SUPERBUG

We're introduced to Cliff, an aeronautical engineer whose boss cuts costs by selling unsafe designs, murders an employee who knows about this danger, and, cherry on top, blackmails a woman Cliff is interested in to the point she commits suicide. Our protagonist recognizes that this man cannot be allowed to wreak any more havoc on the world, and—you're not going to believe this—he attempts to murder his employer. Emphasis on attempts. Fortunately, his failure results in his enrollment at McMasters Conservatory for the Applied Arts, an idyllic campus where aspiring executors are tutored in the fine craft of "deleting" those who deserve it.

The writing is clever and enthralling and hilarious, I did NOT want to put this down. It's like watching a film, the style is so cinematic. I wasn't surprised at all to read that the author is a playwright. Maybe this background enabled the clean and clear transitions in perspective, which not only switch from character to character but from first person to third person.

One thing I noticed is that there was an imbalance with two of the protagonists having a personal connection while the third is an outlier, barely a friend to either and with seemingly disparate motivations. The individual stories hold up well on their own, but this sense of distance had me expecting something would happen to bring the main characters together, which... didn't happen.

Aside from that, though, the book closes in a very satisfying place. You could argue this is a spoiler-y comment, but I just want to say that I live in sunshine and rainbows world because everything wrapped up exactly the way that I hoped it would.

Anyways, the instant I finished I already wished I could go back into this world. As far as escapism fantasies go... I mean, who doesn't want to be whisked off without warning to be trained by experts in a respectable craft you're actually passionate about, on an isolated campus among like-minded people? Sign me the fuck up!

Review written February 2025.

I watched, as I suppose men have watched for centuries, to see if Gemma would give me a backward glance, and in that same rich male tradition, I admit I was vastly disappointed when she didn’t.

The basis of both films is that an undercover cop infiltrates the mafia while a mafia member joins the police. The two moles try to sniff each other out and drama ensues.

I skimmed other reviews and there are as many opinions are there are people about whether or not the remake is actually a remake or a retelling or a totally different film with its own ~special~ place in the world. Well, in my experience, the two films are equivalent enough in main plot and even some minor details that I was bored out of my MIND for the remake's 2.5 hour runtime. Of course, length has little bearing on quality, but the earlier film tells the same story in an hour and a half, with subtlety and intricacies completely abandoned in the later film. One such finer detail is that the point of contact between the two agents is a transaction as shop employee and customer early in the film, a seemingly mundane meeting that comes into play towards the end in a satisfying show of cards. Unsurprisingly, the remake constructed the more blatant love triangle as a bridge between the two main characters, and this decision really just took the entire concept of the film down a notch in my eyes.

Another distinction that really stood out to me was how much I preferred the style of the original film. I don't know much about cinematography, but the grittiness, the harsh contrast in the color grading, just felt so thematically appropriate to me. I have no idea how much camera quality, budget, and stylistic choices played into this; I don't have any context for Chinese film standards at the time. Then again, I don't know much about American movies either when it comes to the technical side of things. While it's not something that can be totally ignored, I feel that the different backgrounds of these movies had surprisingly little bearing on my impression of the two. In terms of storytelling, the original film was more finely constructed and effectively told, and this was done in a way that was more visually appealing to me than the remake.

Review written February 2024.

To summarize, Juliette is a mechanic working in the down deep. The generator she maintains supports electricity for the entire silo—a massive, subterranean, cylindrical society. She has no interest in the uninhabitable wasteland aboveground, but some other inhabitants of the silo harbor forbidden dreams of the outside world.

Everything about this novel was for me. I was immediately taken with the writing style. It's poetic yet natural, perfectly well balanced. The way the characters speak to each other is so real. In fact, I don't think I've ever read a book before where I thought "My god, this author has so much love in their heart." There's this sense of KINDNESS, of genuine consideration, it's in the dialogue, in the characters' thoughts, in the worldbuilding, in the descriptions, it's in everything. Something like this can only be the work of an insightful and empathetic individual, an opinion of mine that was cemented when I checked out the author's online footprint. One of his most recent blog posts discusses wealth inequality in the United States, a quick scroll through his “threads” (a social media site, apparently) reveals he openly supports transgender people. The comment sections on some of his posts are inundated with socialists.

This sense of worldliness leads directly into my next point, that the self-contained ecosystem of the silo is so thoughtfully constructed. I work in a bio/ag field, so I'm just a huge fan of circular systems; things like the hydroponic farms, bodies as fertilizer, the energy allocation all felt like a personal connection I had with the setting.

In building this self-contained world, it was not only essential to consider all these systems that support our way of life, but to condense them. So there's this grand scale of sustaining human life underground that narrows down to a bit of circle of life, purpose on earth introspection at times. It doesn't get heavy yet, but I wonder if it will in the next book. As you might expect, untying the knots of the silo's existence takes all kinds of societal and psychological tolls on the cast.

And here's the thing: all this happens so fast! I've gotten better at enjoying slow-paced things as of late, but it's so engaging when, in just the first few chapters, this world springs up around you, around these characters who drag you underground and fling you back up towards the polluted sky.

I mean, not to sound like I'm sucking this Howey guy's dick too hard, but I really don't have any criticisms of Wool so far. Nothing about the story or the writing grated on my nerves or felt off.

Anyways, all this to say I felt a lot of passion within this novel and in myself for the type of story being told.

