Now I'm on the hunt for another novel, because I still feel stale. The book read like a flat description of a film. I consider it a serious tactical error to approach prose in this way. The boon of books is that they have the space and time to be something other than surface. They can show you more of the characters and get you further inside another's skin than any movie. Movies are limited to sight of beauty, colour and motion. Books can transmit touch, smell, and sense of beauty along with all the other things. They lack only music. This piece flunked everything. I was happy to snap it shut when it tediously pottered to a close.
A sample (because I will not be alone in my torment):
She studied him for a long moment. "It can't be good," she began finally. "I mean, I don't think it could ever be good to feel so much hate."
The statement seemed to irritate him. "Hate is all I have right now."
"But you can't change things," said Kerra. "You can't change what happened. Maybe you should let it go."
He bristled. "Those are the words of a coward. I will change things. I will fight for my people."
"That's not what I mean. I mean . . . Wow. I'm sorry. It's just . . . Nothing lasts, Kiddoni. Especially things like love. You can count on it."
Kiddoni's face softened. "Do you believe in nothing?"
"Not really." Kerra shrugged. "Not much."
She could feel tension building inside. Finally she leaped to her feet. "Ahhh! This is all so crazy! It isn't right. It's not real. You're not real. Everything -- this miracle -- it could all go away at any instant, and I'd never see you again."
Kiddoni reached out one more time to take her hand. "But it's here now. We're here."
Kerra pulled away. "I have to go. They'll start looking."
Do you see what I have endured? And now you think I am an idiot.
Fair enough.
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