Sunday, October 28, 2012

The Men Who Sleep With My Husband

It's time for a book review!!!

(come on...what did you think I was talking about?)

Enjoy!


The Men Who Sleep With My Husband
by Alicia Coston
Indigo Press 2008






Are you in the mood for some trashy fun? I mean really trashy? I’m talking Dynasty* meets The Real Housewives of New Jersey on the set of the Jerry Springer Show trashy? Then you’ve got to read "The Men Who Sleep with My Husband", by Alicia Coston.

I picked this book up for my kindle (for free, of course) because…well, who could resist a title like that? And in case you think the title is just overly dramatic hyperbole, let me assure you, the very first scene of the book will disabuse you of that notion (although, to be fair, the title is euphemistic – there’s not a lot of ‘sleeping’ going on). But I get ahead of myself. Let’s start with a brief synopsis, then we’ll meet some of the characters.

Brief synopsis: A woman discovers her husband is cheating on her (with men) and she takes a hit out on his lovers.

Simple enough, yes?

No. Not simple at all. This story is a big bowl full of crazy…and I mean that in the best way possible.

Almost without exception, every single character that’s introduced ends up being coincidentally connected – in some ridiculous way – to the principals of the story. It’s outlandish and barely believable and a whole lot of fun!

To start, we have Lavender (yes, her name is Lavender; I am not making this up), the central character and the cuckquean (I’m not making that up either; google it) implied in the title.

Lavender’s husband, Quincy, is cheating on her with another man. Lavender’s husband is also the pastor of their church. And the man he’s having an affair with is one of the deacons. She walks in on the deacon fellating her husband…in the pulpit…in the very first sentence of the book!!! (I told you this was awesome).

Lavender manages to keep her cool long enough to flee the church unnoticed, but not long enough to avoid rear-ending an off-duty cop while she erratically drives home. This point – where we meet the cop and his passenger – is the place to start paying attention, because it’s where the coincidental connections start.

Okay, I was going to do a vague-ish (so as not to spoil the story) breakdown of who all these people are and how they are connected, but that’ll take too long and it’s late (3:30am) and I’m lazy. So, since I highly doubt any of you are actually going to read this book, I’m just going to shout SPOILER ALERT and dive into it…

So Lavender, unwilling to face the shame and scandal if the truth came out – she is the First Lady of her church, after all – decides to hire a hitwoman (named Dulce) to kill her husband’s lovers and frame her husband for their murders…thereby creating an even bigger scandal…which would only reflect badly on him and not at all affect her or their teenaged son…? I’m not really following her logic here…

Unfortunately, the plan backfires almost right away. Dulce offs the deacon, but before Lavender can start planting the evidence Dulce gives her, the police arrest the deacon’s widow. Of course, the lead officer on the case happens to be the detective Lavender rear-ended. Oh! And she’s having an affair with him as well!

It only gets more complicated, so try to keep up!

The cop, Tai, had been having a brief fling with a girl named Zoe (his passenger when he was rear-ended) who he picked up at a bar. What he didn’t know was that Zoe was actually 17, had been dating Danny (the son of Sargeant Garcia, his hated rival) and coincidentally went to high school with Lavender’s son, Jalen (with whom she later became friends).

Also Zoe’s dad, Tom, had coincidentally gone to college with Lavender’s husband Quincy. Tom and Quincy had dated for two years until Tom’s father found out, beat the crap out of him and made them break up. Oddly enough (or maybe not so odd), at a later point in the book, Quincy and Tom reconnect, and end up kissing. Jalen walks in on them, flips out, and ends up beating the crap out of Tom as well.

(By the way, since this book is so ridiculous, I won’t get into the extremely problematic situation of having a “weak” “gay” character whose sole purpose is to serve as a literal punching bag upon which the “strong”, “conflicted” straight men can work out their issues with regards to what is and what is not “acceptable” male sexuality and behaviour)

Had enough yet? No? Good, because there’s more!

Tai – who’s falling in love with Lavender – has an “evil” ex-wife, Mena, who divorced him because he was “married” to his job and therefore not paying enough attention to her. Turns out she’d been having an affair…with his dad!! And the best part? Apparently, on more than one occasion, their daughter Sabine had heard her mom and grandfather getting it on!!

Ewwwww!

There are several other side stories that get dragged into the mix:

  • Quincy’s affair with Madam Woo, the drag queen who’s also a prostitute – though Quincy doesn’t realize this until he gets a post-coital payment request (which he refuses to make, until Madame Woo and her “butch dyke” pimp, Sonny, beat the crap out of him. But don’t worry, they get their come-uppance, too. Dulce kills Woo, Sonny and Sonny’s girlfriend).

  • Zoe’s therapist, Denard (who coincidentally went to high school with Quincy and had been Quincy’s first sexual experience) who shows up towards the end of the book and outs Quincy and denounces him as a hypocrite in front of his entire congregation.