On to the next installation in the trilogy! Maybe I should have waited to write a review of the whole series, but I don't want to forget anything I'm thinking right now. Plus, you just never know what might happen.

Review written January 2025.

I really loved Wool, as you would know if you read the text up thataway ↑. Now that I've been through Shift and Dust, I'll tack on my thoughts about the trilogy as a whole.

As I expected, the history of the silos builds and things start to get bureaucratic. We meet Donald, a newly elected senator. Trained as an architect, he had haphazardly designed a massive, cylindrical, self-sustaining building for a college assignment. Imagine his surprise when he's asked to redesign it to go underground.

Donald, as the original designer of the silos, is obviously a key player. However, Shift switches (shifts, if you will) between his point of view and that of a young porter named Mission in a silo that is experiencing an uprising. The temporal jumps are executed well, building history in the 2040s as well as expanding the silos as they exist hundreds of years later. Unfortunately, Mission's story felt like an accessory to this overall plot of Donald and Juliette. When his tale came to a close, I felt like its only purpose was to humanize the people Donald was in a management position over; the intricacies of Mission's silo would have fared better as a side story.

That's my first real complaint. Secondly, character deaths have almost no impact on... anything, really. When someone dies, no matter the circumstances, they're immediately replaced by characters who not only serve the same narrative purpose, but behave the same way. This sense of everyone being interchangeable meant that as much as I liked Juliette in the first book, I didn't think "I like this character" about anyone else. I barely thought that about Juliette by the end, if I'm being honest.

The entire trilogy is just plot driven, which I think is fine, for the most part. Wool sets the stage effectively, preparing the reader for a play where the actors aren't the focus. This story of the silos would unfold no matter who the cast is. Though this approach isn't exactly a failure or mistake on the part of the author, it leaves something to be desired. And with all these meaningless deaths, the ending feels rather abrupt, as so many characters were introduced in the latter half of the last book.

So, the second and third books were still pageturners for me, but they weren't up to par with the first one in many respects.

With that criticism out of the way, I want to mention a very specific theme that captured me—suicide, suicidal thoughts, the so-called unbreakable human spirit at war with an innate self-destruction instinct. Lukas imagines that moment of flight before splattering a few stories down, feels "a twinge of fear and a rush of adrenalin from picturing the fall, the end, so vividly." As for another character, "part of him feared he would pass out in there and [they] would discover him dead. Part of him hoped." Jules risks death with every action she takes. Hell, even beyond mere thoughts or risks, there are more suicides in this trilogy than all the books I've read over the past year combined. Of course, maybe I'm not reading the right kind of books.

Obviously, much of the hopelessness stems from coming to understand the insane circumstances of their underground lives, as opposed to existing in blissful ignorance. But they are our protagonists, so they necessarily must have a unique perspective. Anyways, this sense of despair the characters sometimes feel, instead of letting it consume them, they're driven to seek something more, to expand and improve their world.

And so, it's never ever depressing. Oh, yes, it's a horrible tragedy that the land above is inhospitable. It's unfathomable how so many people have been lied to, made to believe there's nothing beyond the walls of the silo. This is a bleak, post-apocalyptic type of world, in which a deeply hopeful and joyous story spirals up and around like the central staircase of every silo.

Well, that's about it. I loved the Wool trilogy, and it would be worth your time if you wanted to pick it up.

Addendum written February 2025.

Holston saw the heaven into which he’d been condemned for his simple sin of hope.

‘These buildings’ – he pointed to what looked like large white cans sitting on the ground – ‘these are silos. They hold seed for the bad times. For until the times get good again.’

The end was coming for them all. His father would laugh and disagree, [...] telling him how people had thought the same thing long before he and his brother were born, that it was the hubris of each generation to think this anew, to think that their time was special, that all things would come to an end with them. His father said it was hope that made people feel this, not dread. People talked of the end coming with barely concealed smiles. Their prayer was that when they went, they wouldn’t go alone. Their hope was that no one would have the good fortune to come after and live a happy life without them.

The stains would never wash out. [...] She would always have hurt her father. Was that the way to phrase it? Always have had. It was immortal tense. A new rule of grammar. Always have had gotten friends killed. Always have had a brother die and a mother take her own life. Always have had taken that damn job as sheriff. There was no going back.

Spoilers are NOT hidden, this whole thing is spoilers.

This is the first time I've ever so thoroughly enjoyed a book (series), I felt a need to write a review of it.

Crown of Stars is frequently cited as one of the most popular fantasy series of the late 90s. The seven novels follow many characters in their adventures around a version of medieval Europe, set generations after an empire has fallen. Standard fantasy elements prevail: magic, violent warfare, earth-shaking catastrophes, fantastic creatures, and a bit of romance.

Well, I’ll start with my favorite aspect of the series. Alain is one of the most tragic characters I've ever encountered. He loses everything, several times over. Every time he gains something worth having, it's taken from him.

He finds a man who is overjoyed to call him “son,” a man he loses as a result of another’s pointless quest for revenge. He marries a woman he adores, one who won’t return an iota of his earnest affection due to her own contemptible nature, and both she and his inheritance are stolen from him. He dies, betrayed by the one who first offered him an escape from the simple life he led before. He falls so deeply in love, and she gives him a ring. A friend carves him a dog-headed staff. It’s all torn from him, everyone and everything. He finds the ring again thousands of years later, and you know what he does? He looks at the person who found the only link remaining between himself and the one he loved most, and he decides to let it stay with that person. He finds his staff again, and someone else needs it. He hands it over. “Let it be passed on to the one who needs it most,” he says. His selflessness is devastating. His suffering is heart-rending. If he had lost his devoted companions, the aptly named Rage and Sorrow, well… I admit I probably would have cried until I threw up.

