The Devil All The Time by Donald Ray Pollock

Well howdy there friends! It’s been a little while. How have you been? How’s your life? Now that I’m finally done organizing bachelorette parties and almost balling while trying to give speeches and drinking my body weight in fermented, tasty beverages, we can finally get back to the thing that brought us all here: delightful, delicious, wonderful books.

Or, you know, this one.

Now before we get into the review I want to make clear that there are things that I did really like about this novel. Pollock is a hell of a writer, and even when I wasn’t having any fun, I was still burning through it, pulled from one situation to the next to see where it lead. That’s enough, in my opinion, to classify this as a good book, even if it’s not a particularly enjoyable one.

Unfortunately, you can be the wordsmith of our age, writing the most beautiful prose I’ve ever read, but if your character work is lacking, you’re going to lose me. The reason that I read is to experience other people’s lives, to slide myself into the brain of someone else. It’s why I’m here. And I’m not against doing that with a vile person every now and again, but…they have to feel real. I have to buy it. Every character in this book was a caricature. All of them the vilest, slimiest, most self-serving pieces of trash that humanity could come up with. So over the top in their quirky grossness that they didn’t even really seem human anymore. The first time he introduced a couple of them I was intrigued, the second time a little wary, and by the fourth or fifth just tired of it. If they weren’t dumb and vile to their bones they were evil. If they were neither, if there was a single ounce of goodness in them, then they were pathetic and doomed to suffer. It was just an unending slog of sadness and pain, with nowhere to look for redemption of any kind.

Maybe that’s the crux of this whole thing. No redemption for anybody. And yes, I know, not every story needs it, not everybody needs to find absolution, but I don’t feel like there was a single satisfying character arc in this whole book. Shitty people kept being shitty till they died from it, nobody got any better, nobody learned any lessons, nobody did anything at all, except for damage and wound and die. Even the main character, the one I think you’re supposed to relate to the most, doesn’t change much. After the first thirty or so pages he grows into a man who uses violence to solve his problems, and that’s where he stays until the end. And he is better than the others, but he’s not good. He’s motivated by a slightly more moral viewpoint than almost anybody else in the novel, but he’s still brutal. He may not want to kill, but when he’s backed into a situation where he feels like he has to, he does. Over and over again. To the point where it’s tiresome, where I didn’t see what the author was trying to say, if he was trying to say anything at all.

I’d recommend this book for people who like southern gothics that tend towards the gritty and filthy and violent, people who like their characters as gross and mean and pathetic as they can get them, and anyone who doesn’t mind a story where the morale is “people are shitty and will probably try and kill you”.

VBR

 

 

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It’s Too Hot To Write And I Have A Wedding To Go To

Hey there errybody! Just to let you know, the write-up for this week (which I’ve already started!) is probably going to be a little on the late side. One of my best friends in the world is getting married in a few days, and I’m in the bridal party, and there’s…just so much work that goes into that. Not, obviously, as much as the person actually getting married, but still. Just a ton of stuff to do. And also it’s like forty fucking degrees Celsius where I’m at and all I can really manage to think in my brain hole is “hot. need water. so hot.” Again, I have an idea already that I’ve started on, and maybe I’ll take another crack at it tonight when it cools down a bit, but don’t hold your breath.

I also realize that I’ve been writing a lot of these “sorry for the delay!” posts over the last few months but…it’s been a really busy summer you guys. So much going on. I haven’t had time to do nearly the amount of writing that I wanted to, and a good portion of the time I have devoted has been to my fiction writing, but I promise it will even out a little when the summer calms down a bit. Writing this blog is one of the most fulfilling and fun things that I’ve done and most of that has to do with you gals and your kind messages and support. You’re the best! And I can’t wait to get back to talking to ya’ll about books a little more regularly. Anywhoodle, I’m going to go sit in a bathtub full of cold water. Bye!

Love,

VBR

League of Dragons by Naomi Novik (Temeraire Wrap Up)

Ugh, you gals, I finalllllllllllllllllly did it!

Sorry that took so long! It’s partly because this was one big-ass series (9 books), and partly because during the last week I got a weird stomach flu that kept me from doing anything other than throwing up and ruining my best friend’s birthday. But I’m here! I did it! Yay me!

This series was great. I loved it from the first book, but early on there were a few problems that I wasn’t really sure how she was going to address. How do you make somebody root for colonial England, knowing what they’ve done? How do you then set them against Napoleon, when he’s treating his dragons better than those he’s fighting? How do you reconcile what you know about the world, with the belief system that your main character is going to have because of the time and place that he came from? This was set in a pretty savage part of human history, right in the thick of European colonialism, a time and place with countless political sticky wickets to get stuck in.