  • Dulce the hitwoman, first being blackmailed by her mother (Dulce takes a contract out on her and has her killed) then being “unmasked” by Tai when she coincidentally saves his daughter from an attempted kidnapping. He let’s her go – on the condition that she leave town and never come back – because all of the people she’d killed had “deserved it”.

  • Lavender’s decision not to frame her husband for the murders, but rather her best friend Corrine’s philandering husband Neil, who gave Corrine HIV and, later, attempts to rape Lavender.

Whew! Okay, I’m done. There’s only so much ridiculousness even I can take. If you’re actually interested in knowing what happens at the end (here’s a hint: two characters die and a third gets a “new beginning”), I suggest waiting for the Lifetime Movie to come out. Although…since the “cast” is 95% black, it’ll probably air on BET or on Oprah’s network …probably…

Or, more realistically, Tyler Perry will make it into a feature film and he himself will play the role of Lavender in drag.

I would TOTALLY pay to see that movie!

…at any rate, I’ll keep my eyes peeled and let you know if/when they make the movie and where it’s playing…

In the meantime, stay away from this book. It’s ridiculous…

…though, if you must read it, I can “loan” it to you via my kindle…












*for those of you born after 1990, Dynasty was a prime-time soap opera on the ABC network; it was basically the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, but with good real actors.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Something else I found in the attic...



...and decided to dust off and bring into the light.

Enjoy...


Descent

For this darkness, though of deepest obscurity, is yet radiantly clear...
                                                -Dionysius the Areopagite

At the touch of the Fire Qadosh the earth melted into a liquor clear as water.
At the touch of the Fire Qadosh the water smoked into a lucid air.
At the touch of the Fire Qadosh the air ignited, and became Fire.
                                -Unknown

it begins with the blood. a single drop. loosed from its coursing torrent with the prick of a sharpened blade. the point enters flesh. the desire to push deeper, to release more blood is great, fair to overwhelming. but one drop is all that is required, so one drop is all that is drawn.

it is carried on the tip of the knife, carefully. once the designated place is reached, the blade is turned. the drop falls to the chosen spot. words are spoken and the air shimmers.

a figure appears. faint at first, barely discernible. it starts to take shape, apparently drawing substance from the blood. a torso forms, then arms, legs. finally a head. the head is featureless except for a pair of glistening eyes. they coruscate, changing color, appearance: golden with cat-eye slits; all black, with several tiny white pupils; finally blue, completely blue, with silver, split irises that swing from side to side, seeing everything.

*          *          *

Tuesday morning: What time is it? He rolled over and opened his eyes, turned his head until he could focus on the display of his alarm clock. It was 5:45 am, two hours before he had to get up. He closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep. And dreamt. 

There were clouds, thousands upon thousands of them; commingling yet still individually discernible. The sky was blue but it was on fire. There was no heat, no smoke, only light: blinding, brilliant, incandescent light. It burned his eyes. He turned his head, closed and covered his eyes, but he could not shut it out.

And there were voices. A hundred voices, a thousand voices, a million voices. A mad, cacophonous chorus, crying, shouting, screaming – singing. Singing out a single word, over and over and over. “Qadosh, qadosh, qadosh.” The song filled his ears, filled his head to bursting. He opened his mouth to cry out and the sound entered him. And the light entered him. And he was consumed.

He awoke with a start, leaned his head over the edge of the bed and vomited onto the floor. His body shook as he went through the convulsions. Then it was over. He leaned back, breathing heavily, wiping his mouth, not seeing the traces of blood in the dark. He glanced over at the clock.  It was 5:45 am.

*          *          *

it begins with the blood; a single drop of blood. your blood.

you pick up the knife, freshly sharpened, and hold it poised, point-down above your wrist. a smile spreads across your face. you lower the knife slowly until it rests against your flesh. then you start to press. your flesh dimples, then breaks. the knifepoint sinks in.  your smile grows wider. you withdraw the knife, turning your wrist and the knife to catch the drop on the knifetip.  you carry it to the designated spot and watch as the drop falls to the floor. laughter echoes in the darkened room. still smiling, you move back and wait.

you realize the knife is still in your hand. it’s time to play. you think of a letter. “t.” what starts with “t”? thigh! the blade caresses your naked thigh, back and forth. slowly at first, then faster. and faster. back and forth and back and forth, like a razor on a strop. you look down and see that you’ve shaved a layer of skin off your leg. more laughter. louder this time. whose is it? yours? you hold the knife firmly by the hilt. again the point is facing down. you grimace as it penetrates your newly-skinned thigh. you push. harder this time.  the blade sinks in. one inch. two. three. you howl in ecstasy.

your cry ceases as you hear a sound. faint at first, it grows rapidly, until you recognize it: the beating of wings. you have succeeded again.

