't give a shit whether the narrator was reliable, unreliable or what the hell ever; I just wanted him (and indeed the writer, who had created and shared that scene) to vanish in a puff of smoke forever and ever and ever amen. It's the only book I've ever recommended people not to read. I don't think I'd do that now, mind you, but at the time I found the experience of reading it so thoroughly unpleasant that I sincerely wished I'd never plucked it from a shelf in the first place - and that's odd, because I adore Iain (M) Banks, and his books are frequently gruesome and Minear-ishly brutal.
Er - sorry, that post was rather more expletive-laden than neccesary, wasn't it? I seem to be developing a Tourettes-like level of cursing in my downtime, now that I'm back at achool - seven hours of being wholesome a day and having "crazypants!" as my strongest expletive does seem to result in mighty upsurge in my swearing levels once there are no small children in my immediate vicinity.
t sheepish
Heh, Fay-- I know what you mean about the swearing. I come back from writers' conferences and Lewis practically has to duct tape my mouth shut until I relearn how to speak around the kids. Although he has his moments too-- he's just never aware of them.
And I think Bret Easton Ellis absolutely delights in pushing the envelope from that standpoint, whether it advances the story or not. It's one reason I'm not at all crazy about him as a writer-- I don't think he's concerned about overall story arc so much as he is about finding a way to go from shocking scene to shocking scene, if that makes any sense?
