Gaunab posted:

A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Saddest Rhino posted:

Weatherman posted:

I've only read one worse book, and that was something I picked up from a "take a book, leave a book" tray in a caravan park somewhere in New South Wales

'Machiavelli Covenant' plot summary posted:

For five hundred years a despotic order of the supremely rich and powerful has kept a little known manuscript by the political thinker Niccolo Machiavelli hidden away under heavy guard: THE COVENANT, a terrifying blueprint for the gaining and keeping of true political power. Bonded by complicity in ritual murder and dedicated to a singular vision of global domination, the group, guided by Machiavelli's document, has prospered far beyond any dreams of power and avarice.
In Washington, D.C., former LAPD detective Nicholas Marten comes out of hiding when he learns his former girlfriend, her child and husband, a U.S. congressman, have been mysteriously murdered. Marten discovers her husband had just uncovered a top-secret and illegal bioweapons program, and when the feds fail to investigate, Marten resolves to go after the killers himself.
Meanwhile, on his way to a NATO summit in Warsaw, President John Henry Harris is confronted by a secret cabal inside his own White House who demand he authorize the assassinations of the Chancellor of Germany and the President of France at the NATO meeting. He angrily refuses, knowing full well that in doing so he has put his own life and the fate of the country in jeopardy.
Fleeing for his life, Harris joins forces with Marten and the beautiful but enigmatic French photo-journalist Demi Picard. Together they uncover the truth about the most devastating and powerful group the world has ever known. Swept from Washington to Paris, from Berlin to Malta, Madrid to Barcelona they flee a ruthless circle of the president's here-to-fore most trusted advisors, military leaders and transnational corporate chieftains all of whom want them dead. Out manned, outnumbered and outgunned, these three stand alone against the age-old secrets of THE COVENANT.

trickybiscuits posted:

I opened The Da Vinci Code and read about half a paragraph of somebody lecturing somebody else about history. Forget it; I get lectured enough by idiots in real life.

quote:

Thrillers about the Cathars and/or Templar knights are enjoyable garbage, though.

Inspector Gesicht posted:

That bitch is the reason why Paul Kearney's W40K book Dark Hunters: Umbra Sumnus had to be pulped just before it could hit shelves, because "Dark Hunters" is such a distinct name that no two books could share the same two words in the title. Paul Kearney is one of my favourite authors for writing The Monarchies of God and The Macht but he just can't catch a break

John Kessel posted:

The abused child, when grown and given the power to act out his own suppressed rage, is unable to identify with the objects of his rage. In extreme cases, as Miller says about convicted child abusers,“Compulsively and without qualms, they inflicted the same suffering on [others] as they had been subjected to themselves.” (21) Yet to the abuser it still feels as if he is being abused, as if the sacrifice is his, and the effects of his actions on others take a secondary place to the emotions he feels himself.

This, I fear, is the appeal of Ender’s Game: it models this scenario precisely and absolves the child of any doubt that his actions in response to such treatment are questionable. It offers revenge without guilt. If you ever as a child felt unloved, if you ever feared that at some level you might deserve any abuse you suffered, Ender’s story tells you that you do not. In your soul, you are good. You are specially gifted, and better than anyone else. Your mistreatment is the evidence of your gifts. You are morally superior. Your turn will come, and then you may severely punish others, yet remain blameless. You are the hero.

loquacius posted:

Do any of these "Ender = Hitler " criticism account for the fact that Ender doesn't in fact feel like the buggers deserved what they got, suffers intense guilt, and makes sure that he is vilified by everyone else for what he's done? As someone who has read several Card books I'm 100% able to cope with the idea that he is a terrible person (he is), I'm just curious.

John Kessel posted:

Thus, Ender’s taking on guilt for the extermination of the buggers at the end of Ender’s Game, and in Speaker for the Dead, is in no way a repudiation of his earlier violence, which is still viewed as justified, but rather a demonstration of the “magnitude of spirit” Graff praised him for earlier. Ender exterminates an alien race, gets credit for saving the human race, gets credit for feeling bad about it, and gets credit for expiating sins which he did not commit. First he sacrifices himself emotionally in order to save the human race physically, and then after the buggers are dead he sacrifices himself morally so that others may feel themselves innocent. History records him as a monster. In reality, the monster is a savior.

