May 30, 2010

Sigh. Oh Chuck. You’re just convinced that you’ve found the magic formula, and you can churn out a book every year or two indefinitely, aren’t you? I mean, this isn’t as bad as Pygmy, or even Snuff, but it’s on the same level as them. Ugh. First, it is barely a book; if we acknowledge that every new chapter has half a blank page to mark it, this is like a 150-page book. Second, why is the repetetive verbal tick in this book (they are in all of your books, Chuck) some random three-animal-noise blurt followed by a celebrity’s name? That’s stupid.

Third: this was your chance, Chuck. As the gay dude who tries to embody straight dude masculinity in his books- and the one who I think still sells well enough that maybe you keep churning ’em out in an effort to keep the publishing industry afloat?- writing about a woman, from another woman’s point of view, in the style of the gossip column- that famous, old-timey domain of ladies and gay men- you could have really made a point. Any fucking point! Something about camp and old-timey Hollywood glamour, or something about queeniness, or… I don’t know, anything! But in every one of your last few books, I totally root for you to do something smart and awesome (because you did in Rant, which still fucking stands up, I read the synopsis on Wikipedia and get totally pumped), and then you don’t really do anything.

Bummer, Chuck! Bummer.

(this review is from my old goodreads account.)


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