PYF terrible book: Freud molesting a thesaurus.

The Something Awful Forums > Main > Post Your Favorite: Carefully Curated > PYF terrible book: Freud molesting a thesaurus.

«‹›3 »

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Anne Rice is basically "what if Stephenie Meyer but GAY VAMPIRES" as far as I remember.

# ¿ Dec 22, 2019 07:01

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ¿ May 21, 2024 07:35

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Screaming Idiot posted:

fixed for accuracy as one came before the other

I was speaking in terms of quality and subject, not which came first.

# ¿ Dec 22, 2019 18:48

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Proud granitite eruptions.

# ¿ Jan 6, 2020 15:20

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

If someone managed to dig up the crap I wrote when I was sixteen I'd be legitimately impressed because I think it all died with a hard drive two decades ago.

# ¿ Jan 6, 2020 19:03

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

You have to be gifted to write something as jaw-droppingly bad as Eye of Argon. I couldn't write that badly if I tried.

# ¿ Jan 7, 2020 01:23

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Antivehicular posted:

The same kid went on to get suspended for three days for turning in an "Oregon Trail diary" English assignment about Hannibal Lecter, Jean-Luc Picard, and Samwise Gamgee as bandits fleeing eastern justice by posing as settlers on the trail, only for Sam and Picard to die of Oregon Trail diseases and Hannibal to snap and massacre the rest of the wagon train, who were all the characters from a dire Oregon Trail novel we'd had to read for class. Sean, wherever you are, you're still my hero.

See we when got this same assignment I just wrote that some classmates I didn't like died from poops. I clearly lacked authorial vision.

# ¿ Jan 8, 2020 18:45

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

there wolf posted:

My final project for The Great Gatsby was a comic about how Nick becomes possessed by the vengeful ghost of Gatsby and going on a murder spree against all the rich people. Got an A+.

Well, yeah, you understood the point of the novel.

# ¿ Jan 9, 2020 17:47

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

I've never read a Harry Potter book or seen a Harry Potter film.

# ¿ Apr 23, 2020 22:23

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

nonathlon posted:

That's hilarious and less a parody, more a straight recounting of the plot. There's a Frederick Forsythe review of The English Patient , where he just takes it apart for all the potholes and pandering to the reader.

IMPATIENT WITH THE ENGLISH PATIENT
It has the wrong aircraft at El Alamein, a double bed in a monestary, and a feeble story:
Frederick Forsyth on the film of the moment

I KNOW it is my fault, and I have no choice but to accept it. The trouble is, I like films with a strong plot, a gripping story and at least an effort made at verisimilitude, authenticity and logicality.

Having read the simperingly reverential reviews of The English Patient, I was persuaded this was a 'must'. Frankly, I found it languid to the point of inertia, pretentious, self-indulgent and with all the authenticity of The Wizard of Oz. The story of a blighted and finally mortal love affair between the Hungarian Count Almasy and the wife of a British colleague is told in (I think I counted aright) 27 flashbacks and jump-forwards between the prewar Egyptian Western Desert starting around 1937 and VE Day in May 1945 in northern Tuscany. But time and again I had to ask myself: who are these people, what are they doing here, how did they get here and why? The story of a blighted and finally mortal love affair between the Hungarian Count Almasy and the wife of a British colleague is told in (I think I counted aright) 27 flashbacks and jump-forwards between the prewar Egyptian Western Desert starting around 1937 and VE Day in May 1945 in northern Tuscany. But time and again I had to ask myself: who are these people, what are they doing here, how did they get here and why? We start (according to a flash-up on the screen) in October 1942 with a young man taking off somewhere in a howling wilderness of desert. Amazingly, he is flying an uncamouflaged, silver-painted Tiger Moth trainer with the registration number of a British flying club. (A minor skirmish called the Battle of El Alamein was in full flow that month in that place.) A glamorous blonde seems to be asleep in the front seat. Within minutes he flies over the world's most isolated German machine-gun nest, a small foxhole without any life-support system, stuck in a sea of sand miles from anywhere. But these Krauts are real aces; though they can never have seen a Tiger Moth (there weren't any at Alamein), they recognise it at once and open up with heavy machine-guns. In mid-air the bullets turn into cannon shells, leaving clusters of black flak over the blue sky. Disdaining to take evasive action, our hero is shot down. Of the blonde we see no more (yet), but the flier is burned to a human crisp. The Germans are pretty blas�, since they decline to investigate the wreck, but some inspiringly compassionate Bedouin wrap him in blankets and take him by camel to the nearest British RAMC post, a tented dressing station. Here he gets first aid before being taken by lorry to (presumably) Cairo for intensive care. Jump forward (or was that later, after some flashbacks? I forget) to a convalescent unit where the flier, hideously deformed, his face a gargoyle, is interrogated by a British officer. Alas, the poor Hungarian cannot recall a thing, so cannot confirm whether he is British or German.