*          *          *

Wednesday afternoon: Well, it’s finally happened.  I’m officially crazy. He walked out of his doctor’s office and down the hall to the pharmacy and rang the bell. The pharmacist appeared. He handed over the prescription and waited.  I wonder what this stuff is going to do to me.  He frowned as he recalled the list of “possible side effects”. The pharmacist returned with the medication.  He paid, pocketed the bottle of pills and left.

He walked back to work, openly staring at the people on the sidewalk around him.  I wonder if they can tell.  I wonder if they can see it, just by looking at me.  He concentrated on their faces, scrutinizing each one as he passed, scowling as he did so.  People started to move away, giving him a wide berth.  Some crossed to the other side of the street, one woman almost getting hit by a car in her haste.  Stupid bitch! Serve her right to get hit.  Hmmm, I guess this means that they can tell.   He tore his gaze away from the people surrounding him Bastards! Freaks! and focused on his shoes, not looking up until he was in front of his building.

Finally back at his desk, he took the bottle out of his pocket and held it, contemplating its contents. He took out a pill and placed it on his desktop, focusing on it to the exclusion of all else: his ringing phone, his inquisitive co-worker, his angry supervisor.  For a moment, he turned a flat, empty stare upon the phone; the ringing stopped.  He turned it upon his co-worker; the inquiring stopped.  He turned it upon his supervisor; the yelling stopped.  He turned back, in silence, to the pill.

*          *          *

it begins with the blood, gallons and gallons of blood:  from drunken youths who foolishly followed you home; from homeless men seeking food in exchange for ‘work’; from the bored housewife next door, wanting attention and validation; from her horny husband, looking for excitement and thrills; from the silly little girl scout, desperate to unload her last box of thin mints. foolish, trusting, easy prey. and so full of blood.

you revel in it: smeared on your face, dripping off your chin, clotted in your hair. painted on your body – your very own Renaissance Masterpiece. you use it, one drop at a time, to bring them down to you, hoping that they will be find you worthy and take you among them.

*          *          *

Thursday evening:  So far so good.  No real side effects apart from a little nausea.  Could be worse I suppose.  He sat in the subway car, seemingly staring off into the middle distance – apparently lulled by the gentle swaying of the train – yet surreptitiously watching his fellow passengers: the girl directly across from him, wearing headphones yet playing her music loud enough to disturb all the people around her; the man sitting across the aisle talking incessantly on his cell phone; the young couple behind him unable to stop their baby from crying; the homeless woman wearing a construction worker’s hardhat, talking and singing to herself.  He felt nothing. No anger, no hatred, no disgust.  No desires of any kind. I guess this stuff really is working.  

The train began to slow; it was nearing his stop. He stood and moved towards the doors
glad that he was done with his day and almost home. As the train lurched to a halt, he lost his balance and fell forward onto a young man standing in front of him. The young man reached out to steady him and their eyes met.  Five minutes later, the young man was with him, riding in the passenger seat of his car. Five minutes after that, the young man was lying on the floor, in the dark, slowly bleeding to death

*          *          *

it begins with the blood; it always begins with the blood. and then the sounds: ripping and tearing, like great sails whipping back and forth in a storm. sounds like wings – enormous wings, thousands of them – beating back and forth.  coming closer, drawn to the blood. demanding the blood.

*          *          *

Friday night: He stood in the doorway, knife dangling at his side in a loose grip, surveying his handiwork. His doctor was dead. Well, he did say that I would no longer feel like killing myself! He smiled at that thought, and brought the knife up to his face, tapping the point against his teeth, ignoring the blood that still ran down the blade. He looked to his right; they were still there, watching him. They seemed displeased. He shrugged and smiled wider as he knelt and began to prepare the doctor’s body. One of them moved towards him, shuffling and dragging itself forward. He looked up at it and it stopped. It shuddered violently for a moment, then its head leaned back and its jaw fell open.  A voice issued forth:

to be continued…

Thursday, October 25, 2012

How I became an Internationally Renowned Blogger™ *



(*this hasn’t happened yet, but it will. I’m…chronicling the process as it unfolds…)
 

As I mentioned some months earlier, after my Kindle died I came across a web site that allows readers access to as-yet-unpublished galleys for review purposes. I was excited at first because I love to read, I love sharing my well-informed, interesting, unique opinions and, despite my current “economic situation”, it turns out that, with the help of a little “creative budgeting”, I can totally afford free books!

My excitement dimmed just a wee bit, however, when I noticed one of the membership criteria: they want readers who will benefit them, i.e. popular bloggers with lots of web traffic. Actually, it’s the publishers who want that (but not all of them, hence the ease with which I got my copy of “Revealing Eden” – she just wanted exposure, apparently not caring if it was good or bad) so they can get good press for their upcoming books.

I’ll admit I was a little put-off by this (put-off I said, not “demoralized and filled with self-doubt”, put-off…just a little) but I decided I would take this as a challenge. I would use it as an opportunity to transform myself from an ordinary, well-read, intelligent private citizen to an Internationally Renowned Blogger™.

