Bad Literature & Big-Print Books
I don't have a good excuse for reading Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian. She's a bad writer, it's a plodding read, and it's not really my genre. Actually, that's a little bit of a lie. I love supernatural stories in theory. Gothic novels from Charles Robert Maturin, Anne Radcliffe, Henry James are great fun and well-written. And as far as contemporary writers go, I had a good time reading Arturo Perez-Reverte's The Club Dumas and Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum. I mean, I don't really understand what Eco's trying to do, necessarily, in FP -- but the ride is fun.
I know exactly what Kostova's trying to do, though, in The Historian: be as boring as possible while drawing the whole narrative out like she's Dickens or something. Only, Liz? Hi, it's Mike: you're not Dickens. You're a baby step up from the aggressively awful Dan Brown -- but he's looking up your skirt and I think you kinda like it.
I'm in the middle of a scene in the novel where one of the protagonists is arguing with a mysterious Romanian woman with flashing eyes the color of honey. Mysterious honey. What are they arguing about? They're arguing about how the protagonist needs a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula. And the Mysterious Romanian with the Mysterious Honey Eyes has the library's only copy. And she doesn't want to give it back. Because she's mysterious.
In the world of this particular novel, apparently, there's only one library in the world and there are no book stores that sell books. It's not like the protagonist needs that particular copy from that particular library -- he just needs any old copy to find out how to protect himself against vampires.
Did I mention this guy's supposedly a grad student? Yeah: I'm a college drop out, and this guy has the problem-solving skills of [insert political humor here].
You know what? Whatever Lizzie Kostova. Your book is dumb. The novel also suffers from Convoluted Bad Guy syndrome, where the Bad Guy acts like he's controlled by Rube Goldbergian forces so that, instead of taking the easiest way (e.g., killing the protagonist and destroying all the evidence that leads to the Bad Guy), he does things like strangles cats and appears mysteriously in paintings. Maybe Evil needs some time management courses; maybe Evil is suffering from some kind of low self-esteem. What I want Evil to know is: Dude -- you can totally do it! You can go out there, and you can get the job done in one fell swoop, rather than in these awkward step-by-steps. I believe in you, Evil! GO GET 'EM!
The copy I'm reading is a large-print version that I got from the library. I didn't know, when I put it on hold, that it was going to be large print. I also didn't know it was going to suck so much my ears popped. But I'm mostly troubled by the large print. See, I read it on the bus or on the subway -- and for some reason, the large printedness of the book has me convinced that people think I've got some kind of vision problem, which I do, I wear glasses, but I don't have the kind of vision problems that would warrant me reading large-print books. Only now, I feel that not only do I look like I need large-print books, but that I went out of my way to get this book. Which, I mean, yeah, I guess I did kinda since I had to put it on hold.
Mostly, I'm just ashamed of my reading choice. It's all well and good to blame Elizabeth Kostova for her terrible skills as an author: but I'm the one reading this crapfest.
Go me.
I know exactly what Kostova's trying to do, though, in The Historian: be as boring as possible while drawing the whole narrative out like she's Dickens or something. Only, Liz? Hi, it's Mike: you're not Dickens. You're a baby step up from the aggressively awful Dan Brown -- but he's looking up your skirt and I think you kinda like it.
I'm in the middle of a scene in the novel where one of the protagonists is arguing with a mysterious Romanian woman with flashing eyes the color of honey. Mysterious honey. What are they arguing about? They're arguing about how the protagonist needs a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula. And the Mysterious Romanian with the Mysterious Honey Eyes has the library's only copy. And she doesn't want to give it back. Because she's mysterious.
In the world of this particular novel, apparently, there's only one library in the world and there are no book stores that sell books. It's not like the protagonist needs that particular copy from that particular library -- he just needs any old copy to find out how to protect himself against vampires.
Did I mention this guy's supposedly a grad student? Yeah: I'm a college drop out, and this guy has the problem-solving skills of [insert political humor here].
You know what? Whatever Lizzie Kostova. Your book is dumb. The novel also suffers from Convoluted Bad Guy syndrome, where the Bad Guy acts like he's controlled by Rube Goldbergian forces so that, instead of taking the easiest way (e.g., killing the protagonist and destroying all the evidence that leads to the Bad Guy), he does things like strangles cats and appears mysteriously in paintings. Maybe Evil needs some time management courses; maybe Evil is suffering from some kind of low self-esteem. What I want Evil to know is: Dude -- you can totally do it! You can go out there, and you can get the job done in one fell swoop, rather than in these awkward step-by-steps. I believe in you, Evil! GO GET 'EM!
The copy I'm reading is a large-print version that I got from the library. I didn't know, when I put it on hold, that it was going to be large print. I also didn't know it was going to suck so much my ears popped. But I'm mostly troubled by the large print. See, I read it on the bus or on the subway -- and for some reason, the large printedness of the book has me convinced that people think I've got some kind of vision problem, which I do, I wear glasses, but I don't have the kind of vision problems that would warrant me reading large-print books. Only now, I feel that not only do I look like I need large-print books, but that I went out of my way to get this book. Which, I mean, yeah, I guess I did kinda since I had to put it on hold.
Mostly, I'm just ashamed of my reading choice. It's all well and good to blame Elizabeth Kostova for her terrible skills as an author: but I'm the one reading this crapfest.
Go me.
posted by Mike at 12:41 PM
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