Montgomery's High Command then does something weird. We do not see it, but it must have happened. They take this helpless human wreck and, instead of shipping him back to Blighty on a Red Cross convoy, ran him up to Alexandria, then down to Benghazi, across the Med to Sicily, across the island, over the Straits of Messina, through Calabria, past Naples and Rome and up to the fighting front in northern Tuscany. God knows why.

Anyway, we see the long-suffering flier, still in searing agony, bumping along in another lorry, coming south from the fighting line with a bunch of freshly wounded Tommies. It is now October 1944. The convoy hits a minefield in the road, amazingly untouched considering how many divisions of the Eighth Army must have marched over it heading north. The nurse in charge (Juliette Binoche) decides that her human crisp can take no more of being schlepped up and down the Italian peninsula, even less being ferried from continent to continent. I was not surprised; the crisp has by now clocked up more miles than Thomas Cook.

Spotting an abandoned and ruined Cistercian monastery on the skyline, she flies thither with her single patient and installs him in a large double bed. (Naughty old Cistercians.) Here she reads to him from his favourite book of Herodotus which the Bedouin, who normally take everything including the testicles, have kindly left him.

Through more flashbacks, we learn that since 1938 he has been one of the group of upper-class Hooray Henries mysteriously 'mapping the desert' of Egypt, whisked about their tasks not only by the trusty and incredibly long-range Tiger Moth but also by an American stunt plane. They have jolly evenings round the campfires and occasional furloughs in the prewar elegance of Cairo. In this environment Almasy falls in love with the wife of a colleague, and on Christmas Eve 1938 gives her a right seeing-to in an office while a group of Jocks celebrate outside. The cuckolded husband (Colin Firth) suspects nothing, but he was playing Father Christmas at the time. It apparently takes four years � until October 1942 � for him to suss that his wife is being humped by his mate. Then he gets annoyed. But back to Tuscany...

The nurse is still gazing soulfully at the crisp and reading extracts from Herodotus when into this maelstrom of ennui walk two odd characters. One is a Sikh bomb-disposal expert who loathes the Empire but has nevertheless volunteered for the 4th Indian Division and acquired a commission. He quickly discovers a left-behind German booby-trap bomb right inside the piano on which the nurse is tickling the ivories. (Even naughtier old Cistercians; they are not supposed to have a knees-up after vespers.) This is a sign for her to fall in love with the Sikh and go to share his outhouse. Cue for another right seeing-to; several ladies around me in the cinema ceased nibbling popcorn when the handsome Sikh threatened to produce his biriyani, but it all happened off-camera.

The other unexpected guest is a haggard Canadian called Caravaggio, a tortured soul (literally), for he lacks both thumbs. In another flashback we learn he was a British agent spying against the Germans, was betrayed, caught and tortured. Amazingly he escaped, crossed the desert to British lines and has pursued the man he thinks shopped him from Cairo to an abandoned monastery in Tuscany. Again, God knows how. He interrogates the crisp in an attempt to confirm his suspicions and have revenge. The man on the bed can see a bit, but is himself unrecognisable. Wisely, he stays shtum. Eventually Caravaggio just sort of wanders off, unaware that he was right all along. It was the crisp who grassed him up... I think.

After two hours we are getting the hang of things. Back in Cairo, Santa Claus has finally worked out that his permanently elegant wife (even in a howling desert) has been giving him the horns for four years and he is not pleased. Coming in to land 'Perhaps they had a mole?' one day, a hell of a long way from anywhere, he sees Almasy standing alone and seemingly abandoned (why?) on the desert strip. In a temper he aims his Stearman straight at the Hungarian and throws on the power. The propellers are supposed to do the rest. Almasy hurls himself to one side, the biplane crashes and kills the vengeful husband instead.