Seriously.

And I’m already two-thirds of the way there! I was born in the states and now live in Kenya (where I’m still waiting for my citizenship papers, grrr!) so I’m totally international. And, well, you’re reading my blog, so there’s that.

All that’s left is to garner some renown. Between the, uh, hundreds of facebook friends I have and my, uh, swiftly** growing twitter following (seriously, follow me on twitter – “@wanderover”) it shouldn’t take…more than…mmmmaybe a couple of decades(?)...for me to achieve my goal!  

At which point I shall be able to mercilessly mock the publishers who didn’t deem me “adequate” to review their – ah, I mean…I’ll be able to use my newfound powers and influence as an Internationally Renowned Blogger ™ to aid the semi-literate masses in their never-ending Quest for Knowledge!!!

…or, you know, I’ll have my fifteen minutes as an internet celebrity.

Whatever!

Follow me on twitter, darn it! (@wanderover)

And keep your eyes peeled…I’ve got some reviews coming up…

(and, in case you didn’t get it, the point of this post is that you need to be following me on twitter – and don’t worry, you won’t be bombarded w/ the usual nonsense…just my blog updates…mostly…)

(@wanderover)










**for values of “swift” where the rate of follower-growth is ‘fast’ relative to, say, the rate of evolution of the human species.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Clearly I've *not* been living up to my own tagline...

...at least not the "chatty" part, and I need to fix that...I've got some book reviews coming up this week. But for now...

So, I was rummaging around in some dusty old boxes in the attic when I stumbled across my old MySpace blog (who knew MySpace even still existed?). I was tempted to shamefacedly eliminate the entire thing, but I got sucked into reading instead.

I came across this poem (which I wrote AGES ago) and I realized that I really liked it and decided to share it here. Maybe I'll start writing some poetry again...

Enjoy!




Broke

the car won’t start
tried it this morning and
the engine won’t turn
over the last few months it’s been sitting
on the street
gathering tickets and dust
and shit covers it
from all the local birds, and dogs
wander by, sniff the tires, move on
it’s not worth the time
and the expense to fix it
would break me

Monday, October 1, 2012

A little bit about Leo

Enjoy...




Do you ever ‘see’ things? Like, out of the corner of your eye? Just, little flashes of movement? I do. All the time. I’ll be walking into a room, when, I swear, I’ll see something dash under the bed; or around the corner of the couch; or behind the fridge.

It scares me a little.

When I was a kid it terrified me. I used to tell my mom about it. She thought it was cute.

When I was really young, she assuaged my fears and told me that what I was seeing were fairies and elves. If I were a good kid and if I ate all my veggies, they would come to me in my dreams and take me to play in their magic gardens.

As I got older (yet still young enough to believe her), she changed her tune. She warned me that they were goblins. If I misbehaved, or ditched school, or didn’t do my homework, the goblins would come at night and drag me to their underground caverns where they would cook me up in a stew to serve to their king.

I asked her, once, how the “elves and fairies” managed to become “goblins”. Her answer? As kids grew up, they became more and more rotten, so the “good” spirits would turn away from them and the “bad” spirits would covet them.

By the time I was nine, she had me convinced that I was eventually going to be dragged to Hell and tortured for eternity.

My mom was kind of fucked up.

One day, when I was eleven, I came home from school and found the house empty. My mom was gone and so was all our stuff. I ran upstairs to my room. Nothing was there. Not my bed, not my clothes, not my teddy bear. I checked the bathroom: even my toothbrush was gone.

The police officer told me that my mom was “missing” and that he would do his best to find her. The social worker told me that my mom had “run away” but would eventually come back. She said she would help me find a temporary mom in the meantime. The neighbor said my mom was taken away, screaming and crying, in the back of a white van. And that I’d never see her again.

Those were all lies. I knew what was going on; the goblins had come and taken my mom away. But why had they taken all of our stuff?

I managed to sneak away while the police officer and the social worker and the neighbor were arguing about what had happened to my mom. I slipped through the patio doors, crept across the deck and hopped the back fence. Then I ran.

I ran, blindly and carelessly, not knowing where I was going, just needing to get away. If the goblins had my mom, I knew it was only a matter of time before they came for me. I knew I was old enough that I’d be taken right past the Goblin King’s stewpot and end up smack dab in Hell. I didn’t want to know what would happen to me then.

Finally, I had to stop; my lungs were burning and my legs ached. I had a stitch in my side and my whole body was trembling. I fell to my knees, head down, gasping for air. After a few minutes, I collapsed onto the ground and started sobbing; I was exhausted and terrified and I had no idea what to do. My mom was gone, my stuff was gone and I was all alone. I decided to just give up; I shut my eyes and waited for the goblins to come get me.

