Morgan > Recent Status Updates

Her breasts. Really. You know we don’t look at our breasts as we breathe, right? Yeah, they’re there, BUT JUST SAY CHEST AND LEAVE THE GIRL’S BREASTS OUT OF IT.

NO. JUST. NO. STOP.

Well, at least now the diacritic in paprikás is going the right way.

This should be a tragic moment, and I’m trying not to laugh.

I swear if the ship cats die I will burn this book.

Truly, “two teens licking fruit cream off each other while a grown man watches pervertedly in the doorway” wasn’t on my bingo card for this book, but why am I surprised by this point.

Feeling alive again is like having sex.

Yeah, cool, great, thanks.

This half a page reads like actual space opera hard scifi. I might have found the point where the book becomes interesting. (And now waiting to see if I jinxed myself.)

Wtf Satterwaith ass-slapping scene? This book is a walking HR violation.

“‘I see,’ he said, meaning he understood.”

When you mansplain your own writing….

Hot take: Grubb is the actual narrator because his story of the ship ghost includes the omniscient character explanations and miscommunications that clog up the rest of the text.

ExCUSE ME??????

“Why, sex is the single thing most easily come by in this ship.”
Wong has a surprisingly self-aware and meta moment. And then immediately afterward the narrative devolves into the self-absorbed sex-driven “plot.”

“He wanted exit, not entry” is one of those lines that you THINK is really clever but is, in fact, extremely cringe, and I hope it haunts Mr. Flynn for the rest of eternity.

God this scene is AWKWARD.

Somehow, against all odds, pages 83-86* pass the Bechdel test.

Page 87 it promptly fails, but it had a better-than-expected run. (*okay, it dips a little on page 85 too)

Bottom of page 16: our first named female character walks in.
First line of page 17: comment on her breasts

In the twenty pages I’ve read since then, I already know I’m going to hate this book. But now I have to know to what EXTENT I’m going to hate it.

Because every Armenian family puts on “The Color of Pomegranates” for some background viewing during family dinner.

Look, I’m enjoying it, but 942.13 is wildly incorrect for a book about fjords. 942.13 is “England and Wales, Mesolithic Age (Middle Stone Age)”, but specifically in an archeological sense. Norway is 948.1. But since this is “fjords of the world” (not just Norway) I think we’re looking for something more like 913-9, or 551.4618 (but this is more geology). Source: DDC 23rd edition.

How tf does someone in Jackson Heights see the Williamsburg Bridge from their window.

“His eyes encompassed those fields. He’d grown up with them, but had never got so accustomed to them that he stopped seeing them.”

“a new plague was wafting across the Pacific from the Asian Union” — this aged well. Or too appropriate.

“The man talked to her in German while his manhood stared at her. Maybe all male genitals spoke only in German, and that’s why she and her Osvaldo had never understood each other.”

🤣🤣

Yeah, that first big paragraph on this page? I don’t know if it just called me out or if I feel seen. But DAMN.

I’m on page 2, but in the very first sentence Valente has perfectly channeled Douglas Adams in her own way and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m a little bit jealous but I’m already onboard this spaceship, let’s rock.

“. . . our telecommunications infrastructure was fragile, more fragile than we could ever have imagined, just a thin web between us, the massive cables laid beneath the ocean and buried in the ground under our homes just physical manifestations of our ultimate isolation.”

It’s against you (Death) that I’m writing down or inventing memory.

You had me at “meat quarry.”

It’s strange how the Night erases all colors, as if it didn’t give a damn about such worldly extravagance.

“There are places we don’t choose to visit, and yet something draws us to them.”