And there was a voice, a high clear, female voice which said, “Ow,” and then, very quietly, it said “Fuck,” and then it said “Ow,” once more.
And then it said nothing at all, and there was silence in the glade.
- Neil Gaiman, Stardust
“Aurora Borealis: A Fairy Tale for Big People”
A few months ago, around the yuletide, my Barnes and Noble Buddy and I ventured forth through that great conflation of culture and commercialism in search of Christmas gifts. I don’t remember which book Kate had me get her, but I remember that I got Neil Gaiman's Stardust, and soon afterward, put it on my book shelf next to Geek Love, The Compleat Works of Wllm Shkspr (abridged) (sic), and all the other books that I’ve convinced myself that I don’t have time to read (because I’ve got a yo-yo to yo-yo, dammit).
I read Stardust this weekend, instead of studying for Tuesday’s Irish history midterm or even thinking about the Sociology paper due that same day. (Even if it can save my grade, it’s just a first draft... and I’m a daredevil English major!) I highly recommend it (Stardust, not being a daredevil English major -- it’s all risk and no job opportunities), especially to any of you Harry Potheads out there, who’ve let yourselves become J. K. Rowling’s bitches while pining and masturbating over the forthcoming Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I think you’ll enjoy it (Stardust, not pining and masturbating -- though I may or may not have partaken in one or both of those activities from time to time), because fantasy -- or at least well-written fantasy -- seems to be the genre that most speaks to dreamers like you (or perhaps I should say, “dreamers like us”).
Next year, when I’m living in my mom’s basement and clerking it at the Raytown Midcontinent Public Library after having failed both Irish history and sociology, and as a result, losing both my scholarships and my sanity; I think I’ll look back and say “Stardust was worth it,” to Krypto the Superdog (stuffed though he may be)... except for in my few and far-between bouts of lucidity, in which case I’ll look back and inevitably start playing the Lay Down on I-70 at Midnight Game.
So anyway, read the damn book. If you want.
You might be able to borrow my copy (the unillustrated paperback version) if you swear on your mother’s true name not to dog-ear any pages, and if My Crazed Roommate hasn’t given it away to whatever wild-eyed vagrant has traipsed drunkenly past the room, as he has given away much of my prized CD collection in recent months.
Fifty Uncool Points to the first person whom can tell me where I stole the title to this vague and incoherent rambling. (And a gain or loss of twenty Uncool Points to the first person that questions my use of “whom” dependent upon the correctness of their answer.)
“SFTN Update”
As of this posting, Scenes from the Next -- my Little Black Duck Tale for Kate Jeffries -- is 584 pages long. And at this point, I believe that I am finally closer to the end of my narrative than I am to the beginning.
I can now confidently say that I will finish this book before I graduate.
Finishing before Hank graduates is a different matter entirely.
No more Gaiman quotes for a while.
Tomorrow’s St. Patrick’s Day.
That means Garth Ennis.
And then it said nothing at all, and there was silence in the glade.
- Neil Gaiman, Stardust
“Aurora Borealis: A Fairy Tale for Big People”
A few months ago, around the yuletide, my Barnes and Noble Buddy and I ventured forth through that great conflation of culture and commercialism in search of Christmas gifts. I don’t remember which book Kate had me get her, but I remember that I got Neil Gaiman's Stardust, and soon afterward, put it on my book shelf next to Geek Love, The Compleat Works of Wllm Shkspr (abridged) (sic), and all the other books that I’ve convinced myself that I don’t have time to read (because I’ve got a yo-yo to yo-yo, dammit).
I read Stardust this weekend, instead of studying for Tuesday’s Irish history midterm or even thinking about the Sociology paper due that same day. (Even if it can save my grade, it’s just a first draft... and I’m a daredevil English major!) I highly recommend it (Stardust, not being a daredevil English major -- it’s all risk and no job opportunities), especially to any of you Harry Potheads out there, who’ve let yourselves become J. K. Rowling’s bitches while pining and masturbating over the forthcoming Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I think you’ll enjoy it (Stardust, not pining and masturbating -- though I may or may not have partaken in one or both of those activities from time to time), because fantasy -- or at least well-written fantasy -- seems to be the genre that most speaks to dreamers like you (or perhaps I should say, “dreamers like us”).
Next year, when I’m living in my mom’s basement and clerking it at the Raytown Midcontinent Public Library after having failed both Irish history and sociology, and as a result, losing both my scholarships and my sanity; I think I’ll look back and say “Stardust was worth it,” to Krypto the Superdog (stuffed though he may be)... except for in my few and far-between bouts of lucidity, in which case I’ll look back and inevitably start playing the Lay Down on I-70 at Midnight Game.
So anyway, read the damn book. If you want.
You might be able to borrow my copy (the unillustrated paperback version) if you swear on your mother’s true name not to dog-ear any pages, and if My Crazed Roommate hasn’t given it away to whatever wild-eyed vagrant has traipsed drunkenly past the room, as he has given away much of my prized CD collection in recent months.
Fifty Uncool Points to the first person whom can tell me where I stole the title to this vague and incoherent rambling. (And a gain or loss of twenty Uncool Points to the first person that questions my use of “whom” dependent upon the correctness of their answer.)
“SFTN Update”
As of this posting, Scenes from the Next -- my Little Black Duck Tale for Kate Jeffries -- is 584 pages long. And at this point, I believe that I am finally closer to the end of my narrative than I am to the beginning.
I can now confidently say that I will finish this book before I graduate.
Finishing before Hank graduates is a different matter entirely.
No more Gaiman quotes for a while.
Tomorrow’s St. Patrick’s Day.
That means Garth Ennis.
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