But, alas, his wife, the lovely Kristin Scott Thomas, was in the front seat, and is cruelly wounded. Almasy (Ralph Fiennes) carries her to the cool of a cave, can do nothing for her, so sets off for help. For some reason (again, God knows which one) his Tiger Moth has been flown somewhere else, leaving him in the midst of nowhere without a jeep or truck to his name. So he walks, in temperatures of 120 plus, until he comes to an Arab village with some Tommies in it. He appeals for help. They refuse to believe he is not German, beat him up and lug him off to clink, (Don't ask, but for someone in a war zone he has no dog-tags or other identification.) Back in Tuscany, it is now May 1945, VE Day. Celebrations. Caravaggio has pissed off, still pissed off. The Sikh, having almost cleared the area of German mines, rides away. The crisp is still mumbling on his bed, still in agony, still dependent on morphine administered by Ms Binoche, who finally, with his ocular permission, gives him a terminal dose. He passes away and she jumps a truck to the nearest town, presumably to face the military police, having been Awol for eight months. Back in the desert we finally reach one of the climaxes. Escaping from durance vile, our hero discovers the village where his colleague parked the trusty Tiger Moth. Incredibly (most things abandoned in an Arab village become gutted skeletons in ten minutes) it is in perfect nick, fully fuelled and starts at the first kick. Away he flies back to the cave, but too late. Not surprising; he has been missing for several weeks.

Miss Scott Thomas is very dead but looks amazingly glamorous considering the heat, flies, ants, maggots and other little critters that usually attend demise in the desert. Sadly the flier picks her up, dumps her in the front seat of the Tiger Moth and takes off. Ah, now we are back to square one of three hours earlier. He leaves the mountains and flies over the sand-dune sea in the midst of which that drat machine-gun nest is waiting. The trouble with three-hour films (for me) is that they have to be sustained by a mega-story, mesmeric characters, towering events. Dr Zhivago, Gandhi, Lawrence of Arabia could do it. This one, not. Lingering shots of the desert, however beautiful, syllable by syllable dialogue, soulful gazing In silence are not enough to sustain a gossamer story over three hours.

Vincent Van Goatse has a new favorite as of 11:33 on May 6, 2020

# ¿ May 6, 2020 11:21

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

John Lee posted:

That's a spicy hot take, because it's entirely made up bullshit.

He's the god of children, tricksters, and innocence, so he almost never has sex, ever. The book mentions that pedos took an interest in him when he spent a thousand-plus years as a slave, because pedos are interested in an immortal child (and many of them die for their hubris), but on the limited occasions he has sex he is either fully pubescent (when looking like a human) or a totally intangible god-form fusing with other gods in something that I guess could be described as sexual relations, if you want to stretch. He has sex twice in the book focused on him, both times not as a tiny child, and neither time is it described in explicit detail. One of the times he looks like a sixteen-year-old, but that's a far, far cry from looking like a six-year-old.

You're not only being overly alarmist, you're being the kind of, yes, bad-faith alarmist who either deliberately makes poo poo up or doesn't actually give a poo poo and reports things based on half-remembered third-hand accounts.

God almighty. Imagine writing all this.

# ¿ Jul 13, 2020 03:49

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

I finally, sadly have an actual contribution to this thread: Robert Nye's Falstaff.

I've been on a Shakespeare kick recently and saw this in the Wikipedia article about Sir John Falstaff, one of the Bard's most famous creations. The Wikipedia article on Robert Nye notes that it won two apparently-major literary awards on publications and Anthony Burgess called it one of the 99 best novels published since 1939 in company with 1984, Catch-22, Gravity's Rainbow, A Confederacy of Dunces, and others. High praise.

It's supposedly Falstaff's dictated autobiography and it takes less than ten chapters to turn the character Orson Welles called Shakespeare's greatest creation into an incestuous pedophile. Was every English artist of the 1970s a pedophile or does it just seem that way?