As far as plans went this was hardly the best, but I was eleven and I didn’t know any better. I waited for what seemed an eternity yet nothing happened. Finally, I lifted my head and carefully opened one eye, expecting the worst. Instead of a wall of hungry goblins, however, I was faced with just a wall. A wall made of dark, sooty bricks that stretched away in either direction as far as I could see. I stood up slowly and looked around. In front of me was the wall, behind me was nothing: literally, nothing.

I gasped and backed up until I was pressed up against the wall. What I was looking at was impossible, yet there it was: nothing. No streets, no streetlights, no houses, no people, no trees, no sound; absolutely nothing. A sea of black stretched silently before me and I just knew it went on forever.  It was as if I stood on a cliff at the end of the world.

Too spent to cry anymore, I simply turned around and faced the wall, determined to ignore the darkness behind me. If there was a wall, then there had to be something on the other side and there had to be a way to get there. I looked first to the left and then to the right, trying to determine which way to go. When I looked back to the left, I jumped in shock: there was a door right there! It hadn’t been there a moment ago. I looked to the right, then back again. The door was still there. I stepped over to examine it.

It was a dark, thick, wooden door with a heavy brass knocker just at my eye-level, but there was no doorknob. There was a word written below the knocker, but it was very faint. I could make out a few letters – what looked like a capital “L” maybe a “c” and “n” – but that was it. I tested the door, pushing against it lightly. It didn’t move. I tried harder, shoving against it but still nothing. I was hesitant to break the silence by using the doorknocker, but that seemed my only option.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the knocker, ready to give the door a couple of good, hard raps. No sooner had I lifted it, however, when, with a small click, the door opened. It was just a crack, but it was enough. With a tremendous sense of relief I pushed the door all the way open and walked through.  

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

At LAST!! Eden is revealed!


It's done! It's long, but it's done. Enjoy...





(A brief aside before I begin: Regardless of the author’s intent in writing this book, and her subsequent arguments defending it, there’s a whole lotta racism going on in here. Smarter people than me have already blogged that issue to death, so I’m not going to touch it. If you are dying to know about it, go here and read the first dozen reviews: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12393909-revealing-eden)

So, I finally figured out why my review of “Revealing Eden” was taking so long; I was approaching it in the wrong way. For some reason, I was treating it like an academic essay (thesis, arguments, conclusion, etc.).

I hate academic essays.

I’m just going to review it the way I would if I were talking to a friend (and since you’re reading my blog, I’m assuming we’re friends…=')    )

I’ll start with a very basic synopsis:

Revealing Eden, a future dystopia that’s meant to “turn racism on its head”, is the story of Eden Newman, a young white girl living in a post-cataclysm world where black people rule and white people are oppressed. In her quest to find a mate (and help her genius-scientist father save the human race), she falls in love with her black employer.

If that sounds dull, uninspired and uninteresting, that’s because it is. The problem with “Revealing Eden” is that the writing is so lazy – oftentimes sloppy – that the characters and settings are woefully underdeveloped and the book is rife with inconsistencies to its own internal logic.

To wit:

The world is ruled by black people, yet the one person smart enough to “save” everyone is a white guy (Eden’s father).

The names given to the different races are referred to as “slurs” yet only the one for black people is an actual insult (both in the book and in real life).

The surface of the planet is supposed to have been ravaged and rendered unlivable by the “Great Meltdown”, yet there’s a section of the Amazon Rainforest that not only survived intact, but is also peopled by the “mysterious” Huaorani tribe (who, by the way, do actually exist, in Ecuador, but who do not speak Spanish, contrary to what the book portrays).

The white people are supposed to wear a dark skin coating to protect them from the deadly rays of the sun, yet Eden traipses around the Amazon – free of her coating – and doesn’t get so much as a tan.

Speaking of Eden (the girl who’s going to help save humankind is named Eden…New…Man – not gonna touch that one), though she’s supposed to be smart and capable, her actions reveal her to be shallow, superficial and naïve.

She figures out her father’s secret world-saving plan – that’s supposed to be kept a secret – and uses it to impress a black guy she’s trying to bed. He, of course, betrays her and uses the information in a bid to seize power so he can kill off all the white people.

Also, she constantly spouts off the scientific names of plants and animals because…well, I’m not sure why she does this. She does it at the most random intervals but it’s never explained why. Maybe it’s meant to show her intelligence? If that’s the case, it doesn’t work. It becomes tedious and distracting and makes her seem less intelligent, rather than more.

Okay, I’m done with this; it’s time to shift gears here. While I was reading the book, I made copious notes to help with the review. I’m just going to include the relevant ones here, because they’re illustrative and will easily make my point for me…also, thinking about this book is starting to give me a headache and I have stuff of my own I need to be writing.

If you don’t feel like reading the notes, that’s fine. I’ll just say, as an ending note: This author took a potentially interesting idea and did a terrible job at executing it. Apparently, the idea was done right in Malorie Blackman’s “Noughts and Crosses” Check that out instead.