And yet somehow, even after everything, he still manages to love and love and love. And yet sadly sadly sadly enough, despite this unwavering kindness in him, he’s terribly isolated from other people. His closest bonds are with animals and non-human characters. Also, I should say he’s isolated from other average people. There’s a trend of him befriending disabled people that is… interesting, especially considering how each of these characters are also connected to animals. I don't believe the author was intentionally drawing a dehumanizing comparison, because Alain always treats them well even as others cast them aside. But the implication is still there maybe, even if it's superimposed by Alain simply relating to outcasts. Something to think about.

Anyways. On the technical side of things, the books are written in smooth prose, very easy to read. Descriptions of scenery and setting are mostly a “get the gist” type of deal.

The series falters in the second book—I found the switch from two protagonists to six (or seven?) so jarring I considered putting the series down. The original main characters had me hook line and sinker though so I stuck with it, and after the second book storylines tie together neatly. While it was rough at first, the timing of each perspective change was decent enough, objectively. In my entirely biased view, I would have enjoyed seeing more of Alain's story. As I made pretty clear, he was my favorite character, and while I appreciate the author’s style of not wasting anyone's time with lengthy travel descriptions, it would have been nice to follow him around a bit more. Even the smallest interactions he has with the inhabitants of the world around him show so much love and really set him apart from other characters, in this and in everything else. I just wanted to spend more time with him.

That’s my main and very personal criticism, but I do have some other miscellaneous gripes. The conclusions to some of the main story threads are disappointing beyond belief. I really did not care at all for the motif of "you can't hate anything you aren’t also capable of loving." The epilogue of the very last book is unnecessary to the point of being insulting.

Of course, these criticisms don’t devalue everything the series does well. I definitely see why it's considered an essential fantasy read, though I admit most of my enjoyment of this series stemmed from Alain’s character. Still, the themes he embodies are woven throughout the story, concepts of free will and “your life is what you make of it” and whatnot. It’s a powerful and hopeful tale, despite all the tragedy and strife.

So, that’s what I had to say about Crown of Stars. You’ll notice I didn’t really discuss the main plot or Liath and Sanglant or the church or the fantasy aspects, and now, two years later, I couldn’t tell you jack about any of that. But I still know Alain. I remember his love, his kindness, his hope for the world around him. I think he’s one of my favorite book characters of all time.

Review “written” Feb. 2023, Edited to be legible January 2025

… though he wants to die because the pain is so bad, both the physical pain and the pain of anger and grief. Yet those same feet keep taking their stumbling, weak steps because he can’t even despair enough to fall down and die. He wonders if it is possible to love life too well.

Yet why would the world be so beautiful if it wasn’t meant to be lived in and loved?

He, too, sheltered a blight on his soul. He, too, was penned in, waiting only to die. He was imprisoned and might bide on Earth for long years, if God were not merciful, long years remembering Adica’s sweetness and the light she brought with her, that was her essence. The smell of meadow flowers.

It would have been better to walk in company with her down the path that leads to the Other Side.

Yet how could he bear to leave the world, which was so beautiful? Even here, on this deathwatch, the night blossomed around him. A nightjar churred. The hazy cloak of air thrown across the sky hid half the stars and pricked the others into unexpected brilliance. Sounds unfolded beneath the canopy of trees barely stirred by a lazy breeze: the breathing of the ewes, the skittering of a mouse, the ticking of a bug, the distant tumble of a stream. The shadow of a bat swooped past; an owl cooed. Grass tickled his fingers where his hand lay slack on the ground, and he felt a tiny body creeping into the shelter of his hand as an owl glided past, seen swiftly and then gone into the trees. A minuscule tongue tested his skin. He sat very still so as not to scare the mouse away. The wind rustled in the branches and the grass swayed and whispered, playing along his wrist and hand, telling him a story of lands far away, lost to him once....

They do not want to give me up. At Lavas he had been cast out; no one had wanted him, although he had been accepted by the Lions because of the king's imprimatur and, he hoped, his own hard work. Adica and her village had taken him in as one of their own, but he had been deposited there by a shaman of great power and terrible wisdom. Here at Hersford he had been accepted out of charity; he had believed himself suffered more than loved.

Had he misunderstood the good brothers? What man would smile sadly as Ortulfus did now, as if searching for a question to an answer he already knew?

The writing style felt very generic to me, which isn't necessarily a bad thing but didn't serve to pull me in the way I had hoped this book would. This, paired with the agonizing (necessary, but still agonizing) buildup to the actual comet event, left me pretty disinterested until nearly halfway through—at which point the comet hits, and of course things pick up dramatically. In fact, things progress too quickly. The story completely skips over travel, society-building, and conflicts that I look for in an apocalyptic novel. So I really don't have much commentary on the plot in this.

As for main themes, I'm not quite sure what the reader is meant to take away. There are the expected threads of reliance on technology and restructuring of societal power and whatnot. Slightly more unique themes emerge, such as "cheating on your wife" and "dealing with cannibal priests," which really aren't all that entertaining. With so many various characters/entities to discuss, all with different motivations and desires and levels of relevance, it spreads itself too thin to make any points about anything (?).

