How have I missed this before? It’s just my cup of tea. And thanks to it being my cup of tea I am going to fail three exams.

Woo!

Back a few weeks ago as part of my summer book marathon I picked up Trainspotting. I gave it a slightly less than glowing review because I found it a difficult read (and not in the ‘I’m an unintellectual nitwitway’, more the ‘I am being hit in the face with so much right now that my skull is reeling’) But I enjoyed it well enough, actually, I could even say I liked it. I wanted to give it another chance when I wasn’t reading seventy-five books in a summer. So, we decided to give the movie a chance anyways, because that was the bit that people were really raving to me about. The book, well it was okay, but the movie. And I really hate to say it but…

They were absolutely right.

Trainspotting was a great movie, it both blew your mind out your ears but really put your head in the space it needed to comprehend a druggie lifestyle. It doesn’t glorify the lifestyle but it gives you a fair enough ‘why’ it gives you one that you can accept. It was more linear and easier to wrap your head around. Maybe I’m a victim of society for saying it, but I definately need to read the book again more closely.

Additionally, I finished book six of the S75, that would be a Clockwork Orange. I think we should bring Nadsat into the current vocab, it would be completely horrorshow! Great book, I really need to watch the film again.

I’m not sure if I have the internet up to date, but I’ve read 5 of my summer books, and mostly done Clockwork Orange for number six. From there I have an ultra spiffy Advanced Reading Copy (ARC) of Libba Bray’s new book Going Bovine which sounds strangely like I wrote it and forgot. Yes, its that absurd. Speaking of which I have been trying to do some writing, but as usual there are too many stories in my head and I don’t know which to get started on. I’d like to think one will pull away from the pack as being a fly away best seller so I don’t need to find a job, but that’s about as likely as me doing any form of exercize beyond blinking and walking. I have mastered the art of lazy.

Aaaaand apparently UOttawa wants $30 from me for reasons henceforth unknown. Probably all those times I locked myself out of residence which I was pretty sure I had paid for. Not too keen on that. But, but, but. L.A. finally got back to me and I may actually have a place to live next year. Hurrah and suchlike, beause I was starting to worry I was going to have to like on the street like most of my fellow philosophers (oh snap?) Fingers crossed this doesn’t fall through (again!) and I actually am not street bound, or Stanton bound. I was already senior citizen enough in res without adding another year on top of that. All those little seventeen-to-eighteen-year-olds scoffing at old twenty-almost-twenty-one year old, not nice.

I think I finally figured out what I’ve been doing wrong with Enth3 that it doesn’t e-mail me anymore, I think I have an extra “\” in there somewhere throwing off the space-time continuum. But let’s not talk about my Fanlistings, they all look like arse and it depresses me. Especially the Magical Mystery Tour — who let me put it on the internet looking like that? It looks so drab and more of ‘A Detailed Tour of Saskatchewan’ then anything Magical or Mysterious. (Sorry Saskatchewan, it’s just so easy…)

Anyways, I want to get to the bookstore so I can fix up some shelving and make a few bucks given no where in Southern Ontario will give me a job. So, I’m signing off.

If nothing else I am reminded that Scott Adams (creator of Dilbert) is not only probably insane, but that I agree with him enough that I am also probably insane. I definately laughed out loud and would reccomend this book to anyone looking for a good laugh. At times he tries to get serious, which throw the pacing off a little bit, but I guess it may be a bit soul destroying to be ‘all funny all the time’

The book Geektastic is a compilation of stories about — you guessed it — Geeks. And if nothing else the book captures the pure essence of what a geek really is. Almost all of the stories ring embarassingly true stopping just shy of the insecurity point. I think I might have cringed at the LARP part just a little bit because that was ‘too nerdy’ even for me. If nothing else Geektastic is a great reassurance that you aren’t alone in your fanaticism. And that other people do love the crazy things you do.

I think my biggest problem with the book was most of the stories followed pretty much the same formula the nerd had his/her day, got the guy/girl and all lived happily ever after. It’s like going to what promises to be a great potluck party, and having everyone only bring coleslaw. I mean the party’s still there, you are just forced to wonder why no one called ahead to make sure not everyone was bringing the same thing. I mean, I guess if you’re writing for the Geek niche having a geek fail and then get hit by a bus would probably not help your readership.

