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A first pimp for Part V of Et Tu.
I've been doing a lot of reading as the year draws to a close and the earth grows cold. Most of it's fluff reading, including such autobiographical epics as Batista: Unleashed and Chris Jericho's A Lion's Heart, as well as Supernatural tie-in, Witch's Canyon.
Witch's Canyon is a turd, by the way, and Mr. Mariotte should take a remedial composition course. DeCandido might be a gomer enthralled with his status as a writer of books with words in them, but at least he has talent. Mariotte is a hack with a keyboard, and I don't care that he has thirty novels to his credit. I can only lament the thousands of trees that died so that his literary poop art could see the light of day. SPN fans should save eight bucks and reread Nevermore, the vastly superior tie-in by the aforementioned DeCandido.
Better yet, take those eight dollars and put them towards 20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill. If the name sounds familiar, it's because I raved about his debut novel, Heart-Shaped Box. Ghosts is a collection of shorts and novellas, and it's well worth the asking price. "Pop Art" alone justifies it; I read the story and spent a rough few minutes trying not to sob in a Borders.
Hill's not perfect; he's sometimes far too pleased with himself, and while he usually writes understated horror with panache, a few stories pass, unchecked, into the Bland Canyon. Still, the good stories outnumber the bad, and I didn't feel shortchanged after reading them. I felt richer for being out twenty-five dollars, and isn't that how it should be?
If twenty-five dollars is too steep, put it on your hold list at the library. Or buy a coffee at Borders and read "Pop Art" under the pretense of skimming. It's that good. And if anybody sees you sniffling, tell them it's allergies.
I've been doing a lot of reading as the year draws to a close and the earth grows cold. Most of it's fluff reading, including such autobiographical epics as Batista: Unleashed and Chris Jericho's A Lion's Heart, as well as Supernatural tie-in, Witch's Canyon.
Witch's Canyon is a turd, by the way, and Mr. Mariotte should take a remedial composition course. DeCandido might be a gomer enthralled with his status as a writer of books with words in them, but at least he has talent. Mariotte is a hack with a keyboard, and I don't care that he has thirty novels to his credit. I can only lament the thousands of trees that died so that his literary poop art could see the light of day. SPN fans should save eight bucks and reread Nevermore, the vastly superior tie-in by the aforementioned DeCandido.
Better yet, take those eight dollars and put them towards 20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill. If the name sounds familiar, it's because I raved about his debut novel, Heart-Shaped Box. Ghosts is a collection of shorts and novellas, and it's well worth the asking price. "Pop Art" alone justifies it; I read the story and spent a rough few minutes trying not to sob in a Borders.
Hill's not perfect; he's sometimes far too pleased with himself, and while he usually writes understated horror with panache, a few stories pass, unchecked, into the Bland Canyon. Still, the good stories outnumber the bad, and I didn't feel shortchanged after reading them. I felt richer for being out twenty-five dollars, and isn't that how it should be?
If twenty-five dollars is too steep, put it on your hold list at the library. Or buy a coffee at Borders and read "Pop Art" under the pretense of skimming. It's that good. And if anybody sees you sniffling, tell them it's allergies.