More fool me, I kept reading and more absolutely awful sex scenes followed (at least, I assume they were awful since I skipped them) mixed in with lots of toilet humor (a whole chapter about farts, and while that might sound appealing to some of you from this description, it's just tedious and unfunny and uninteresting). Oh, and there's some wonderful anti-Irish stereotyping complete with them depicted as potato-obsessed a century before Columbus's voyage and two centuries before the potato even became a common crop in Ireland.

Oh, and from what I can determine Nye plagiarized at least part of his book from an 1858 fictional biography of Falstaff which is funnier in every way.

# ¿ Sep 18, 2020 04:32

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

The Lone Badger posted:

Tell me what this is called then and where to find it.

Robert Barnabas Brough's The Life of Sir John Falstaff.

# ¿ Sep 18, 2020 07:06

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Sham bam bamina! posted:

I keep forgetting how great "the fragrance of a gibbous moon" is.

It's certainly better than the fragrance of a GBS moon.

# ¿ Dec 11, 2020 02:50

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Sham bam bamina! posted:

Please do not conflate millennia-old and "universal" religious and cultural traditions with fandoms for corporately owned intellectual properties, thanks.

Thank you.

# ¿ Jan 17, 2021 22:16

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Ghost Leviathan posted:

Wasn't Dirk Gently originally a Doctor Who script?

Not sure about Dirk Gently, but Life, the Universe, and Everything absolutely was.

# ¿ Jan 20, 2021 10:47

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Xarbala posted:

This is the cultural hangups issue again.

If you look back at the discussion, you'll find arguments against the idea that The Divine Comedy is not fanfiction couched in emotional arguments, appeals to a glorious past, and insults. They observe somewhat hazy and arbitrary distinctions between the different forms of derivative work but insist these distinctions are solid. There are arguments that imply, if not state outright, that such comparisons are an insult to Christianity itself.

Meanwhile, people making the argument that it is fanfiction are dispassionate in their observations and rather neatly draw parallels between Dante's most famous work and modern derivative works by less talented writers. They do not appear to care that this comparison might be construed as an attack on someone's religion or literary canon, they merely observe the commonalities of the human experience as seen through the exercise of writing. Even when the writing is very, very bad.

For what it's worth, the entire conflict boils down to how much baggage an individual poster might have about the cultural baggage around the use of the word "fanfiction," and how some people might apply that as a generic term for derivative works in general.

No.

# ¿ Jan 22, 2021 10:04

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

OwlFancier posted:

I had to read shakespeare in school and it was crap.

Just in case this isn't a joke, go watch or listen to it instead. What a difference that makes.

# ¿ Jan 23, 2021 21:21

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

John Lee posted:

Yeah, sure, I'll go see a play.

Except I won't because I'm an out-of-shape redneck with untailored clothes who can't afford a hundred bucks to go be given the stinkeye by everyone in the theater.

You can watch entire Shakespeare performances on YouTube for free you dolt.

# ¿ Jan 24, 2021 20:42

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Sham bam bamina! posted:

When I was a kid, I read my friend's copy of Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code, thought it was really cool, then went back and read the first two books, only to find that I had started with the good one.

I've been reading through the Nero Wolfe books in order and it took until the fourth to find one I really enjoyed.

# ¿ Jan 25, 2021 20:31

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

John Lee posted:

I types up a big page-long rant here and then thought better of it. (Then got a paragraph into a SECOND one immediately after that sentence.) Suffice it to say that I've absolutely experienced hostility in new situations, numerous times, including times when people repeatedly insisted I would not, and that while I can't detect any real difference in my style of casual-formal-polo-and-khakis, other people definitely have.

Maybe you are, in fact, the hostile one and people are just reacting naturally to you.

# ¿ Jan 26, 2021 00:15

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Meanwhile in Amazon's reviews...

Alison posted:

5.0 out of 5 stars
Solid sci-fi fiction - with sex! What's not to like?!
Reviewed in the United States on January 24, 2015
Verified Purchase

I love sci-fi but as a (straight) woman, I find most "classic" sci-fi is horribly chauvinistic. I didn't know what to expect from this retro underground hit, but with copies selling for over $100, I was intrigued. Gay sci-fi?! Why not! (I'm a huge fan of Anne Rice's �Lestat� books.) This is a solidly good erotic romance in a sci-fi setting, rated �R,� not �X.� Not much space ship science in it, but there�s the theme of �AI� and the birth of consciousness; not a lot of women in it but at least the women aren�t just �eye candy� bimbos like they are in most retro sci-fi (there�s one sexy nurse but at least she�s hiding a gun in her boobs). I absolutely fell in love with all of the characters! George Nader is wonderfully descriptive. I found the character names a bit cheesy, but you can easily overlook that after you've been sucked into their passion and enslaved by it. I read this book in 2 days, I couldn't put it down!