I think my favorite part of this story was the actual SHTF event. It takes you through vignettes of where random people were when it happened and how they died. It's a bit long, but I'll include the one that stuck with me here if you'd like to read it. It can kind of stand alone as a short story, which is neat.

Anyways. Honestly, I wish I had something thoughtful to say about the novel as a whole, but it just didn't appeal to me the way I wanted it to and I don't have anything. Useless review.

Review written November 2024, edited December 2024

Not only do millions think the world's going to end, but millions more hope so. It shows in their attitudes. They hate what they're doing, and keep looking nostalgically at the "simple" life. Of course they won't voluntarily choose to be farmers or live in communes, but if everybody has to…

The film introduces serial killer Mike, who believes he's making the world a better place with his habit. He adheres to a strict moral code; kids are off limits, as are animals. He gives back to his community, he's a regular upstanding citizen! Of course, he needs someone to continue his legacy, so he picks up a loser video store employee to show him the ropes.

This plot is interspersed with a TED-talk like sales pitch for Mike's lessons in serial killing, as well as short interviews with a serial killer expert and characters in the story. This structure had me GLUED to the screen. The performances are all entertaining, the interview segments are funny and feel very candid.

But let's get this out of the way, I only watched this movie to see Dameon Clarke's acting. His voice acting is some of my favorite in the universe and I was NOT disappointed seeing him on the big screen. The way he acts, his charisma is just unparalleled, in my mind. It's hard to believe he's had so few roles, but I guess his skill is so suited to particular character types it might be for the best.

I'm already SO excited to rewatch this one. I can't seem to find a decent copy of it online, so I'm looking into buying a dvd. Haven't had to do that in yeaaaaars. Anyways, I think I might make this MY movie, though I don't know if I even have it in me to be pretentious about a movie...

Review written August 2024.

Hey dipshit! Hey, y'know what's fuckin' hilarious? Is that you chose to act like a fuckin' asshole on your last day on earth!

Project Hail Mary follows a plot analogous to what I remember from The Martian. One man is essentially stranded alone in space and tries to do his assigned task while also working towards surviving slash returning home. In this book, the "one man" is Dr. Ryland Grace, who wakes up on a spaceship in a foreign star system. His comrades are dead and he has no memories of who he is or why he's on this ship. Long story short, he regains enough through flashbacks to recall that humanity encountered its first aliens in the form of microbes consuming the sun. He's been sent to this star system to find a cure for the infection. By some cosmic coincidence, he encounters an alien with the same damn problems as him. Ryland and his new friend work to find a cure for their home systems.

The alien companion was my favorite aspect of the book, obviously. I love speculative alien biology (even though I don't know much about it) and I thought Weir came up with a very interesting organism, one that breathes ammonia and "sees" with some sort of echolocation. I can't attest to the scientific accuracy or inaccuracy of the design, but it makes for a unique set of challenges for the protagonist. In fact, it's so unique it's implausible... learning to communicate with an alien being, picking up on their physical gestures despite differing anatomies, building a friendship with them, all this with limited resources and time. It's so far-fetched, but I thought it was sweet. It's nice to think of a human-alien encounter going this well.

So, I liked the alien stuff. I also thought the book was constructed well, especially in terms of plot pacing. Switching between flashbacks and current day can be irritating if it's not balanced well, but this did a pretty solid job of it. Additionally, every time I started thinking "Hm, it's probably about time for something bad to happen," something bad would happen.

That said, I don't know if I can say this book is "good," exactly. The characters were shallow, the author's writing style was very obviously internet-inspired, and the entire plot was fantastical to the point of being childish. But hey, I don't read scifi for the pillar of the genre that is realism, so I had a lot of fun with it.

Like I mentioned earlier, The Martian appealed to me when I was a kid, and maybe I would have enjoyed this more if I were younger. Even so, I liked it as it is! If you were into the book/movie of The Martian, I think this one is worth a shot, especially if you can look past the writing style. You'll be able to tell pretty early on whether or not you can handle it. Let it hook you! Or don't, I can't tell you what to do.

Review written August 2024.

Well, I say “his hand,” but maybe it’s her hand. Or some other pronoun I don’t have a word for. They might have seventeen biological sexes, for all I know. Or none. No one ever talks about the really hard parts of first contact with intelligent alien life: pronouns.

*This quote just made me laugh. It's such a "Reddit" thing for someone to say.

Siri and the other crew members have bodies and minds augmented with cybernetics. Isaac, the biologist, can hear x-rays and see in ultrasound. Susan, the linguist, is referred to as The Gang; she's fractured her mind to form Sascha, Michelle, and Cruncher, a group that switches seamlessly between personae. Amanda, the soldier, is, well, the soldier. The transhumanism of the characters is essential to the central theme of human consciousness, as you may have guessed based on the title, if you knew what the word "blindsight" meant before reading this. (I did not.)

As the narrator, Siri's upgrades and relationship with consciousness are obviously the most intriguing. He suffered from epilepsy when he was a child, which was cured by removing half his brain. The severed lobe was eventually replaced with technological upgrades enabling him to map and interpret surfaces—in his case, human faces and body language. Despite this preternatural ability to interpret people, Siri struggles with loss of empathy and limited emotional range. He is ostracized due to his occupation, considered an intruder for spying on the subconscious of those around him. He displays some traits that are commonly associated with autism, though he is never described as such. Of course, his affliction is due to only having one flesh hemisphere of a brain, but I think the author borrowed from autistic stereotypes when developing him.