And honestly? I think Naomi Novik did about as good of a job as a person could do. She skillfully separates your sympathy from the government that’s fighting the war to the people fighting it, by pitting them against each other whenever the government does something immoral (like still supporting the slave trade, or deliberately spreading a disease among the rest of the dragons in the world, to give British aerial forces superiority) and showing them as being as foul and self-serving as they were (and are, and have always been). By the end of the books Will seems to have completely transferred his sense of duty from said government, the thing he used to look up to, to just the general good of the world. He does what needs to be done, no matter where that is or who it’s for. He makes it easy to cheer for him.

I spent some time on Will’s (the main character, other than Temeraire) personal growth in the last post, so I won’t go on and on about it here. Suffice it to say that he continually learns his way past his problematic English ideas about women, and doesn’t seem to really have any problem with racism or homophobia (to be fair, he does get hellllla uncomfortable when one of the party tells him that he’s gay, but I felt it was more his upper-crusty British mortification at somebody having to reveal anything personal about themselves to him, especially about sex, than it was homophobia). He’s a good character, easy to love and stand behind.

As for Napoleon, even though he does seem to have some good points about the treatment of dragons (who in this universe are intelligent and feeling creatures), she makes it pretty clear that his motives are selfish and that he’d do anything to get the supremacy that he craves. The sheer amount of bodies he climbs over to get what he wants solves the problem of connecting with him too much pretty neatly, though Naomi still manages to write him in a way where I didn’t hate him. I still understood him and why he was doing what he did. I had some sympathy for him, just not a lot.

One of the other things that I really, really dug about these books was getting to see how Novik had imagined our world would be changed by having these big, hulking, thinking weapons in it. Because dragons were everywhere, the invention of cannons as effective means of waging war didn’t knock askew the balance of power the way that they did in our world (it was actually more complicated than that, but I’m trying to keep this blog post from completely getting away from me). I’ve always wondered what the world would have looked like if British (and other European) people hadn’t fucked it so hard, if they’d left American and African cultures to develop unmolested. Novik takes a run at what that would look like and it’s great, smart and well thought out. About as good as anybody not within those cultures themselves could’ve done. It scratched a fiction itch I’ve had for a long time. Plus it was just satisfying to see the English try and do all the shitty things that they’d done throughout our history, but fail miserably.

As much as I loved the books, I do have one bone to pick with Naomi Novik, and it’s this: Tenzin and Will. Are you kidding me? You spent the whole series building this beautiful relationship between the two, where they depended on and anchored one another, where they understood and cared for each other (Tenzin was the one that stopped Will from compromising himself morally when he was in despair over being branded a traitor. And when Will lost his memory, seeing Tenzin was the thing that brought it back. Not Temeraire, not his essentially adopted daughter, not his friends. Tenzin) and in the end…nothing. Well, not nothing. They built a wonderful life long friendship blah blah blah. But I was expecting, hoping for, more. It would have been nice to finally get a relationship in fiction between two masculine, heroic characters that generally identify as straight (if you, like me, are looking for varying representation of LGBTQ people in fiction, hit up Black Sails. It’s way, way better than it’s lousy first season would have you believe), and it really seemed like that’s what she was building up to, and then just…nope. I know you can’t always get what you want, but I really, really wanted this and was super disappointed when it didn’t happen.

Okay! I recommend this series for alternate history nerds, dragon lovers (I feel like that might mean something weirder than I meant it to. No judgement!), and anybody who likes long-ass, satisfying, well written, well-thought out fantasy series. Novik put a boatload of work into these books, and it shows. It’s been a while since I liked a series this much.  Just more gays next time please!

VBR

 

Ps. I did have one more tiny quibble that I just can’t bring myself to leave without mentioning. In one of the books Will loses his memory, which is a story trope that I haaaaaaaaaaate, and one that went on for a lot longer than it should have. I’m not really sure why she included it. The story doesn’t seem like it would’ve changed that much if he’d known who he was all along. I kind of held out hope that it was to set up how important Tenzin had become to him, but that ended up being nothing so…yeah. Not really what that was about, but it wasn’t for me. If you’re like me and you hate that kind of thing, be warned, it’s a big portion of one of the biggest books. Other than that though, dive in!

