His trusty steed at a trot, Ser Merk headed forth into the Seven Kingdoms. Along the way, he met a sly lil dwarf, an honorable man, his honorable wifeHis trusty steed at a trot, Ser Merk headed forth into the Seven Kingdoms. Along the way, he met a sly lil dwarf, an honorable man, his honorable wife, a young boy who thought he could fly, Ser This and Ser That, Ser Used-to-Be, and Ser Has-Never-Been, and in the end, it turned out to be the boring young lady whose chapters Ser Merk often dreaded to see coming that finally stole his heart.
Young lady, you hath woneth my hand. May I have this daynct?
Cut a rug, bugaloo. Cut a rug, bugaloo. La lala La lala.
Young lady, you done lost ye clothes. Tyrion, you knave, get thee offeth thy floors and stop starin uppeth yon lady's skirts! Oh yes, I see, yes, I'll give you that. She doesn't seem to wear clothes often, does she? You've a keen eye there, Lannister. But a tart tongue. But I like ya. I think you'll go far.
CORN!!! CORN!!! CORN!!!!
Oh shut it you mangy crow.
Look Jon, do what you have to do, okie? If you gotta trot, trot that bastard over hill and over dale. Over long rivers and short. Itty bitty squatty rivers, and great big ole massive watery arms that could fill a flagon the size of Pluto. Oh, yes, that's right. I understand. I'm aware they downgraded it. But in your time. Ohhhh. You don't know what Pluto is. Alright then.
Bran, Bran, my boy. Come here, my lad, let's talk. Hey!! Where you goin!!? See, you should've done that do begin with!! Things would've turned out a whole lot better! ...Fine, run then.
Joffrey, my boy! You're the biggest eunuch, dickless, ball-less, hopeless, sack of horse shit on the face of the Seven Kingdoms. Inquiring minds at home wanna know: how's it feel?
And there you have it folks. Live from the Seven Kingdoms, this is Ser Mirk, er, Mork, er, why did I decide to spell these names just slightly different from their "modern English" counterparts, again? Might wanna rethink that in the second draft. Again, this is Ser Merck. ...Merck... Lineage. German pharmaceutical giant. Note to self: check blood line. Vast wealth could like in the near future. Ask Varys, he knows shit. So, this is Ser Merck, signing off. Back to you in the booth, Old Gods.
This was me after finishing this novel, my first read from John Connolly:
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It was so gut-wrenchingly emotional. Every bit of it. From the harrowiThis was me after finishing this novel, my first read from John Connolly:
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It was so gut-wrenchingly emotional. Every bit of it. From the harrowing beginning, to the Labyrinth-on-acid fantasy world in which the main character soon finds himself.
There's so much going on in this novel. It seems like a children's fairy tale, but if I had read this as a young'un, I would probably be in an insane asylum to this day. I know Connolly typically writes crime fiction and this being my first, I'm unable to compare it to his other work. But from this reading, I know that Connolly is a man of deep thoughtfulness and emotion, and one who can perfectly transfer that emotion and philosophy to the written page.
The way the beginning is written, in which the main character, David, is dealing with his mother's slow death, I have no doubt that Connolly is writing from his own experiences. The minute details he chooses to include are just spot on.
One thing to know before going in, this book will twist your head in knots. I've read a lot of horror fiction through the years, but many scenes in this book, partly because of their juxtaposition of childlike fairy tales and real-world, grown-up horrors, make this, on the whole, easily the most horrific collection of scenes I've read in my life. And I see no other novel containing scenes that come close to their power. For that reason, it did take me a little longer to get through this novel. I would read a few chapters and become so overwhelmed by what was going on, I needed a break: sometimes hours, sometimes a day. There is a LOT of weight to this book, even with its deceptively simple prose and presentation.
I can easily say this is a book I will never forget. It will haunt me.
4.5 stars. Part Stephen King's It, part hill-country folklore, all heart. 4.5 stars. Part Stephen King's It, part hill-country folklore, all heart. ...more
This would not have been finished, or likely even read beyond the first five or six chapters if not for my best buddy, Kasia. When I saw she was readiThis would not have been finished, or likely even read beyond the first five or six chapters if not for my best buddy, Kasia. When I saw she was reading it with a group I had to jump on board. Bradbury has penned some of the best short stories I've had the pleasure to read, but this, this really didn't sound like Bradbury. But it did. It just took a lot of digging to see him under all the diction, which was so high I several times traded my step stool for a six foot ladder, my six foot ladder for a twelve foot, my twelve foot for a twenty four foot, my twenty four foot for a .... See how that sentences became unnervingly repetitive long after the meaning was captured? This happens a lot in Wicked. A LOT!!! (so do the exclamation points)
As I said, I would have given up after the first several chapters, but Kasia's enthusiasm was infectious. So we soldiered forward. And after a time I began to see flickers of the fantastic mixed with the mundane that could only come from the childlike heart of Bradbury himself.
We saw the movie adaptation when I was in mumbledth/nd grade (you'll forgive me, a bit of Charles Halloway sneaking in just now). It's been long enough all I could remember were the exceedingly frightening moments, and even those have been ravaged by the passage of time. But what I remembered left me intrigued.
It took a lot longer to find that magic in the story for all heightened rhetoric. So much so, I often found myself having to reread passages not once, sometimes not even twice, possibly a third, perhaps even a fourth or fifth time as the words and sentences (several, full paragraphs unto themselves) piled up, sandwiched in, and on some occasions, yes, even made a nuisance of the very scenes they were trying to portray. Worse (worser, worsest) was that this invariably happened during a scene that truly meant something to the rest of the story. I seem to recall reading Bradbury himself say that making yourself as the writer known within the writing you're writing was one of the worst things you could do as a...writer. But he did it, and it suppressed the admittedly awesome story he was trying to tell -- one that has been reworked, poked, prodded, and at the present time laid out on the gurney. In this wordiness, I saw the sparks of Stephen King, another author whose work, at least to me, is sometimes written past the point of necessity.
At times I got the feeling Bradbury was channeling the hopscotch mind of youth. Sometimes thinking yes, sometimes thinking no. Sometimes alive with the spirit of youth, sometimes spiraling forward toward an early old-age.
But even for all of this, and here, I'm not really sure how to put it in to words, the experience left me completely enthralled. Maybe it was getting to discuss everything with Kasia, maybe it was remembering seeing the movie when I was a kid, maybe the story, despite all the Lyttonian language, was something worth experiencing.
Whatever happened, by the halfway point I was hooked solid. I read through chapters like a man possessed (perhaps I was). The odd juxtaposition that sometimes occurred, whereby a See-Dick-Run sentence betwixt two that rambled on for a hundred words each. And the horrifying imagery that, at first seemed hokey but overtime sent chills up the spine and sent shockwaves through the mind. I've often considered this a young adult book, one to be read while you're the age of the two protagonists. But I don't think that's correct. Yes, it could be read at that age, but I don't think someone of that age could fully understand the mind of Charles Halloway (the secret third protag) until they've reached a certain age, sewn certain experiences upon the inside of their belt. I believe it was in Charles that I found my love for the book. It wasn't so much the fate of the children I was concerned about - it was what would happen to Charles. To give too many details here would ruin the experience but for any fan of literature, fantastic or otherwise, Charles Halloway is a man to become acquainted with. Charles Halloway has this world figured out. And having read his story, all one can do is laugh....more
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