Augments like his are only the tip of the iceberg in this future society, which is so advanced Siri mentions they may have already hit Singularity. For instance, people can choose to abandon their flesh, hook their brains to computers, and ascend to Heaven, a fabricated reality of their own design. Siri's mother left him and his father to join the ranks of these Virtually Omnipotent, and our narrator's visits with her are a poignant example of how the intersection between technology and consciousness affects interpersonal relationships. This theme is echoed in Siri's reflections upon a past girlfriend named Chelsea, who worked as a "neuroaestheticist," tweaking people's tastes in music or food so they can be more compatible with their partners. Even sex has become outdated, phased out by virtual reality sex. Chelsea, though, is an old-fashioned girl—she prefers what she calls "real" sex, which repulses Siri and stands as a point of contention between them.

In addition to all these characters, the final crew member is "captain" Sarasti, token "vampire" aboard their vessel. I was wary of this label, as I feel that fantasy and scifi concepts are best enjoyed separately, for the most part. And honestly, I was right in this case. Vampires, a genetic deviation from mainstream Homo sapiens evolution, subsist on human flesh and are harmed by lines that intersect at right angles. They were extinct at some point, but one way or another they were resurrected so their superior intelligence could be put to use. It's not a catastrophic clashing of genres, but it's ineffective because the author forces the vampires to bridge a gap that was never really there.

Sarasti is characterized as a genius sociopath beyond human comprehension, which doesn't quite add up considering the entire crew already perceives the world in ways beyond human comprehension. At the end of the novel,

The author presents the vampires' superior intelligence and coincident lack of consciousness as an advantage over human sentience. Comparing humans, vampires, and the aliens, he posits that sentience could be considered an evolutionary disservice, which is an intriguing point. However, it was completely unnecessary to include hyperintelligent cannibals when cognitive enhancement to the point of brain-computer interfacing is already essential to the plot. It would have been vastly more significant if the captain had been human, one whose mind was more circuitry than synapse, more wiring than neurons firing.

So yeah, the vampire aspect of the novel fails ultimately because, sandwiched between superhumans and aliens, the vampires served as distraction from the central themes as opposed to enhancement.

It looks like there's something of a sequel as well as a prequel, though I can't say I'm interested in them. I feel like this one is contained within itself and needs no elaboration. I felt no affinity towards the writing style, either, so I don't intend to pick up anything else by this author.

Criticisms aside, I found the novel thought provoking. It was pretty cool to look at consciousness and intelligence and how those concepts may or may not apply to an alien life form, so I would say I enjoyed it!

Review written March 2024.

Reflecting upon the books I've read in 2024, I have to say this one stands out as my favorite. And not by default, either; I read several books I enjoyed this year, but this one has just stuck with me in a way few other books have recently. I've spent a surprising amount of time revisiting its themes of alienation and intelligence.

Also, after reading a bit more about the author and checking out his blog I might actually have to look into more of his stuff. Pretty cool guy.

Addendum written December 2024.

That distance—that chronic sense of being an alien among your own kind—it's not entirely a bad thing.

I really wanted to talk to her.
I just couldn't find an algorithm that fit.

The story focuses on Roy Neary, an everyday electrician whose close encounter leaves him desperate for answers. Jillian Guiler's little son is abducted around the same time, and their fates converge, meeting at coordinates they're inexplicably drawn to.

It's written beautifully. It's straightforward almost to the point of being simple, and yet there's something so lovely and whimsical about it. The film, as is usually the case, lost some of the ambiance of the book and I think it was skewed with more horror elements than I was expecting, but it followed the book very closely, pulling many lines word for word from the novel. Obviously, it's an excellent adaptation.

I admit, I actually cried while reading AND watching. It's not sad, but rapturous... something about it pulls you in and spins you out, from dread to elation and back again, and it's like seeing the sun come out from behind the clouds—and sing to you. I think my favorite aspect of it is how Roy's journey isn't some noble quest for knowledge, for advancement of the human race, it's this very personal desperation for answers. It's this frantic devotion that supercedes connection to his wife, his kids, his home, his job, his entire life. After all, he's been invited. Can you imagine being called in such a way... for them to come and sing to us, to invite us and touch us and take us away... to finally be found?

Review written February 2024, edited March 2024.

He said the sun came out last night. He says it sang to him.

"The sky," he said in a thin voice, "the sky sings to us."
The two men embraced. Tears ran down the Frenchman's cheeks. His voice was thick with emotion.
"It sings to all of us, my friends."

I held out this hope for a long time, until it entirely lost me something like 3/4 of the way in. Maybe I lack the creative vision necessary to extrapolate anything from this movie, but I came away from it with the impression that it was trying to be artistic and esoteric to distract from a lack of actual meaning. I couldn't tell you how intentional this prioritization was on the director's part.

I guess you don't have to understand things to appreciate them and even enjoy them, but for the most part, this film left me too puzzled to like it at all. Aspects of Hal's story were very good, there was something sweet and sad about him I liked. But overall, I thought this film was pretty stupid. The only thing I gained from this was the ability to recognize references to it in other media, which is worth something!

Review written January 2024.

I had just finished reading some pretty rough shit—admittedly, I was excited to read something that posed minimal challenge. So excited, in fact, I tore through this in like two days. It's not a particularly long book, but considering how little time I have for reading these days I think those two days are a testament to how compelling the story is. In it, Joey Perrone and her husband Chaz celebrate their second anniversary on a luxury cruise, but the festivities are cut short when he flips her over the railing. Joey, presumed dead, actually survives the fall thanks to her swimming skills and a lucky run-in with a hot older man who lives alone in a big house on a small island... with his help, Joey seeks revenge on her murderous husband, discovering the corrupt companies and pollution plots that led to her marriage's ruination.