 

A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin

I know, I know, I know. You’re tired of hearing about Game of Thrones. Trust me, I am too. Twitter has nothing else to talk about and my Facebook feed has been clogged with review posts and spoiler posts and theory posts. Hostelworld even sent me an email to let me know about the “Game of Thrones locations” that were on sale. It’s reaching Star Wars-esque levels of cultural saturation (I went into a grocery store one time during the Force Awakens madness and, I shit you not, saw a Star Wars themed bag of oranges. I mean, just…what?), and I bet you’d all rather read about something, anything, else.

BUT! Here we are. And despite the super cool dude persona I’ve been cultivating by bucking all the trends, seeing the Game of Thrones-y stuff out there has reminded me of how much I love the Song of Ice and Fire books, and why.

These novels are essentially famous for two things: their extremity and their bleakness (three, I guess, if you count the world building, which is bananas good and in depth). They’re hella violent, chock full of sex (mostly not of the romantic, vanilla variety), and filled to the brim with terrible people doing horrible things. Nothing ever goes right for anybody and whenever it does seem like everything might, finally, work out, somebody does something selfish or terrible and everything falls to pieces again. The thing that people don’t often talk about though, is why these books are so brutal and bleak, and what it means.

Brace yourselves, I’m about to get very mildly controversial: George R.R. Martin has written one of the best long-form anti-war series of all time. The world he built is harsh and unfair, yes, but that’s because it’s a world at war. There’s constant commentary about how badly the common people are used for the personal ambitions of the rich and powerful, how little violence solves, how futile and fleeting and empty conquest or power can be. The countryside of Westeros is cracked and fractured, its people broken and hungry, and for what? The leaders who have used that blood to buy them power rarely hold it for long, and when they do they usually find that it’s not exactly what they were expecting. More often than not they meet an end that’s even more undignified and bloody than the people they stepped on to get to their crowns. The horrors he depicts in his series aren’t just for shock value or to serve as a counter-weight to the lighter, fluffier fantasy fare that was popular when this series first arrived, they’re meant to convey his genuine disgust at warfare and the way it had often been treated in fantasy up until that point.

Which leads me to my next point about this series. There have been some accusations levied against the books and their treatment of women as misogynistic. Now before I embark on the sticky wicket that is trying to explain why I don’t think those accusations are entirely fair (with one notable exception), I’m going to acknowledge straight off the bat that what I think doesn’t really matter. If you’re wounded by something, or offended by something, somebody telling you that it’s neither dangerous nor offensive doesn’t really mean anything. The fact that you pulled it out of the text is evidence enough that it was there, somewhere. You get from a story what you get from it, and I can’t, and wouldn’t really want, to change that. I just have a different interpretation of it, and since this blog is my own personal exercise in self-indulgent word spewage, that’s what you’re about to read. Unless, you know, you don’t want to. You’re an adult and the internet is filled with other places to read things. But, if you do stick around and just disagree, please, counter-interpretations in the comments! I’m interested in hearing about the different ways people see and think about things. Just nothing using scenes from the show as a basis for your arguments please. They’ve made some choices there that are different from the novels, ones that I feel absolutely no desire to defend.

Truly awful, terrible things happen to women in these books. They’re beaten, they’re raped, they’re murdered. They’re caged and kept and traded in marriages for political advantage. And while I agree that the behaviour towards women in the books is misogynistic and gross as hell, I don’t think the books themselves are. Those acts are never framed as a positive or (again with one exception, which I’ll get to at the end) used to titillate. The people who commit the acts are depicted as the monsters that they are, and often meet ends that are as cruel as they deserve. The treatment of women by patriarchal societies in wartime (and, you know, always) is one of vilest parts of human history. It’s not pleasant to read about, and I totally get it if it’s inclusion in the books makes you just not want to bother with them at all, but it does fit with the theme of the novels. He’s shining a light on all the ugly parts of war, even the hardest ones to look at, to strip away the nobility and glory and honor that normally gets heaped on them by the genre. At least, that’s what I think (and hope) he’s trying to do. Do I think he always pulls it off perfectly? Hell, no. Our introduction to Dany in the first novel is a particularly bad example. I read something by him a little while ago pushing back against the criticisms of his books by saying that Dany’s wedding night was handled better in the novels than in the show because Drogo asks permission before they sleep together, sort of, but…no. Dany’s a child, around thirteen years old, and Drogo is a grown ass man, which, no matter how you frame it, is pretty fucking gross. Not to mention that she’s in a strange environment, surrounded by only him and his people, with no friends or support, no idea what would happen if she displeased him. That, in no way shape or form, is a situation which is conducive to consent. Plus, the writing of that scene is really…ooky. It’s a major mistep, but not representative of the books on a whole.