My notes:

“They must not see” (p. 10 – first page of story, 2nd sentence. I get the need to other the “bad guys”, but given the history of the US, and the nature of this story, referring to black people as “them” is probably not the wisest decision. she does this a lot)

(what’s w/ all the scientific names? – distracting)

(who names a character “Peach”, like actual name instead of nickname?)

“Experience something pleasant” (p. 11 – shouldn’t that be think of something pleasant?)
“Pearls, the racist term for whites” (p. 12)

“Images of Pearls in natural coloring were forbidden. If they caught Eden looking, she would be punished” (p. 13 – if the images are forbidden, why does she have such easy access to them?)

“…according to the antique Beauty Map…” (p. 13 – what the hell is a beauty map?)

“Me? Eden Newman?” (p. 13 – Eden Newman…Eden…New Man…subtlety this is not…)

“She was a lowly Pearl, worth nothing (emph mine) in a world ruled by dark skinned Coals” (p. 13 – because pearls are worthless…???)

“Because of his high intelligence scores, they had overlooked his race and given him the position of lead scientist” (p. 14 – on her scientist father getting a lead research position. no one else – no one else – in the entire society is smarter than this one “Pearl”…) 


“Since their numbers hadn’t been decimated in The Great Meltdown, as the other races’ had, they now ruled the planet” (p. 15 – because having greater numbers always determines who rules…)

“Only Cottons, the derogatory word for albinos, were lower, and they were extinct.” (p. 15 – because albinism denotes a separate “race” and not a genetic trait)

“If Eden wasn’t mated in six months when she turned eighteen – the deadline for girls – she’d be cut off from Basic Resources, and left outside to die.” (p. 15)

“Eden flinched. One of them was touching her. White-hot light exploded in her head. Before she knew it, she blurted out an incendiary racial slur.
‘Get your hands off of me, you damn Coal!’ ” (p. 15)

“The girl lunged for her, but Eden jumped out of reach.
“She pushed me!” Ashina cried, falling to the floor.” (p. 15 – how can you “push” someone towards you?)

“Even those whom she thought tolerated her presence hurled racial epithets.
‘Earth-damned Pearl!’
‘White death!’ ”(p. 15)

“…skin the color of storm clouds…” (p. 17 – aren’t storm clouds usually various shades of gray – from light to dark? …mmmaybe, 50 shades of gray?)

“…a mixed Asian, or Amber, as the racist term went…” (p. 18)

“…why not pick a Tiger’s Eye, or Latino? They ranked higher in the race wars than Ambers, who stood above Pearls.” (p. 19)

(she refers – repeatedly in the story – to Jamal, the head of security, as her Dark Prince.) p. 19

“Only a cold bastard like Bramford could resist Jamal’s charm. His expression remained impassive, as closed off as his past.” (p. 20 – if this is meant to be foreshadowing, it is really clumsy. if not, what purpose does it serve? in the next pp she talks of “researching” him – why/how would a “lowly Pearl” get access to such information?)

“Eden found the custom gold ring, which held a large onyx stone, as pretentious as its owner.” (p. 20 – custom gold ring w/ a large onyx (obviously the author is aware of its worth) – yet the black people are referred to as Coals…???)

(random and recurring mentions of genetics/genomes. why? to add “feeling” of being scientific/intellectual?) p. 21

(the main character vacillates between haughtily condescending and ridiculously naïve – is that meant to represent a typical teenager? but she grew up in a “post-apoc wasteland” so she’s not a typical teenager) p.21

“Even here she couldn’t escape Bramford’s colossal ego. Like an animal, he had marked his territory by carving a ridiculously large initial “B” onto each unit door. His audacious company logo – a snow-capped black mountain against a red desert background that offered a false hope in a parched land – glowed at intervals along the walls. As if he owned everything, including her” (p.22 – uh…what CEO doesn’t tag everything with their brand?)

“…happiness had gone the way of the dolphins.” (p. 23 – what a strange thing to say)

“…she flashed on the date: the 29th of May, her half birthday. For Earth’s sake, how could she have forgotten?” (p. 24 – she didn’t forget. see note from page 15)

“…her lingering anger over Bramford’s lies…” (p. 25 – what lies has he told?)

“A Pink Pearl [Eden’s mother] was fairer than Eden, and therefore even more susceptible to the Heat. But she’d been lax about coating. Minor rebellions keep the heart alive, she would say.” (p. 27 – so, is this “coating”, this Midnight Luster, is it mandatory so the Coals don’t get offended by the sight of Pearls, or is it some kind of preventative/prophylactic/”sunblock” that the Pearls need for enviro protection?)

“Eden switched on Austin’s nutrient teat, and he began to suck hungrily on it.” (p. 27 – in a future of limited resources where Pearls are at the bottom of the ladder, why would a Pearl have not only the luxury of owning a dog, but also a dog-feeding system built in to her home?)

“…his powerful body dominating the small space like a mountain in a cave…” (p. 67 – who writes like this? what does it mean?)

