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reading tiger

Aw, man, Spares. It turns out to feature the requisite child-sexual-abuse plot token, too. And it was executed in such an OTT manner (an eyelash shy of literal skullfucking; meanwhile, merely a generic kid) that, again, it just warranted an eyeroll. Am I supposed to be SHOCKED that the spares turn out not to be primarily for transplants and secondarily for sexual abuse, but the other way around? Oh. Sorry.

So, now you know that Our Hero inevitably shot Mr. Skullfucker in the head and that moment is what caused the unraveling of his life to date, but it's OK because that miserable grain of integrity is still there and will restore him to glory eventually. In about 20 pages if I counted right.

That scene, btw, also renders all the pouty dour philosophizing that the archetypal noir seems to require especially risible when it's heaped on after The Big Reveal rather than before. We're all just donkeys in the rain! My heart bleeds.

It's not that this is a bad book with a capital B; it's not a Grimdark piece of drek or I would have long ago stopped reading it. It's that I am definitely the wrong audience for it. And it doesn't know that it can have a wrong audience like me. If that makes sense.

My copies of Henry & Glenn Forever had better arrive quick so I can get this taste out of my brain.