If you're like me and you have fond memories of the author's books for a younger audience, you'll recognize extremely familiar themes in this book. I guess Hiaasen’s deep ties to the Everglades permeate his work. Which is awesome, because I work in a water resources field and half of the shit I do revolves around agricultural pollution and wetlands, so I really enjoyed having that familiarity with some of the subjects.

Between that personal connection to the content, the vibrant protagonists and fascinating side characters, and the comedy that really defines the author's style, I found this book fantastic. I absolutely plan to read more; I hope his other adult works are as fun and humorous and sexy as this one!

Review written January 2024, edited February 2024.

One spring evening in 1896, a prominent Pennsylvanian named Hamilton Disston blew his brains out in a bathtub. He had become gravely depressed after depleting his inheritance on a grandiose campaign to drain 4 million acres of Florida swamp known as the Everglades. Although Disston died believing himself a failure, he was later proven a pioneer and an inspiration. [...] Inevitably the Everglades and all its resplendent wildlife began to die, but nobody with the power to prevent it considered trying. It was, after all, just a huge damn swamp.

Lohman details the series of events after he accidentally kills a man in self defense. He is hunted across Texas by the man's extensive family, and seeks his father in New Mexico. His brother's sawed-off rifle is his only constant companion, and he wields it with extraordinary skill as he finds himself killing again and again—always in self defense.

There's not much to say about this one. I found this a very straightforward and simple and sad tale, and I guess I'm a bit of a sucker for the archetype Lohman embodies, so I enjoyed it.

Review written January 2024, edited February 2024.

It lifted him off his feet and the sun did a curious thing. It seemed to hit him square and bright, as it had been hitting the boulder, so that his dark shirt for the minute seemed snow white...

The first McCarthy novel I read, No Country for Old Men, while not exactly an easy read for me, had a natural sort of flow that drew me along. Maybe it was the writing style or the pacing or the strange subdued tone, but I took five months to labor through All The Pretty Horses. I could only read a page or two at a time before I felt the need to put the book down. This is nothing to be ashamed of, but making it to the end of the book and finding Reader's Guide questions like in books for middle schoolers was somewhat humbling. (Honestly, I think if I had been assigned this book in school I would have lost all my passion for reading.) Some of the questions were straightforward, asking "Do the characters think violence is bad?" and "How do character deaths propel the story?" while others actually enabled me to process the book and its meaning to some extent. For example, question ten:

All the Pretty Horses is spare in exposition (note the economy with which McCarthy establishes John Grady’s situation at the book’s beginning) yet lavish in the attention it devotes to scenes and details whose significance is not immediately clear (note the description of the cantina on page 49 and the scene in which John Grady and Rawlins buy new clothes on pages 117-121). Why do you think the author has chosen to weight his narrative in this way?

The question posed here made me realize the jarring pacing and inconsistent emphasis was intended to serve a purpose other than irritating the reader. No, but actually, the questions, which covered other technical aspects of the writing as well as themes of violence, cultural differences, and horses, made me realize that I could have appreciated the book much more if it weren't so difficult for me to get through it. I think was aware of this to some extent as I was trudging through, because I did feel that All the Pretty Horses was something I wanted to read. A vague connection with the themes is possibly the only reason I survived to the end.

Did I enjoy it? No. Was it worth my time? I don't know. Am I glad I read it? Almost. So, once again, I find myself writing a completely meaningless "review" of a McCarthy novel. This time, though, I do have one conclusive thought: I don't intend to grapple with any other McCarthy books—not even the next two novels in this trilogy—for a long, long time. If ever.

Review written January 2024, edited February 2024.

Él va a ver a su novia, he said.
They looked at him earnestly and he nodded and said that it was true.
Ah, they said. Qué bueno. And after and for a long time to come he’d have reason to evoke the recollection of those smiles and to reflect upon the good will which provoked them for it had power to protect and to confer honor and to strengthen resolve and it had power to heal men and to bring them to safety long after all other resources were exhausted.

From the first few minutes, it was apparent that my perception of Andrews had little in common with the chipper city boy marveling at the country sights on the screen. I'm not sure how to explain it, but my impression of him from the book was just nowhere near as fresh faced. Of course, I'm no literature expert, but it's hard for me to imagine I misunderstood his behavior to such an extent.

Aside from some characterization that seemed off to me, I was let down by the presentation of one of my personal favorite themes: divinity and land. The theme of the untamed west being God incarnate is one that I hold in high esteem, and it was handled beautifully and subtly in the novel. In the movie, however, watching Andrews spin around in the forest hollering "This is God! This is what I wanted to see!" was almost insulting. Why does everything need be shouted? Can't a concept be conveyed in a whisper? Have the people who make movies never heard the phrase "show don't tell"?

A few other scenes were introduced in the film that weren't present in the book. The corpse in the shed, the travelling family, the poisoning, the different character deaths... I can't understand the need for any of these changes. They didn't serve to further any points or develop the world or characters.

I have a few other miscellaneous complaints. The sound design was lacking, to say the least. I wasn't paying attention for several big plot moments and the score was so unremarkable I didn't even notice. Scene cuts were jarring, the set and costumes felt extremely modern, and this is just a really personal peeve but there's no reason for those characters to have such bright white teeth.