SPOILER ALERT! I have to admit, I was a bit confused by Part 1 of the story. I was expecting adventure in space with a human and robot. What I got was delicious smut about two guys lounging by a pool in the desert, one of them getting daily massages, eventually ending in seduction. I was hooked on Chrome's suspicions of Vortex being a robot, and I was not entirely convinced he was one; Vortex seemed like a socially awkward bionic loner. But he is a robot! And his plan for their escape together goes horribly wrong. I was shocked that a major character was killed off in the first third of the book, and then shocked further that Chrome was also a robot! Gasp!

Part 2 is where the real sci-fi comes in. You have the underlying story of planetary conflict � the political conflict of Earth�s government trying to negotiate with Vortex, who is not only alive and a robot, but the extraterrestrial leader from a technically advanced warrior planet. You have the failure of mankind to protect Earth from becoming a post-apocalyptic wasteland that must be stewarded by aliens smarter than us. You have humans living in fear of robots, wondering what their artificial intelligence is capable of, and mad scientists working to figure it out and manipulate what they know. Do robots deserve freedom to procreate? Will Chrome ever see his children? Will Chrome ever be reunited with his true love Vortex? Can his growing group of loyal friends triumph to free him? There are some interesting plot twists, the descent into madness of Mother Trenter, a suicide bombing, and finally, a happy reunion between Chrome and Vortex.

I love a happy ending, however, this one left me wanting more. It�s too bad George Nader didn�t write a sequel because he left open so many doors to other stories. What becomes of Chrome�s children? How did artificial intelligence in the robots progress over generations? Do humans accept the robots? Do the humans ever become as caring and as �human� as the robots? Do humans ever rise above their petty need for power and heal the Earth? And we never find out much about the other aliens that are introduced. Does Vortex come from a planet of all cybernetic robo-humanoids? How do they reproduce in the absence of females? If Chrome was always one of them, how could Earth�s government justify keeping him prisoner and why would Vortex allow Chrome�s imprisonment for as long as he did?
Perhaps all George Nader intended was a sweet semi-pornographic romp in space � Chrome had many �lovers� and some scenes played out like a bad porno � such as the obviously gratuitous inclusion of a helicopter bondage scene. But, wow, did Nader develop a solid back-story for this sexy romp! His book offers many points of discussion for anyone�s book club. I obsessively read �The Lords of Kobol� book series by Edward T. Yeats III (the story of Cylons before Battlestar Galactica) and if you loved the sex and political intrigue in �Kobol,� and the stories of Robert Silverberg, you�ll enjoy George Nader�s �Chrome.� It has just become one of my favorites in my collection.

Lucas posted:

4.0 out of 5 stars
Erotic and entertaining
Reviewed in the United States on October 6, 2010
Verified Purchase

This book is an interesting addition to my collection, and I would recommend it as an entertaining/erotic read, or for collectors of gay sf/gay fantasy like myself, but I wouldn't recommend it to someone who is looking for an actual good book with well-rounded characters and an engaging plot.
It was simply erotic gay science fiction. Every single guy in the book had to be the best looking hunk ever, their personalities were carbon copies of each other (and flat), and the dialogue was sometimes pathetic. The recipe for true love in this book is a few nude massages, fellation, and voila! Eternal devotion.
Those were the problems. So, you have to take the book for what it is - erotica in a science fiction setting. Frankly, I'm really surprised the author devoted as much time to the plot as he did, considering it really went nowehere, and would have been better if he had kept it simplified, in bite-sized pieces, between sex scenes.
So, why am I giving the book 4 stars? Because for erotica, it was GOOD erotica. I mean, the first half of the book was, well...hot. And the character of Rover at the end...wow, I want a Rover.
If you are reading this review, you probably have an interest in this type of book, like I did (I mean, you kind of have to dig this stuff up!) - therefore, I'd probably recommend the book to you, as a collector, or as an enjoyer of gay erotic sf.

