Greg B > Recent Status Updates

The King is back, baby, whoo-hah!

Y'all really out here bitching about whether Ariel should be black when EVIL MERMAID QUEEN ELINOR CASKEY doesn't have a movie or TV series to her name. Smh.

Not trying to be mean, but the prose has really taken a fucking nosedive in comparison with the first one. Several typos, awkward grammar all over the place. Slow going as a result.

This is my third...fourth? Time starting Gass's distressing masterpiece. Covid's making me feel my own mortality, and I've realized there are a number of books I really want to go to the grave having actually managed to finish. Let's see how this shakes out.

Back. Happy New Year.

Just FYI: I haven't stopped reading books. This social media account is more-or-less shut down. I find reading much more enjoyable when I don't feel pressure to give a star rating and leave a review for books I do and don't enjoy.

There's a hell of a lot more genital mutilation than I expected in this book. o.O

*Anna, page 1-436*: "My son is the most important person in the world! I'd rather DIE than let my husband take him away from me!"

*Anna, page 437*: "Oh shit, my boy toy wants to take me around the world? Better drop this brat off with my husband first - wouldn't want his crying to spoil my sexy fun!"

Hmm yes, I wonder why these half-starved peasants who were literally slaves a decade ago aren't working hard enough, Levin. Especially when you're paying them the princely sum of "do it or I throw you in jail." Truly one of the most difficult questions to answer in all of Russia.

Anna is totally the cool aunt who sneaks you a sip of her wine and lets you watch r-rated movies.

Goddamn, Prince Scherbatsky is a SAVAGE.

Trying to approach with an open mind and a sharp eye. This book is baffling.

Not the Game Change 2016 edition we wanted, but the one we deserve.

What I'm getting from this prologue is basically: "Fuck you, Katniss Everdeen. You wouldn't last ten seconds in a 3-on-1 knifefight."

Reading this is like being struck by a bolt of lighting. I need to find everything else Ligotti has ever written, put it in a big-ass pile and read all of it right now.

Karl's dad seems like a pretty cool guy.

Am I allowed to use 'Proust' as an adjective? Because this is Proust as fuck.

I just looked at the "Recommended For You" list Goodreads generated for me. It's a mixture of self-pubbed romance novels, books that are something like fourth in a seven book series, and a bunch of shitty-looking "must-read" YA novels that aren't even out yet. It's kind of comforting to find out they don't know shit about me.

Doc noticed a sort of fake chiseled stone frieze above the portrait, which read, ONCE YOU GET THAT FIRST STAKE DRIVEN, NOBODY CAN STOP YOU. --ROBERT MOSES.
"A great American, and Michael's inspiration," said Sloane. "That's always been his motto."
"I thought Dr. Van Helsing said that."

The gentle man or woman who owned this book before me took the liberty of marking with a highlighter the first thirty pages or so, noting every instance of Gass' alliteration: from acrostics made from the first letter of each word in a sentence to syllables repeated throughout half a paragraph. Consequently the pages are practically wet with blue ink.

I really like the way Gibson creates these bizarre, evocative words (polt, Michikoid, etc) and lets the setting slowly reveal what they mean through context clues. Feels like training wheels for understanding whatever the hell is going on with this setting.

After some thought, I've decided not to have a "will read X number of books this year" goal this year. Reason being, I get this awful treadmill mentality where I prioritize short, light novels over heavier fare. There are too many awesome books that have been sitting in my 'to-read' pile for months since I don't have "time" to read them, because of a totally artificial constraint I've put on myself. Fuck that.

The conventional belief that people achieve maturity as they accumulate experiences of every kind seemed to her untrue. She thought it more likely human beings were no more than blind ditches through which sundry objects flowed, or the stone pavement at a crossroads printed with the tracks of vehicles of every kind which have since passed on. Ditches rot and stone pavement wears away.

"I wrote this book after my kids went to sleep. I wrote this book on the subways and on airplanes and in between setups while I shot a television show. I wrote this book from scribbled thoughts I kept in the Notes app on my iPhone and conversations I had with myself in my own head before I went to sleep. I wrote it ugly and in pieces."

Huh? I'm done? Apparently this book has a LOT of end notes.

Batten down the hatches b/c I'm about to compare Chomsky to Anita Saarkesian: both of them are bludgeoners. I've noticed this. Reading a chapter of this is like watching FemFreq; it starts with "here's my premise" and pummels you with piece after piece of evidence, far past the point where you'd go "okay you have a point," well into the territory of smothering you with existential fear and dread. True but exhausting.

If you're curious what the large number of books I've just added to my "Want to Read" list have in common, they're all by authors who have been targeted by death threats and smear campaigns by this person over the years:
http://laurajmixon.com/2014/11/a-repo...

Don't let the SFF community fall victim to GamerGate-level tactics. Fight back.