There’s also just a ton of strong, badass ladies in his books that either use the rules of the patriarchal system that they’re trapped in to their advantage, or just disregard them completely. Cersei may be vile and short-sighted, cruel and self-centred, but she’s a force of nature. Arya and Brienne are some of my all-time favourite characters, in any stories, and Sansa gets far less credit than she deserves.

Anywhoodle! Just to wrap this up I’ll say that while I loved all these books, and think they’re all definitely worth reading, the first is still probably my favourite. It was so different from anything that I’d read at the time, so completely new, and the ending of the Ned Stark storyline is still, to this day, one of the most bold, surprising things I’ve read in a fantasy series.

Recommended if you like your fantasies big and sprawling and complex, if don’t mind watching people you’ve grown attached to fail and probably die, and if you’re not put off by whole paragraphs devoted to the description of various types of glazed meats.

 

VBR

Back to Books!

Heya folks!

Just wanted to let you know that I will be back to blurbing about books every few days very soon! I’ve been doing a little more varied stuff lately and that’s partly because this summer has a much higher than usual number of movies I actually want to see, and partly because I haven’t quite got through that series I was telling you about (Dragons. Napoleonic Wars. Stiff, upper-crusty British men with too much pride). When I put down the last book (probably early next week?) I’ll do a big wrap up of that and then get on to more single, stand-alone books that can be finished and written about once every three or so days. So if you’re worrying that the purview of the blog has changed, fret not (although I will still write about whatever I feel like, whenever I feel like writing about it), all will be back to normal soon.

VBR

Spiderman: Homecoming

*Disclaimer at the top: This post, because of my undying and forever love for Peter Parker, is looooonnnggggg. Continue at your own peril.

You gals, you gals! They did it! They finally did it!

I’ve never really gotten on the nostalgia train. They’ve been aiming things from my childhood at me for the last ten years or so and, despite the fact that I loooooved that shit when I was a kid, still love some of it (I am an unrepentant cheesy comic buyer. Give me alllll the X-Men melodrama), I’ve mostly just let it sail right past. The ones that I have watched (most of them being comic book movies) have been bad to just fine. And that’s not to say that there are no good comic book movies out there. Logan was incredible! Deadpool is really fun! Captain America: Winter Soldier is really underrated as an action/spy thriller. But the characters of those movies weren’t a part of my childhood and they didn’t make me feel how I felt watching those stories as a kid (Logan was probably the closest, but Wolverine has never been my favourite member of the X-Men. I’ve always liked the big, sappy team stories better).

When I was growing up Peter Parker was my boy. I’ve talked about it on here before, but the early 90s cartoon version of him, with that terrible turquoise and blue striped shirt and super, duper 90s hair, was probably my first crush. But not only was I macking on his fine, mom-jeans-wearing ass, I also looked up to him. I remember watching him struggle and suffer to do the right thing, putting his relationships and his school work and his job in jeopardy again and again because of his desire to help people, and thinking “that’s who I want to be.” I idolized him. I pestered my mom into buying me Spider-man everything and climbed anything I could find (to her almost constant frantic dismay). I would’ve given my right arm to have a live action Spider-man movie.

So when I finally got one in 2002, I was really stoked. It was the first piece of directly aimed at me nostalgia-art and (even though at that point I was a teenager who refused to show enthusiasm for anything) I could barely contain myself. And after watching it, I remember telling people, somewhat frantically “That was pretty good, right? Like, I know it wasn’t perfect, but it was…okay. Like some of it was okay, right? RIGHT?!” I hadn’t got that feeling I remembered watching the cartoon as a kid, nowhere close, but I hadn’t hated it either (although I, to this day, can’t stand to watch Willem Dafoe in anything. He’s…such a bad actor, you guys. Awful). Over the next few years I had that experience again and again, with steadily diminishing returns, until eventually I stopped going. I haven’t seen the last X-Men movie and I won’t see the next one. I turned the Spider-man movie before this one off a quarter of the way through. I didn’t get what was so great about nostalgia. It seemed an awful lot like disappointment to me.

So I went into this one a little…nervously. If people hadn’t already hyped it up so much, I probably wouldn’t have even gone. I’m tired of watching big, dumb, loud action movies with the names of characters I loved when I was a kid attached to people who act nothing like them.