“Nearly two decades of oxy drips had…”(p. 108 – she’s 17½ and started oxy when she was 5 – that’s NOT nearly two decades, that’s just over one decade)

Was it because Eden now lacked a shed of dark coating? (p. 111 – where is the editor???)

“The name had struck a nerve in him. If she said it again, he might make her pay. He might grab her with those big, rough hands and pin her down.” (p. 113 – ok, this reads like really bad porn-lite. and, of course, the black guy with “those big, rough hands”…)

“Luckily, she recalled a few Spanish words she had learned whenever her sensors had translated.” (p. 116 – what does this mean? when had her sensors translated Spanish?) 

“She slipped on a pile of Brazil nuts and fell onto a log.” (p. 125 – wha? huh? why?)

“It’s evident that you have a talent for aggravating him. A common female tactic to attract the male’s attention.” (p. 133 – this is her father talking to her. I suppose being a “brilliant scientist” does not preclude being a sexist d-bag)

“Eden knew the woman meant well. But then, the road to Earth’s destruction had also been paved with good intentions.” (p. 137 – on the “native woman” putting a poultice on her father’s wound…what the f**k!!!)

“Maria gave her a warning look. ‘Bejuco de oro muy fuerte.’ ”(p. 138 –  <== that is not a sentence!!!!!)

“In fact, the Huorani met the most trivial events with a happiness that puzzled Eden. Maybe they didn’t know how boring their lives were.” (p. 140 – what an awful person she is)

“If only Austin were there to protect her. If only she had paid attention to his warnings.” (p. 146 – …Austin was her dog…)

(The amount of “convenient” knowledge she possesses is simply ridiculous) p. 151

(This girl is giving a nature lecture as she’s about to be killed by a giant snake) p. 156

“…Eden peered inside at an unappetizing dark brown watery soup, surprisingly odorless.” (p. 173 – her sentence constructions are awful)

“…he seemed as far away from her as the world was from their lonely encampment.” (p. 174 – this turn of phrase does not work for a post-apoc planet where most live underground and these two are in the ‘last bit of green’ anywhere.)

“To her surprise, Bramford squeezed her hands, as if he were trying to communicate.” (p. 174 – they then go on to have a 2-3 page conversation…so he didn’t need to try…)

(having a “let’s-reveal-all-of-one-character’s-secrets-while-he’s-in-a-drug-induced-stupor” conversation is so lazy!!!) p. 179

“Love? If it did exist, it hurt like Bleeding Earth.” (p. 181 – what the heck does this mean?)

“It never occurred to Eden that various parts of a plant contained different remedies – it was just a plant.” (p. 201 – she was assistant to her father – the most brill scientist EVAR – and smart enough to piece together his “plan” and can’t go 5 sentences w/o dropping some scientific nomenclature, but this shit about plants never occurred to her?)

“…the tube-lipped nectar bat, Anoura fistulata, so necessary for pollination in the rain forest…”(p. 202 – yet the plant info never occurred to her)

“What deep dark secret could cause the girls’ irrepressible spirits to wilt? Even Maria’s shoulders sagged. It had to be some superstitious Huaorani belief, perhaps because of his mixed race.” (p. 202 – cos dem brown people’s got some krazeeee ideas about shit!!!)

(this girl is RIDICULOUS!!! she keeps jumping to crazy conclusions based on the skimpiest of “evidence” and then makes decisions based on them!!) p. 202

(This author doesn’t telegraph her punches, she takes out full-page newspaper ads!!!) p. 177/204

“ ‘Are you all right, Daught?’ her father said, his voice shaky. Even now, as his energy drained away, he only showed concern for her. For once the dreaded nickname comforted Eden.” (p. 205 – this makes no sense!!! he’s basically shut her out since her mother’s death and she’s been bitching for the entire book about how he never pays attention to her.)

“Using her finely developed researcher’s skills, she memorized the leaf Maria had given her…”(p. 211 – this book has got to be a joke…it simply has to be…)

(in – what? 3, 4 days TOPS – she’s all of a sudden Sheena, Queen of the Jungle?) p. 211

(she’s seriously – SERIOUSLY – riding him like he’s an actual beast. This book is f*cked up) p. 213

“A delicate rainbow arced high in the glistening air like a stairway to heaven.” (p. 214 – when has a rainbow ever approximated a stairway? maybe a pathway…and, seriously, stairway to heaven? as they head towards Heaven’s Gate?)

“Eden realized that her father probably would be the first non-native to take its medicine. “We could call it Newman’s Cure,” she said, hopefully” (p. 221 – my god!!! how arrogant and selfish is this girl???)

“What on Blessed Earth would it take for Bramford to trust her?” (p. 229 – she has done NOTHING in the entire novel to make anyone trust her.)

She lifted her head to find Austin sprawled on top of Jamal’s face. (p. 234 – what????)

An indirect approach was best, she decided. (p. 241 – that’s all she’s done for the whole book!!!!)