Jorge Luis Broges posted:

He did not want to compose another Quixote —which is easy— but the Quixote itself. Needless to say, he never contemplated a mechanical transcription of the original; he did not propose to copy it. His admirable intention was to produce a few pages which would coincide—word for word and line for line—with those of Miguel de Cervantes.

[...]

"It is a revelation to compare Menard’s Don Quixote with Cervantes’. The latter, for example, wrote (part one, chapter nine):

...truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future’s counselor.

Written in the seventeenth century, written by the “lay genius” Cervantes, this enumeration is a mere rhetorical praise of history. Menard, on the other hand, writes:

...truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future’s counselor.

History, the mother of truth: the idea is astounding. Menard, a contemporary of William James, does not define history as an inquiry into reality but as its origin. Historical truth, for him, is not what has happened; it is what we judge to have happened. The final phrases—exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future’s counselor —are brazenly pragmatic.

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

I might catch some flak for this, but I could not stand Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. It feels like it desperately needs an editor to clean up all the twee prose tics and it also just needs to get to the loving point. There's only so much "rich people attend parties with other rich people who they do not like but are icily polite to" I can take before I give up.

InediblePenguin posted:

I love Jane Austen and Patrick O'Brian but Strange & Norrel was loving poo poo and this is just an excuse. It's possible to mimic that style without being a lead brick of lovely prose.

lord funk posted:

What? If it weren't for the last 100 pages I might have written it off. I absolutely love the culmination of characters and events.

My wife and I watched the series, then she read the book. I think the book is more accessible after seeing the series.

Jerome Agricola posted:

I don't know how to make that ironicat thing.

But anyway, this is a really lovely way to conduct yourself in these sort of threads. It's not conversation or even arguing, just trying to score some imaginary points.

Somfin posted:

Tell that to the people who write VNs

E: To contribute to the thread, R. A. Salvatore's work is this for me- he's one of my favourite authors because his fight scenes are some of the best in the business and his better books are basically a series of excuses to get to those fight scenes. Every fight is described such that you know where everyone is, what they're doing, and why they're doing it, with a brisk style that I just love. Unfortunately, there's the rest of the books, and those sections always have the feeling of being things that the author really, really doesn't want to write, but he doesn't know how to get out of writing them.

The Vosgian Beast posted:

2011 called, they want their goon hate target back.

Lunchmeat Larry posted:

You forgot the homoerotic tension with every single other male character

Lunchmeat Larry posted:

well, it was kind of funny, but it included family members and particularly sexy horses iirc

Guy Gavriel Kay posted:

Nothing had come to pass as he’d expected. There was only one single element left of his original design for the evening. One thing that might yet offer a kind of pleasure, that might redeem a little of what had gone so desperately awry.

He turned, slowly, [...] at the lover of boys. He dragged his mouth upwards into a smile, unaware of how hideous he looked.

‘Bring him,’ he said thickly to his soldiers. ‘Bind him and bring him. There are things we can do with this one before we allow him to die. Things appropriate to what he was.’

IconicIronic posted:

Probably gonna get poo poo for this, but I loving despise Faust, whatever format. It's often used as a major inspiration for anything about ambition and deals for power, but it's clearly about a guy who actually doesn't have any ambition and completely squanders his power. In all formats, he literally does nothing. I agree with Hannibal here, I root for Mephistopheles for having to deal with such a poo poo-heel for 24+ years, and have nothing but contempt for Faust. Fucker deserves to suffer for all eternity.

Books like Eragon/Twilight/50 Shades are godawful, but Faust, in all formats, is the only literature I flat out despise.

IconicIronic posted:

I wouldn't have a problem with it if it wasn't held up as a story of ambition and power. I agree with you that it is exactly about squandering life, but all the works that have been inspired by it, including the whole concept of a 'Faustian Bargain', don't touch on that. It's true that my distaste for it comes from study, where it's clear an alarming number of people hold it as a perfect story of ambition and power.

