Having just finished Sleepers by Lorenzo Carcaterra, I was eager to see what others thought of the book. I discovered an interesting phenomenon. Some people enjoyed the book but gave it a low rating because of the dark and disturbing subject matter. Others did not enjoy the writing, but gave it high marks because of the dark and disturbing subject matter, the thinking being that if it’s a true story and it makes you uncomfortable, it has to be “good.” I think I fall somewhere in the middle.
I can’t remember the last time a book scared me like this (actually, that’s not entirely true. Cormac McCarthy’s Child of God scared the crap out of me, as no doubt will the movie, coming soon to a theater near you, nightmares guaranteed). But this book really, really terrified me. I’m not entirely sure why. It kept me up all night, several nights, both because I wanted to know what happened next, but also because there was no way I was turning off the light. Continue reading
When I used to look on innocence, what struck me was a sort of awed resonance, a warm familiarity that here was rightness and truth. Simple trust like I held in my very own heart. Here dwelled all that was pure and good and worth pursuing. Continue reading
Everything I was reading was feeling the same. Sounding the same. And (I feared) making me WAY TOO serious. Wanting a purely fantastic, purely fictional escape, I asked a friend what she would do. And she suggested A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore. Continue reading
A shadow haunts the third eye of her periphery.
Which is closer, her door or his hungry smile?
Her key turns (teeth glint off fair skin)
She holds her last breath…