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niamh_sage, your parcel arrived yesterday. I can't thank you enough for the books and the chocolate. I've already torn into both.
First, the books. The divine Mrs. C chose for me the following:
Dark Companions, which I'm reading now.
Ancient Images
Midnight Sun
The Doll Who Ate His Mother
Obsession
The Hungry Moon
So far, I've read five stories from Dark Companions. I've liked all of them, but "Mackintosh Willy" is my current favorite. It's an oblique story that never lets you see just what is going on, though you suspect it's dreadful. What did happen to Mackintosh Willy, and what's so horrible about old, metal cola caps?
Plenty if you're Ramsey Campbell.
"Napier Court", on the other hand, was a bit too coy for my liking. Shadow puppets can only frighten for so long, and how long that fright lasts is--for me, any road--a byproduct of how strongly we can identify with the protagonist. If we like them, we want them to live. If we don't, fuck 'em. In this case, I rather wanted weak-willed Alma(who reminded me very much of Eleanor, the starry-eyed, downtrodden sacrifice to Hill House)to do the decent thing and die before I killed her. As such, the story fell flat for me.
"Down There" was the median between the extremes of the nausea-inducing heebie jeebies of "Willy" and the eye-rolling, "Dear God, will you kill this stupid bint already?" teeth-gnashing irritation of "Napier Court". The buildup to the monsters' revelation is fraught with tension, and Campbell is excellent at conveying a sense of isolated claustrophobia in the heart of populous urban sprawl. The monsters themselves, however, are maddeningly indistinct, and my mind isn't sure whether to conjure a demonic Pillsbury Dough Boy or mutant dust bunnies. Oblique horror is excellent when done well, but no one can do it all the time, not even Campbell. Sometimes you have to see the monster to be satisfied.
The rains will roll in this afternoon, so I'm sure I'll read more today. Monday, too, since the forecast might as well read, "Don't make any fucking plans. Hope you like Monopoly."
Ramsey Campbell stories aren't the only place to find aggravating, simpering women. I liked Robin when she returned to Numb3rs. She was strong and refused to take guff from Don Eppes. I can only surmise that unlike most cocks, which come with mystical healing powers, Eppes' dong comes equipped with a terrible power to reduce capable women to nagging, clingy harpies. First Liz Warner, and now Robin.
She actually gets mad at him because the agent calling him to the scene is a woman; granted Don has slept with his particular woman, but given the rate at which he goes through love interests, I'd wager he's boned half of L.A. She snips and snipes and shows her ass while he's getting ready to leave, and then she gets even more indignant because he puts on a clean shirt.
"If it's not like that, why are you putting on a clean shirt?"
Hello? Maybe because he doesn't want to show up at an abduction scene reeking of ass and the fragrant eau de snatch of your Massengill. Maybe he wants to present himself as a professional and not as a slob who rolled up after a lazy fuck. Jesus Christ. With the exception of Amita and Megan, the females of Numb3rs have been portrayed as needy, clingy, manipulative, castrating, and predatory. Why must women undergo an appalling personality transplant once they've been touched by Teh Cock?
Sex is wonderful, but holy God, it's not that good, though I'm sure most men would beg to differ.
Boo, Numb3rs, for perpetuating the notion that all women are ruled by their need for the Sacred Peepee and will instantly become whiny, nagging fourteen-year-olds the moment their chosen Peepee is threatened by an encroaching vajayjay.
niamh_sage, your parcel arrived yesterday. I can't thank you enough for the books and the chocolate. I've already torn into both.First, the books. The divine Mrs. C chose for me the following:
Dark Companions, which I'm reading now.
Ancient Images
Midnight Sun
The Doll Who Ate His Mother
Obsession
The Hungry Moon
So far, I've read five stories from Dark Companions. I've liked all of them, but "Mackintosh Willy" is my current favorite. It's an oblique story that never lets you see just what is going on, though you suspect it's dreadful. What did happen to Mackintosh Willy, and what's so horrible about old, metal cola caps?
Plenty if you're Ramsey Campbell.
"Napier Court", on the other hand, was a bit too coy for my liking. Shadow puppets can only frighten for so long, and how long that fright lasts is--for me, any road--a byproduct of how strongly we can identify with the protagonist. If we like them, we want them to live. If we don't, fuck 'em. In this case, I rather wanted weak-willed Alma(who reminded me very much of Eleanor, the starry-eyed, downtrodden sacrifice to Hill House)to do the decent thing and die before I killed her. As such, the story fell flat for me.
"Down There" was the median between the extremes of the nausea-inducing heebie jeebies of "Willy" and the eye-rolling, "Dear God, will you kill this stupid bint already?" teeth-gnashing irritation of "Napier Court". The buildup to the monsters' revelation is fraught with tension, and Campbell is excellent at conveying a sense of isolated claustrophobia in the heart of populous urban sprawl. The monsters themselves, however, are maddeningly indistinct, and my mind isn't sure whether to conjure a demonic Pillsbury Dough Boy or mutant dust bunnies. Oblique horror is excellent when done well, but no one can do it all the time, not even Campbell. Sometimes you have to see the monster to be satisfied.
The rains will roll in this afternoon, so I'm sure I'll read more today. Monday, too, since the forecast might as well read, "Don't make any fucking plans. Hope you like Monopoly."
Ramsey Campbell stories aren't the only place to find aggravating, simpering women. I liked Robin when she returned to Numb3rs. She was strong and refused to take guff from Don Eppes. I can only surmise that unlike most cocks, which come with mystical healing powers, Eppes' dong comes equipped with a terrible power to reduce capable women to nagging, clingy harpies. First Liz Warner, and now Robin.
She actually gets mad at him because the agent calling him to the scene is a woman; granted Don has slept with his particular woman, but given the rate at which he goes through love interests, I'd wager he's boned half of L.A. She snips and snipes and shows her ass while he's getting ready to leave, and then she gets even more indignant because he puts on a clean shirt.
"If it's not like that, why are you putting on a clean shirt?"
Hello? Maybe because he doesn't want to show up at an abduction scene reeking of ass and the fragrant eau de snatch of your Massengill. Maybe he wants to present himself as a professional and not as a slob who rolled up after a lazy fuck. Jesus Christ. With the exception of Amita and Megan, the females of Numb3rs have been portrayed as needy, clingy, manipulative, castrating, and predatory. Why must women undergo an appalling personality transplant once they've been touched by Teh Cock?
Sex is wonderful, but holy God, it's not that good, though I'm sure most men would beg to differ.
Boo, Numb3rs, for perpetuating the notion that all women are ruled by their need for the Sacred Peepee and will instantly become whiny, nagging fourteen-year-olds the moment their chosen Peepee is threatened by an encroaching vajayjay.
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