The movie concludes by proclaiming that it was filmed on land stewarded by the Blackfeet Nation, and that the buffalo used in the movie were handled by the nation's buffalo program. Perhaps this acknowledgement would have felt meaningful if the movie versions of the characters hadn't expressed unnecessary hatred towards Native Americans, which absolutely was not part of the book. What a disappointing and shallow end to a disappointing and shallow movie!

To be clear, I do think films can be a wonderful medium for philosophical tales. It's just a shame that while Butcher's Crossing had a strong source material, it failed to communicate any of the haunting themes of the original novel.

Review written December 2023.

While that covers the basic plot of both the book and the film adaptation, it's not a very good summary. The novel covers so much ground, more so philosophically than physically, that simply describing characters and events can't really convey much about it. Or that could be a failure on my part, as I think this is maybe one of those stories I just don't quite get. I mean, I get it to some extent; I watched the movie a while ago (actually, I had made the best broccoli casserole I've ever pulled off and I ate that while I watched the movie), and now I've read the book, so it's not like I missed any of the very obvious themes. Maybe I'm just not sure what to make of it.

I like the violence and the tragedy and the sorrow of it all. I like the contrast between everyman Moss and Chigurh, who is like a force of nature. I like how it's written, with minimal punctuation and the blunt lines of action. I can name things I like about it, but I don't think I could tell you whether or not I like the book as a whole. It's certainly worth reading. I'm very glad I read it. It just makes me so sad, and not in a particularly satisfying way either.

Well. Up until now, I've been trying to write my "reviews" without being influenced by other points of view. It may sound stupid and isolationist, but I really want to work through my own thoughts and form my own opinions, whether they may be in line with those of others or not. So, since I don't have much to say I'm going to go watch the film again, maybe skim the book, read some reviews of both, and I'll come back and share any revelations I may have.

I lied. I don't think I'll be watching the movie again anytime soon, as it's a surprisingly taxing endeavor.

I did read a few reviews, though. Most notably, several mentioned greed as a theme, which made me feel like a fucking idiot because that somehow never occurred to me. I guess I didn't see Moss's actions as "greedy" so much as "natural." I'm not going to think too hard about what that says about me. In my defense, though, if YOU found 2 million in cash in the middle of nowhere...? I believe even the most upstanding members of society would succumb to temptation.

Well, my moral shortcomings aside, I don't really know what to say. This review feels like a failure, because I don't have much to say and I'm going in circles and I still can't quite tell you whether or not I enjoyed it. I mean, isn't it strange how a story can leave you thinking about it for months, and the whole time you're not even sure whether you liked it or not? Maybe "liking" or even "enjoying" something isn't always what matters. I don't know. I told someone I liked it. Let's just go with that: I liked it. The end.

Review written August 2023, edited September 2023.

Yeah. Well. Everbody is somethin.

People complain about the bad things that happen to em that they dont deserve but they seldom mention the good. About what they done to deserve them things. I dont recall that I ever give the good Lord all that much cause to smile on me. But he did.

[...] they asked me if I believed in Satan. I said Well that aint the point. And they said I know but do you? I had to think about that. I guess as a boy I did. Come the middle years my belief I reckon had waned somewhat. Now I’m startin to lean back the other way. He explains a lot of things that otherwise dont have no explanation. Or not to me they dont.

You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday dont count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else. You might think you could run away and change your name and I dont know what all. Start over. And then one mornin you wake up and look at the ceilin and guess who’s layin there?

Well you’re somethin. Aint you?
Everbody’s somethin.

I believe I watched the movie around the time it came out, in 2015. I wasn't exactly allowed to watch R rated movies when I was so young, but I think my mom liked it, so when she rewatched it she let me come along for the ride. In any case, I had no memory of the film. I learned recently that it was adapted from a book, and decided I wanted to read it and watch the movie again. My mom has been desperate for things to read lately, so I asked her to read it as well, and we watched the movie together after finishing the novel.

The book is fucking BRILLIANT—grueling, captivating, thrilling. Based on the true story of Hugh Glass, a trapper in the 1820s, it recounts the harrowing bear attack that leaves him incapacitated. He's been traveling the frigid Dakota region with a group of other trappers, and they elect to leave him behind, believing he will succumb to his injuries. After being offered monetary incentive, two men, Fitzgerald and Jim Bridger, agree to remain with him to give him a proper burial. Naturally, they abandon him when a party of hostile Native Americans travels too close to their camp. As if simply abandoning Glass wasn't enough, Fitzgerald and Bridger rob him of his belongings, including his fine Anstadt rifle. The expertly crafted weapon is elegant and deadly, "the one extravagance of his life." Unforgivable. Alone and suffering from his wounds, he survives, against all odds, and pursues those who wronged him across hundreds of miles of wilderness.

Punke tells the story in a clear, matter-of-fact way. I haven't read many stories of a biographical nature, but something about this assertive account of events really held my attention. I genuinely couldn't put it down. I don't have any criticism or complaints about ANYTHING in the book, which is rare coming from me.

As for the movie, I'm sure it was well-produced, given all the awards it won, but it deviated from the book far too much for my tastes. I kind of quit paying attention like halfway through and only tuned in to comment on how stupid it was. All the changes were so pointless! The book was incredible, I can't even begin to imagine why they felt the need to change it so much. I guess moviegoers need everything sensationalized so they don't have to do any extrapolation on their part.

