I was going to write about books today, but my mind’s on other things. Perhaps after I finish reading Pratchett’s latest (Nation) I might write some kind of mini-review. Ironically, any book reviews that pretend to be intelligent and ‘deep’ tend to be completely unreadable… I should probably avoid doing that.
(Which reminds me, this year’s Bad Sex Awards were recently announced: http://www.literaryreview.co.uk/badsex_11_08.html, well worth a read, if you find my blog entirely untitillating… which is unlikely, but one never knows what kind of readership one has…)
Ah, screw it, I’ll give you some choice excerpts from the Bad Sex Awards 2008. Who needs to write quality prose when you have tripe like this available:
“…but he didn’t know what name to call her. ‘Mrs Rougement’ was the name he had always known her by. God, she was antique, but here they were. Her face gleamed with his jism in the spotty light of the motel room, there on the far end of East Beach, within sound of the sea. The rhythmic relentless shushing returned to their ears. She laid her head on the pillow and seemed to want to be kissed. Well, why not? It was his jism. Having got rid of it, there was an aftermath of sorrow in which he needed to be alone; but there was no getting rid of her. ‘Call me Sukie,’ she said, having read his mind. ‘I sucked your cock.’”
Yeah. That was the most PG-13 passage I could find, too.
I’ll stop with the excerpts now, lest my blog become un-worksafe.
Okay, ONE more.
“At last, she could no longer control the world around her, her five senses seemed to break free and she wasn’t strong enough to hold on to them. As if struck by a sacred bolt of lightning, she unleashed them, and the world, the seagulls, the taste of salt, the hard earth, the smell of the sea, the clouds, all disappeared, and in their place appeared a vast golden light, which grew and grew until it touched the most distant star in the galaxy.”
Really, if you want to read some more, you’ll have to do it in your own time… preferably alone.
It’s kind of hard to draw myself away from reading it, to write this, if I’m totally honest, but I’ll try.
I went out yesterday to try and take some photos, but they didn’t come out all that well. Sometimes the eternal grayness of England can be a little annoying. Then the clouds have an annoying habit of only dissipating when it’s almost twilight — I haven’t seen the sun since I took those photos, actually. I guess it’s even worse up in the Arctic circle, where they only have a few hours of daylight in the winter. Maybe they don’t have the greyness though…
That reminds me! I was invited to Norway! To … um… see some fjords! I think they have some pretty girls too, and lots of oil. And fjords; many fjords. They’re meant to be rather pretty though, and I’m sure they look all glassy, magical, crystalline and blue in the spring. EasyJet can probably get me there for the same price as a sandwich from an airport departure lounge. Reminds me of the time I spent about 8 euros on a tall glass of orange juice in Istanbul airport (en route to Antalya), a meager 40 times more expensive than the 20 euro-cent glass I had in the seedy, stinky, characterful back-streets of the Bazaar.
I think the thing I loved most about my trip to Turkey was Thermessos. I arrived at the bottom of a rather large hill (mountainous by my woefully understated natural-phenomenonish British standards), where a guy in a hut was quite obviously sleeping, whiling away the hours. I poked him gently until he awoke. I tried to communicate that I wanted to see Thermessos, the mighty, unassailable city! The city that Alexander the Great failed to conquer! He simply pointed up a rocky, mud path. That’s tourism in Turkey. A 2 mile mud path up a steep hill… which finally spits you out at the ruins of an ancient city that once had a sizable population. There’s something about standing in an almost-complete Roman theatre, one with 10,000 seats, and singing as loud as you possibly can. It was contrasted rather starkly by a trip to the Colosseum in Rome, which was jam-packed with thousands of tourists. Rome only really exists in its current form to facilitate tourism, it seemed.
Time to finish reading the smut… (Check out the one that features a character called Sebastian…)