You gals, this movie knocked my fucking socks off. I’m usually a stone-faced bitch in movie theatres (I’m not sure why. I think it was just drilled into me at a young age that you’re not supposed to make noise/move/breathe when doing so could be bothering somebody else), even if I really like a movie you wouldn’t be able to tell until the credits have rolled and we’re talking about it after. If I absolutely love it, or something super clever happens, it might get a slight smile. This movie had me grinning from ear to ear the entire time. I laughed out loud, in a theatre full of people. I cried a little. And I left with a little nugget of joy in my chest, reminded of how much, and how purely, I used to love this kind of stuff as a kid. I feel like, for the first time, we had people who actually loved the character doing the movie. This was my Peter Parker, struggling and bumbling, constantly sacrificing what he wants to do the right thing. Failing a lot, but never giving up. And he was a kid, finally (And yes, I know, he’s twenty one and you’re all super relieved about it). He was awkward and insecure, but also sometimes over-confident in that way that only teenagers can be. Ugh, it was all just so good.

Okay, that’s probably enough nerd gushing for one day. Just go watch this movie, it’s really good. Even if you’re not a lifelong fan, there’s plenty there for you to enjoy.

VBR

Donating Blood In Canada

First off, just to start, you should do it. Not just in Canada, but wherever you live. You’re saving lives, you’re contributing to a good cause, you’re doing undeniable good.

However! I’ve had a few salty encounters with their twitter account over the last few days and it’s left me feeling a little…bitter, and angry, towards them. It started off because I saw an ad of them posting for help (they’re in the middle of a six year low in donations and they’re riding the line pretty hard on their supply) and usually I just see them, feel sad for a little bit (if you’re unaware, it’s still Canadian Blood Service’s policy that gay men who have been sexually active with another man in the last year are not allowed to donate blood), and then I move on. But I was feeling a little more aggravated about it than I normally do, so I fired off a quick “I would love to!…if you didn’t exclude me from doing so based solely on my sexual orientation” tweet and kind of forgot about it.

But somebody over there was paying attention. And they sort of tried to be conciliatory? They said that they understood that it was frustrating, but hey, they changed the rules a little while ago so that gay men could donate now after only a year without having sex with another man. So basically, if we just cut that gay shit out for a year, they’ll let us participate. Do they know how insulting that is? And unrealistic (for those in the gay community who like and participate in sexual activities)? Have you ever not had sex for a year before? On purpose? I did it this one time by accident and it was wack.

Plus, straight people aren’t immune to STIs and it’s not standard practice to make them wait for a year after having sex before they give blood. If you made that the rule, you wouldn’t have any blood. Your blood banks would be filled with cobwebs and hate mail. The rule still essentially excludes a huge portion of our community. And yes, I know that gay men are at a higher risk (because the people that run that twitter thought it would be a good idea to send me a study telling me, as if I wasn’t already aware) for STIs that are transmitted through blood. But show me the study that proves that gay men who practice safe sex are at a higher risk than straight people who don’t and I’ll shut up about it. Hell, show me the study that says they’re at higher risk than straight people who also practice safe sex and I’ll be quiet.

Also, can you do me the favour of not pretending that it’s entirely scientific and has nothing to do with prejudice? Because if it was, the rule would just be that anybody who’s had unprotected sex with a new partner in the last year shouldn’t be allowed to donate, no matter their sex or sexual partner. It wouldn’t exclude people who have been in relationships with the same person for ten years or people who (like me) might have multiple partners, but who are meticulously safe in their sexual encounters and have never had an STI.

I’m safe, I’m healthy, and I’m willing, but I’m prevented from participating in the health of my community because of the people that I love, and it’s a real fucking bummer. How does the chant go? We’re here! We’re queer!…And we want to help you, and there’s a lot of us. Yes, right now you can cover the amount that you need. Everybody is provided for. But if the donation slump gets worse, or there’s an emergency of some kind and the need increases? I can’t help but think that anybody whose life gets put in danger, anybody who might die one day, needing blood that one of us would happily give them if not for your dumbass, bigotted rule…that’s kind of on you.

I know I usually put a heart here, but today I’m not quite in the mood.

VBR

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

This book holds such a weird and conflicted place in my heart.

I read it when I was really, really young. Probably too young, but I watched Silence of the Lambs when I was like nine and read A Game of Thrones when I was around eleven, so that ship had pretty much sailed (and just as a by the by, nothing to do with my parents. I was a particularly determined and underhanded kid, and though they were pretty liberal with the art they allowed me to consume, there were a few things I never gave them the opportunity to object to).

