StephenHero
Black Floridian
- Joined
- Mar 10, 2009
- Messages
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Richard Branson is great. One of the few people I openly envy.
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A SF favorite it seems....
For my next book, I've got this one lined up. Anybody read it?
Never Let Me Go is better.
I find that very hard to believe, but I've only read like ten pages of NLMG.
On Goodreads, Never Let Me Go scores a 3.65 compared to Remains of the Day's 4.07. I picked up Remains of the Day first for that reason, just as I'm gonna read Murakami's highest rated work first. I think there is usually something to be said for collective criticisms as it makes searching for music and books so much more efficient.
Re-reading:
I'm not particularly bothered by the grimness or the unwaveringly graphic violence; in fact, those scenes almost always end up leaving me cold (Someone told me I must be really ******* jaded). The problem I have with the book is the language. It's unrelenting, yes, but only in how overwrought and try-hard it is. I don't think it lacks originality, but rather, subtlety.Originally Posted by GoSurface
The jagged mountains were pure blue in the dawn and everywhere birds twittered and the sun when it rose caught the moon in the west so that they lay opposed to each other across the earth, the sun whitehot and the moon a pale replica, as if they were the ends of a common bore beyond whose terminals burned worlds past all reckoning.
I don't expect every author to write like that, but Jesus Christ. Out of context, on an Internet forum, that writing still stuns me. In context it can be overwhelming. I could almost assent to your judgement that it is overwrought until I return to the book and find again that the cumulative effect of the language is that it seems not literary at all, not written but rather emerging somehow naturalistically, inevitable.At dusk they halted and built a fire and roasted the deer. The night was much enclosed about them and there were no stars. To the north they could see other fires that burned red and sullen along the invisible ridges. They ate and moved on, leaving the fire on the ground behind them, and as they rode up into the mountains this fire seemed to become altered of its location, now here, now there, drawing away, or shifting unaccountably along the flank of their movement. Like some ignis fatuus belated upon the road behind them which all could see and of which none spoke. For this will to deceive that is in things luminous may manifest itself likewise in retrospect and so by sleight of some fixed part of a journey already accomplished may also post men to fraudulent destinies.
Re-reading:
For my next book, I've got this one lined up. Anybody read it?