Friday, September 21, 2012

Another excerpt. Sorry it's so brief...

...reading that AWFUL book sort of fried my brain. And I'm STILL not done w/ the d*mn review...Grrrr!

Anyway, enjoy!!



The story I’m about to tell you is true. You’ll think it’s a fiction, or a myth, or a tale for children, but while it has become all those things, it always was – and still remains – true.

Far, far back – in the time before time was recorded – there lived a small man. He was the son of a god. Which god is not important: that god no longer is and the name of that god is best forgotten.

The small man was forlorn and often angry for, though he was the son of a god, he was not a god himself. He desperately yearned to be.

Time passed and the god created more men. These men, however, were not the sons of the god, they were simply the god’s creations. The god made its son to live among the men. The son was pleased at first, as he thought this meant he was to rule the men. The god, however, had given each of the men a strong will and a fine intelligence; they were meant to choose their own ruler and they did not choose the son.

This angered the son beyond reason and he conceived a wicked plan: he would kill the god and assume its place and power. The god knew of this plan as it knew all things. It knew, too, that the plan would fail.

The son crept into the god’s demesne, searching for the key to its power. He stumbled upon a hidden chamber and, sitting in a pool of light upon a pedestal, he found eight silver bracelets arranged in two rows. The first four were whole and unbroken, each set with a large onyx. The next were hinged and the onyx served as a clasp. He could feel them pulsating with the essence and power of the god. Greedily, he snatched at the first and put it on, sliding it up his arm until it fit snugly.

He felt nothing. He grabbed for the second and slid it into place on his other arm. Still, nothing. He fought his anger, knowing the power was there – he could feel it. He quickly placed the other two bracelets on his wrists. Finally! He felt a blush of warmth creeping up his arms towards his chest.

The remaining four, the hinged ones, he quickly clasped around his calves and ankles, the warmth growing as each was added. As he placed the final anklet on, the heat inside him began to burn. He felt the power of the god and he laughed.

The burn kept increasing, however, and his laugh became a scream. Wracked with pain, he clawed at the bracelets, desperate to get them off. They remained affixed tightly to his flesh. He fell to the ground, writhing and shrieking.

Abruptly, the burning stopped and he lay trembling in the aftermath. Before he could even think to rise, pain struck anew. It was a different pain this time; he felt a terrible squeezing, as if held in the powerful grip of the god. As he thrashed about, the pain rapidly became unbearable. Gasping in pain, he gazed upon his body and saw with horror that the bracelets had shrunk: they’d burned through his flesh as they constricted and had fused themselves to the bone beneath, cauterizing the wounds as they made them.

The pain stopped. The chamber went black.

Little man. The voice of the god rang in his ears. Little man, you have coveted that which is not yours. You have overreached yourself and you will suffer dearly for it. This is just the beginning of your punishment.

The voice faded and he was alone in the darkness. Shortly, he noticed a faint, pulsing glow. He looked around and saw that it was coming from the base of the pedestal. He rolled onto his stomach and inched his way towards it like a worm, unable to use his arms and legs, cursing the name of the god. The pulsing increased as he approached. When he reached it, he saw that it was a carved image – the outline of an image – of a creature he did not recognize. It looked somewhat like a man, yet it had too many limbs. As he gazed upon the image, he felt a tingling in his arms and legs.

The tingling soon became an itch, and the itch became a burning. But this time it was far worse. It felt like there were things crawling around underneath his skin! He flopped onto his back and opened his mouth to scream, but he was cut off by a horrific rending sound. He looked down upon his body again; he couldn’t even manage to scream. His skin was tearing.

He stared in horror as his left hand started to split between the second and third fingers. The fissure went up his hand to his wrist until it hit the bracelet. With a sickening crack, his wrist broke into two pieces, the bracelet – somehow unbroken and still fused to his bone – stayed on the left half of his wrist. The process accelerated as the fissure raced up his arm. When his elbow split, he found his voice again; he screamed at last. The second bracelet was loosened by the split, yet it stayed on the right half of his arm, sliding down towards the remains of his wrist where it fused itself again to the bone.

He screamed himself hoarse. His arm had split to the shoulder by this point – the two bloody, tattered stalks that had taken its place waving about feebly in the air. He turned his head, unable to bear the sight of them and regretted it instantly, as he saw the skin on his right hand begin to tear.

He wished for madness to take him, he wished to die; he began praying for release of any kind. His tears of pain turned to tears of gratitude as his mind started to slip away; the pain ebbed as he felt himself leaving the battered shell that had been his body. Just as he was about to topple over the edge and into the abyss, however, he was yanked cruelly back. Laughter rang in his ears – the god was reveling in his torture. He would not be allowed even a moments respite from his fate.

He endured the agony three more times as, one by one his remaining limbs fissured and split. He lay on his back, quivering, watching as his fingers and toes fused and elongated and sharpened to points. At last, his arms and legs fell to the ground motionless.