This novel (and the series that followed) had a bunch of firsts for me. It was the first hard scifi book I’d ever read. The first to treat intelligent children not just like they matter, but like they’re useful, dangerous even (which seems a little strange to frame as a positive, I know, but treating somebody like a threat is, in a weird way, an acknowledgement of their capability. I was a clever kid who was tired of being treated like a child, and something about this really got to me). It was also the first genre book series I’d encountered with themes of pacifism and anti-warmongering at its core, along with some pretty strong messages about the dangers of othering people you don’t understand, how much fear that can generate, and how easily that fear can turn to hate. This series helped to shape not only my taste in fiction and art, but also my idea of the adult that I wanted to grow up to be.

One of the perks of getting at this so young was that I was able to read it and love it, the whole series, without having much of a chance to encounter or care about the author’s personal politics. At that point I didn’t even know what my own were, and if you’d asked me I wouldn’t have really understood what you meant. Besides, I’d never been the type who worships the maker of the art. It’s the art itself that I’d always been interested in. That’s where all the swords and laser beams and forbidden, sweaty love is. Author’s names weren’t much more than a helpful reference tool for me to find more books that I wanted to read.

It was only years later (like a decade and a half actually), after several rereads of the series and numerous recommendations to people, that I heard anything about it. It was just an offhand comment on a podcast of some kind, and I didn’t really think anything of it. Then I heard something else. Then again. And eventually I was compelled to do something that, up until that point, I hadn’t really ever done. I turned to Lord Google (All Hail its Knowledge and Supreme Benevolence) for some info on a guy I had kind of assumed was a collection of monkeys and typewriters. And it broke my heart.

How could somebody that wrote about peace and compassion, about overcoming prejudice by trying to understand the things you fear, support such hateful, awful garbage? He was one of the first people to teach me that love and life is complicated, but that compassion and community, relationships, are the things that make life worth living, and we should take them where we can. Unless you’re gay and you want to get married, I guess. A man can love a female voiced A.I. (which…it’s a computer program. You can name it Jane and give it a lady’s voice and that still doesn’t mean it’s a woman), but he can’t love another man, another human being? I don’t get it.

At first learning this didn’t really change the way I interacted with the series itself. Death of the author, right?* No matter what he espoused in his personal life, it didn’t change the message that I got from his book, the lessons it taught me, the positive impact it had. And most of the people I know who read it got a lot of the same things from it that I did, so the book itself is a net good, right? Even if the man isn’t.

But…it’s not that simple. It would be great if we could interact with the art we love without having to worry about the person who made it, but we can’t. By purchasing the book (I’ve repurchased it at least three or four times), and reading it, raving about it, telling people in my life to do the same, I’m contributing to something. Yes, the book itself has a positive message, but the money that I, and all the people I convinced to buy it, spent isn’t getting thrown down a well. That money, or a portion of it anyways, is going to Orson Scott Card, and he’s using it to fight against people like me being able to get married. That’s super fucked up.

When you buy art you’re not just supporting the creation of more art like it (although you are doing that), you’re providing power and a platform to the person who’s creating it. I know you can’t be checking every single thing that you consume (is every actor in every television show I watch a good person? Is the CEO of the company that makes the plastic that houses the grape tomatoes I like a SJW?), but I think it’s well past the time where we acknowledge that who we give our money to matters. So let’s try our best not to give it to dick bags like this, okay?

Recommended for sexually confused, politcally oblivious pre-teens with low self-esteem, and…um…people who didn’t read the review I just wrote, I guess?

VBR

Ps. Honestly, if you decide to just keep ignoring authors (or musicians or directors or whatever) and reading books, I really don’t blame you. I still don’t look into every author that I read (I would never get ANYTHING done. I mean…I don’t really get that much done now. But even less. I would get EVEN LESS STUFF DONE), and anybody that says that they do is either lying or doesn’t read as much as we do. Just know that if you’re not careful, you might one day realize you’ve been contributing to something that really doesn’t sit well with you and that’s (trust me) a really ooky feeling.

 

*For those of you who haven’t  heard this saying before, this isn’t me threatening to kill Orson Scott Card. It’s just a saying among readers which means that what the author thinks about his work, what he was trying to convey, isn’t as important as the message that you pulled out of it while reading it. Once they put their art out into the world, their opinion about what it means becomes irrelevant.

 

 

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