here, let me share my thoughts (disorganised and, uh, 2.9k as they are) on the series of books i just finished (well, finished insofar as you can finish an ongoing series). namely, the unofficially-termed agent pendergast series.
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hello again, readers and other readers. (i can't well use ladies and gentlemen here, can i? that would kind of be fucking rude! i mean, because there's not a formal genderneutral term to add. or substitute with? but the 'x and y' format is fun. hence the above.)
i'd like to talk about fiction. ...yeah, i know, what the hell else do i talk about that's not whining. the thing stands. thankfully, this is my journal, so i can!
a while ago my dad told me that he was reading a series of books by one (two actually) douglas preston and lincoln child. he recommended them highly, i bowed out because i quite literally can't read while i'm in school. (this is a somewhat complicated thing having to do with the fact that i can no more pick up a book, put it down, and pick it up again than i can do so with a song. this is also the reason for my continuing inability to finish pass the parcel, since at this point i couldn't, and thus i'm going to have to start over.) the, at the time, end.
( not, admittedly, the end period. warning: some spoilers, general. )
( more explicit spoilers from here onwards, still as vague as i could get them. )
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thought had whilst writing this that i might as well pile in if i'm going to make a huge essay-length post and claim it as nonfiction-but-thoughtful writing and thus deserving to be grouped under Things What I Wrote Here Count The Words:
( you could call this a conclusion but it's actually a highly hesitant first draft of a potential thesis. watch this train of thought? )
i can't speak for this book in an objective fashion yet; not only did i just finish it, but it's the first book of a trilogy. i have pretty high hopes for the rest of the trilogy, really, in the characters experience consequences to their actions department.
but i am also experiencing some trepidation, and an attack of Sudden-Onset Essay Syndrome, so here are the results.
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hello again, readers and other readers. (i can't well use ladies and gentlemen here, can i? that would kind of be fucking rude! i mean, because there's not a formal genderneutral term to add. or substitute with? but the 'x and y' format is fun. hence the above.)
i'd like to talk about fiction. ...yeah, i know, what the hell else do i talk about that's not whining. the thing stands. thankfully, this is my journal, so i can!
a while ago my dad told me that he was reading a series of books by one (two actually) douglas preston and lincoln child. he recommended them highly, i bowed out because i quite literally can't read while i'm in school. (this is a somewhat complicated thing having to do with the fact that i can no more pick up a book, put it down, and pick it up again than i can do so with a song. this is also the reason for my continuing inability to finish pass the parcel, since at this point i couldn't, and thus i'm going to have to start over.) the, at the time, end.
( not, admittedly, the end period. warning: some spoilers, general. )
( more explicit spoilers from here onwards, still as vague as i could get them. )
*
thought had whilst writing this that i might as well pile in if i'm going to make a huge essay-length post and claim it as nonfiction-but-thoughtful writing and thus deserving to be grouped under Things What I Wrote Here Count The Words:
( you could call this a conclusion but it's actually a highly hesitant first draft of a potential thesis. watch this train of thought? )
i can't speak for this book in an objective fashion yet; not only did i just finish it, but it's the first book of a trilogy. i have pretty high hopes for the rest of the trilogy, really, in the characters experience consequences to their actions department.
but i am also experiencing some trepidation, and an attack of Sudden-Onset Essay Syndrome, so here are the results.