I guess it would be more accurate to say I only despise the character of Faust, and just find the story disappointing.

Sham bam bamina! posted:

Tiggum posted:

This isn't 100% on topic but it is related, and it was too good not to share:

When Dickens met Dostoevsky by Eric Naiman.

Stupid_Sexy_Flander posted:

He writes well, the words flow well.

quote:

Ambrose stiffened and his arm slid off the back of the chair to fall at his side. His expression was pure venom. “When you’re older, E’lir, you’ll understand that what a man and a woman do together—”

“What? In the privacy of the entrance hall of the Archives?” I gestured around us. “God’s body, this isn’t some brothel. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s a student, not some brass nail you’ve paid to bang away at. If you’re going to force yourself on a woman, have the decency to do it in an alleyway. At least that way she’ll feel justified screaming about it.”

[...]

There was a pointed silence from Ambrose, so I lowered my shirt and turned to face Fela, ignoring him entirely. “My lady scriv,” I said to her with a bow. A very slight bow, as my back wouldn’t permit a deep one. “Would you be so good as to help me locate a book concerning women? I have been instructed by my betters to inform myself on this most subtle subject.”

Fela gave a faint smile and relaxed a bit.

Perestroika posted:

The decent parts of the books don't really translate to film

Dienes posted:

quote:

My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as “Quothe.” Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I’ve had more names than anyone has a right to.

The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it’s spoken, can mean “The Flame,” “The Thunder,” or “The Broken Tree.”

“The Flame” is obvious if you’ve ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it’s unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.

“The Thunder” I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.

I’ve never thought of “The Broken Tree” as very significant. Although in retrospect I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.

My first mentor called me E’lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.

But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant “to know.”

I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.

I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.

You may have heard of me.

Anil Dasharez0ne posted:

Every one of those sentences sounds like it should have "This Troper" in front of it.

quote:

This Troper's name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as “Quothe.” Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. This Troper has had more names than anyone has a right to.

The Adem call him Maedre. Which, depending on how it’s spoken, can mean “The Flame,” “The Thunder,” or “The Broken Tree.”

“The Flame” is obvious if you’ve ever seen This Troper. He has red hair, bright. If he had been born a couple hundred years ago he would probably have been burned as a demon. This Troper keeps it short but it’s unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes him look as if he has been set afire.

“The Thunder” he attributes to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.

This Troper has never thought of “The Broken Tree” as very significant. Although in retrospect he supposes it could be considered at least partially prophetic.

His first mentor called him E’lir because he was clever and he knew it. His first real lover called him Dulator because she liked the sound of it. He has been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. He has been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. He has earned those names. Bought and paid for them.

But This Troper was brought up as Kvothe. His father once told him it meant “to know.”

He has, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.

He has stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. He burned down the town of Trebon. He has spent the night with Felurian and left with both his sanity and his life. He was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. He treads paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. He has talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.

You may have heard of This Troper.

food court bailiff posted:

Have you actually read the book? Because it ends with Kvothe almost getting killed by some random mook demon at his run-down lovely country tavern because of a nasty and apparently permanent case of magical erectile dysfunction. The whole point really is that no matter what heroics he's done in the past, he's completely washed up by the time the first book starts and he begins telling this huge story about himself.

muscles like this! posted:

Representation is getting a little bit better at least. NK Jimison won a Hugo for best novel this year. Being a black woman she mainly writes stories where the main characters are dark skinned (and women.)

CharlestheHammer posted:

I might pick up these books they sound interesting.

quote:

I turned to find that Nahadoth stood behind us.

In the instant that my mind and body froze, he could have had me. He was only a few paces away. But he did not move or speak, and so we stared at each other. Face like the moon, pale and somehow wavering. I could get the gist of his features, but none of it stuck in my mind beyond an impression of astonishing beauty. His long, long hair wafted around him like black smoke, its tendrils curling and moving of their own volition. His cloak—or perhaps that was hair, too—shifted as if in an unfelt wind. I could not recall him wearing a cloak before, on the balcony.