Liam James > Recent Status Updates

“Dead men tell no tales, Mary.” Now that is a quote… and it is also intriguing; for, is our narrator hinting there is yet hope for Joss? Indeed, he just told a tale, horrifying as it was… am I reaching?

Not sure if Mary should trust Jem. If he's on the level, she has a much needed friend; if he's not, she needs to mind what she says, for he'll take anything she reveals back to Joss and that could be the end of her. I think she likes him. Her response to his voice; it was a visceral reaction, and you can't really do anything about that. I think eventually she'll have to trust him...

I’m still convinced Joss and his cronies are up to worse than mere smuggling. All these references to their souls? Yikes

Welp, just finished my manuscript. Best work I’ve ever done. I had to change the title however, after learning my previous one had already been taken. Nevertheless, “we press on, boats against the current.” Time for the illustration!

Description of Rosemary reading French media: “It was the same feeling that had oppressed her at the hotel—accustomed to seeing the starkest grotesqueries of a continent heavily underlined as comedy or tragedy, untrained to the task of separating out the essential for herself, she now began to feel that French life was empty and stale.” Imagine, American media was sensational even in the 20’s.

At first I said, "okay, one of these olde-timey stories of damsels and horrible men." But then, chapter 3 went and changed my tune. I said, "There's something else going on with Joss Merlyn... besides being a drunk... something spectral perhaps..." I'm not sure but I know Daphne has never failed me before and so I'm pressing on... just like Mary Yellan, despite the present congregation at the inn!

Doing a little rereading and I find Woolf, or rather her narrator, saying this in reference to the 1920’s: “The sexes drew further and further apart. No open conversation was tolerated. Evasions and concealments were sedulously practised on both sides.” I’m thinking yikes! this separation started ‘that’ long ago?

John Thornton is a hero. And so is Buck. No wonder they love each other so much. I damn near cried my eyes out when Buck pulled that thousand pound sled. I know it wasn't as heroic as his saving John from the rapids but damn that dog!

Hal, Charles and Mercedes are assholes. They have no business being up there. I'm glad they were laughed at in Dawson, but I'm disconcerted at what they will do moving forward... for their selfishness.

All I gotta say is Orlando is now in the twentieth century, I'm guess roaring 20's ish. And our humble narrator describes it as overwhelming, as having too many contradictory ideas, as accelerating too quickly... Well, I'd avoid the 21st century like the plague Orlando, or the pandemic as it were...

Welp, the battle was fought and the battle was won and Buck, the beast is champion. Man, he wasn't even scared, didn't blink an eye, but felt so right, so alive, for the first time perhaps. Sorry Spitz, sorry Sol-lecks—though you're smart and want no part of it, contesting the victor, the rightful successor, the new lead dog... Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Can't you just hear Michael Buffer!

It was too much for Buck. Of course it was; he's a champ, and even his perfect prudence wouldn't stand for stupid Spitz standing in the way of his bed, the very one he had but learned to make something like twenty-four hours prior when the snow gave way under him and so he fell upon placating Billee licking away with his wet toungue. How dare you Spitz! Only for those skulking forms! You would've been mince meet!

Wow. Jackie doesn't waste a page, does he? After page one, he's off and running and poor Buck's already a kidnapped king and getting the sh#t kicked out of him by the man in the red sweater. Oof. How'd those dogs do it? Then, poor Curly! The Law of Club and Fang! Zounds! Don't fall down! And Spitz is laughing his ass off! But Buck's adjusting; I like so much that he's not placating, obeying yes, conciliating never!

I don’t care that he’s a kid; Willard is a son-of-a-bitch

So, Dora with her suavity, suggests Mack and the boys throw Doc another party… What could go wrong?

Wow. What he sees in the ocean.

I just found out Mack is forty-seven and somehow this makes me very happy—it’s hard not to like Mack.

“For, Heaven knows why, just as we have lost faith in human intercourse some random collocation of barns and trees or a haystack and a waggon presents us with so perfect a symbol of what is unattainable that we begin the search again.” I’ll be sure to add this, next time I’m on a desktop.

Man, I like the professor. See the way he pushes our protagonist up the tower: "Are you indeed, a coward?" Classic.

Whoa, even cousin Gretchen is in agreement with the professor. Seems our protagonist's in a pickle: be considered a coward and let down the one you love or go down to dread, to the dead-center of the earth...

That ornery uncle sounds difficult, but his house or rather castle by the ocean, sounds soo nice.

I know, I said I'd finish and I only read like ten pages but I swear I like it. Kinda crazy; the whole dawn at Delmonico's, what with Dean and Peter flipping out and flippin off waiters and knockin over innocent coffee cups. Good heavens, was I ever that bad as a collegiate? I plead the fifth.

Okay I'm finishing this sucker tonight. It's actually quite good; time's just been rather illusive of late.

Okay, Jewel is straight up scary.

Edit’s treatment of Gordon, after all her excitement to see him, certainly proves no one loves you when you’re down and out.

Lip-lip is a literal pain in the neck.

I was a boy when I first read this and it feels like a different book. How awful are the "man-animals" when they first find White Fang! Ferocious.

Mama Weasel, kickin' lil' cub's ass. Poor lil cub. But here comes Mama Cub, the aforesaid She-Wolf, and Mama Weasel's toast. Go Mama Cub!

Poor One-Eye. Man he was tough. Experienced too. And what's more than all these boasts can be, he was a good father. Went for that lynx with guts and conviction. Long live One-Eye, the honorable.

“A guy goes nuts if he ain't got nobody.  Don't make no difference who the guy is , long's he's with you.  I tell ya,” he cried, “I tell ya a guy gets too lonely an’ he gets sick.”
Well, ain’t that the truth. Look at our sorry societies today with our lonely losers in their parents’ basements glazing at ai poison on their grimy devices. Only a set of eyes and one can see what’s wrong.