But if you somehow stumbled upon this book in the search of actual good books with solid storylines and well-developed characters, the kind you get wrapped up in reading and in whose worlds you get lost...sadly, I'll have to suggest that you keep looking

# ¿ Jan 27, 2021 00:34

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

I looked up Chrome on Goodreads and decided to see what the negative reviewer wrote about other things.

Well, she's rated Great Gatsby two stars and a bunch of Star Trek tie-in novels five stars. Hmm.

# ¿ Jan 27, 2021 00:41

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Sham bam bamina! posted:

There are several negative reviews, some of which go into substantial detail about these, uh, qualities, which are mentioned in a few of the neutral reviews as well.

To clarify, I'm not disagreeing with her or defending anything in a dead guy's smutty sci-fi book I'm never going to read. I don't doubt it's misogynist as all hell and probably racist too. I'm just noting something I found amusing.

Vincent Van Goatse has a new favorite as of 01:53 on Jan 27, 2021

# ¿ Jan 27, 2021 01:51

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Djeser posted:

Unlike western fantasy, of course, which never draws from Dungeons and Dragons.

I mean, D&D was cribbed whole from Tolkein and the like and people cribbing from D&D didn't stop others from cribbing from Tolkein and his imitators instead.

# ¿ Feb 1, 2021 23:42

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Sham bam bamina! posted:

None of those are isekai because they aren't naked power fantasies in which the other world exists to be exploited by the protagonist.

Not every isekai is a naked power fantasy and some actually critique the idea quite harshly in their own way (Re:Zero immediately comes to mind). There are plenty of shitass ones that are straight-up power fantasies, though.

# ¿ Feb 5, 2021 07:36

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Strategic Tea posted:

The Iliad is fanfiction. Ever wonder why Achilles sulks in his tent not appearing for large tracts of the story?

He's (possibly) an OC DO NOT STEAL crowbarred into an older story

Funnily enough this is almost certainly not true since Achilles is an attested Bronze Age Greek name.

# ¿ Feb 5, 2021 08:58

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

I mean, it's not as if it's a verifiable hypothesis either way.

# ¿ Feb 5, 2021 12:13

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

nonathlon posted:

That article is all about Western Ellis, not China Mieville.

No, that article mentions an article about Ellis but is about Mieville.

# ¿ Apr 1, 2021 23:39

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

I've heard Mieville's name dropped by the sort of people whose political alignment is basically "Pretentious Left", and I know he wrote a book about the Bolshevik revolution that I will never bother to read.

# ¿ Apr 1, 2021 23:47

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

C.M. Kruger posted:

Perhaps more tangential than topical, a article from a few years back about Andrew J. Offutt, writer of fantasy, science fiction, Conan, and 400-some porno novels, who was motivated to start writing by the poor quality of erotica in the 60s.
https://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/08/magazine/my-dad-the-pornographer.html

Ed Wood spent most of the last decade of his life writing porn stories and books too.

# ¿ Jul 9, 2021 13:59

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

OPAONI posted:

What even is there for Reylo fiction, neither character is particularly interesting.

Since when has that ever stopped fanfic?

# ¿ Aug 30, 2021 19:44

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Djeser posted:

I'm the kind of rear end in a top hat who'd suggest Lucian of Samosata's True History as 'classic science fiction. It's classical...

You're not an rear end in a top hat for this.

# ¿ Sep 5, 2021 00:32

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Domus posted:

Sneetches weren�t cats, they were just Suess Things. It makes me genuinely sad that someone out there never read about the star-bellyed Sneetches. To your local children�s library, quickly!

This is some star-bellied supremacist poo poo and I won't stand for it.

# ¿ Oct 16, 2021 21:21

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

No me gusta. NO ME GUSTA

# ¿ Oct 21, 2021 09:23

Vincent Van Goatse: Nov 8, 2006; Enjoy every sandwich.; Smellrose

Inspector Gesicht posted:

These days if a writer has some weird-hangups and a transformation-boner they can just eject that poo poo on deviantart.

Actually, what non sci-fi books but attempts at serious literature read as the authors writing blatantly one-handed? Your Amis's and your Oates etc.

John Updike, according to reputation.

# ¿ Oct 22, 2021 12:27