Another thing that caught my eye was Libba Bray’s story. (Don’t get me wrong on this I am a huge fangirl of her Gemma Doyle trilogy and am waiting on the edge of my seat for anything else she ever writes). It was spectacular of course, and came as close as any of them came to being really meaty and gritty but… put beside all the other stories well, it stood out as being geared towards a much older audience. It was pretty surreal, the other stories about high school bullying and Libba’s involving underage sex. All of which was fine with me but it doesn’t fit. Either the other stories needed to step it up a notch, or Libba needed to tone it down.

There are also some notable nerdities missing, no gamers except MMORPGs and no anime and manga which I found particularly odd in a book about nerds.

If nothing else you have to read this book if you’re a nerd because they ‘nail it’. The feelings you’ve had, the situations you’ve been in, generally speaking you’ll find at least one story you’ll relate to. Inversely, if nerdy things are not your thing I’d probably say give it a pass.

Up next 69!

Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting oan a couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fuckin junk food intae yir mouth. Choose rotting away, pishing and shiteing yersel in a home, a total fuckin embarrassment tae the selfish, fucked-up brats ye’ve spawned to replace yourself. Choose life.

The first book of the summer seventy five is Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. A book about drug culture in Edinburgh.

Trainspotting was an obvious first choice for me, though I have yet to decide if I liked it or not. Maybe when I’m not marathoning I’ll take the time to read it again. I’ve been told time and time again that I will love the movie that is based off this book because it’s ‘weird’ and, well, if nothing else it is that written exclusively in the Scottish vernacular it became very endearing very quickly. It is conversational and confessional in nature and so reading it is more like being privvy to a conversation than reading a book.

It can, however, be a bit rocky to read. It certainly adds to the effect of the novel. You generally feel as disoriented as the junkie who you happen to be following, written in quick vignettes. You’ll occasionally be at a loss for who you happen to be following in the malestrom of Scots. I half wish I could ask an actual Scot who has read the novel if it is more comprehensible. The novel is endlessly impactful, constantly punching a huge windhole where you thought you might have had guts at one point.

Do I recommend it? Well, I think its a patient read, one that you need to want to read. If you’re willing to hack through the slang, drugs, sex, and cursing there is something undeniably unbreakable about the book. You read it and realise that depravity is in the eye of the beholder. The message is there should you care enough to dig it out.

For me there is of course the added appeal of it being set in Edinburgh, where I lived a few months. You recognize place names and just wish you were back there.

Whether you chose to read it or not you cannot deny the attachment of the novel to the indulging of your wicked side.

Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

An opening line fit both for American Psycho, and incidentally the gates of hell. American Psycho is not a book written for the faint of heart, but on the other hand I would be genuinely frightened to meet a person who wasn’t at least slightly repulsed by it. Even myself, an openly desensitized jackass, had to admit it was unnerving to the point where you just have to put it down for a moment and let your brain cool off.

The book is about a serial killer. Though, not your average foaming at the mouth sort of serial killer. Patrick Bateman is always cool, calm, and collected in public, though for probably no other reason than the fact that he is completely mad. A well off yuppie who the world has made so cold that violent executions do not seem to touch him at all.

I think the most effective part of the book is how meticulous it is. Ellis paces the story in a way that you really get into Patrick’s head as he itemizes people based on how expensive their attire is. It demonstrates amazingly well how inhuman he sees them. Perhaps, however, it is not that he sees them as inhuman, but himself as above human. At one point Patrick soliloquizes:

“I had all the characteristics of a human being—flesh, blood, skin, hair—but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that my normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure. I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning”

This insight of Bateman’s perhaps tells more of the story than his gruesome attacks ever could. He simply cannot feel. This is what adds much more interest to the end of the book. (If you have not read American Psycho, and plan on eventually reading it, skip the next paragraph).

It is when Patrick starts to question his own honesty, and if he has really committed the crimes that he starts to get concerned. It is not that he is worried about whether or not his victims have died, but rather if finally his sanity is giving out. And how breathtakingly honest this is. We don’t care about other people, only ourselves.

All in all, I would be hesitant to lend American Psycho to some people due to the graphic content. But in all honesty if you can get past that this is one hell of a book.