The most egregious alteration is that they decided Glass needed a son. It's extremely obvious from the first few minutes of the film that this son is killed by Fitzgerald. Glass feels the need to avenge his loss, which COMPLETELY changes the themes of revenge in the novel. Hunting down Fitzgerald would not bring his son back.

The movie makes that clear. In the book, though, Glass absolutely can reclaim what was taken from him: his rifle. This change is truly a devastating loss for us revenge enjoyers.

Another issue I had is that they cut the encounters and experiences he had during his trek, replacing them with a strange B-plot that tries to paint the Native American attacks as a response to white trappers kidnapping a chief's daughter... I think? Whatever their intentions were, it has nothing to do with Glass and his story. In the novel, the meetings he has further his journey and develop the readers' perception of the world he lives in. They demonstrate his intelligence and resourcefulness, traits which enabled him to recover from his injuries and survive in the harsh climate. Most of his experiences are also just fucking BADASS. One scene I was devastated about not seeing in the film is when he fights wolves off a buffalo carcass with burning branches. While a thunderstorm rages around him. I don't care how much Punke fabricated this scene, it's EPIC. It makes far more sense in Glass's tale than whatever was going on in the movie.

It almost feels like a slap in the face to the author, who put so much effort into research for the novel. Personally, I would be—at the very least—somewhat irritated by the drastic changes the filmmakers made to the story, even if they did pull off one gnarly bear attack, and they filmed a lot of it under brutal weather conditions in Canada, and Leonardo DiCaprio was dedicated enough to eat raw bison liver. (Unfortunately, Punke has not been free to comment on the film due to his position as a World Trade Organization ambassador.) Not to mention the insult to the real Hugh Glass, dead for nearly 200 years now, who did not have any documented children and

Well, I actually really loved the book. I've never been one for historical fiction or anything, but it's pretty fucking awesome and I will read it again. As for the film, I wish I hadn't even bothered with it.

Review written August 2023.

And if Glass believed in a god, surely it resided in this great western expanse. Not a physical presence, but an idea, something beyond man’s ability to comprehend, something larger.*

*I will always go a little crazy over comparison of the land to "god" in westerns. Gets me every. single. time.

It’s only a story. None of it really happened. How could it? How could such people be? The prisoner is probably a professor. The sheriff loses the next election. The truckdriver died of emphysema. And as for the cowboy, that character, why nobody even knows where he is anymore. Or even, to be honest, if he ever really was.

In this "old tale in a new time," it's the 1950s, every man has long since swapped steed for steel, except for Jack Burns. The titular brave cowboy has ridden his ornery little horse Whisky across the paved, industrialized landscape of New Mexico to save his friend, Paul Bondi, academic and anarchist, who faces two years in prison for refusing to sign up for the draft. Burns is determined to break him out.

In his endeavors, the police find that Burns has also dodged the draft. He becomes a wanted man, running from the law in the unforgiving mountain terrain. It's quite an intense chase, though it's just one man and his horse against a handful of cops. Abbey writes Burns with such a tangible sense of desperation, and combined with the beautiful descriptions of the surroundings it's a well-crafted story.

The Brave Cowboy was adapted into the 1962 film Lonely Are the Brave, dir. David Miller. For the most part, I thought the movie was a halfway decent adaptation, as it draws a lot of scenes and quotes directly from the book. There's only one flaw, and unfortunately it's pretty fatal: it completely dropped the anarchist themes.

Instead of resisting the draft, Bondi's character in the film has provided aid to illegal immigrants. While this is certainly a noble cause, the story paints him as more of a bleeding heart than a man of conviction rebelling against an unjust society. In the novel, he gives Burns impassioned speeches about prioritizing friends over institutions, and the anti-government sentiment that motivates his decisions lends nuance to the overall story. Without this context, the story is no longer a critique of capitalist America; instead, it degrades into a widely palatable tale of a cowboy's individualism.

Anyways, the movie lost a lot of the heart of the book. I would have enjoyed it far more if I hadn't read the book, but hey, reading and then watching something will almost always be the experience I prefer. That said, it's a quick read and a short watch, so I think whether you only read the book, only watch the film, or do both in either order, it's worth your time.

Review written August 2023.

Like all brave cowboys dead and alive / on riding and wind and stars he could thrive

I don’t see the world getting any better; like you I see it getting worse. I see liberty being strangled like a dog everywhere I look, I see my own country overwhelmed by ugliness and mediocrity and overcrowding, the land smothered under airstrips and superhighways, the natural wealth of a million years squandered on atomic bombs and tin automobiles and television sets and ball-point fountain pens. It’s a sorry sight indeed; I can’t blame you for wanting no part of it. But I’m not yet ready to withdraw, despite the horror of it. Even if withdrawal is possible, which I doubt.

Obedience is such a fundamental habit of the contemporary American mind that any kind of disobedience is regarded as a form of insanity.

A man bent on chivalry can be quite ruthless.

Along the road into town, a sign reads:

WELCOME TO RIO SECO
HOME OF 3,000 FRIENDLY PEOPLE—
AND THREE OLD CRANKS!

One of said cranks goes by the name of Charlie Flagg, and he's the proud owner of a ranch in West Texas. As the title of the novel implies, Brushy Top Ranch falls upon hard times as the rains never come.

Other places might have several drouths in a single summer. Texas was more likely to have several summers in a single drouth.

Rio Seco has seen droughts that span two, three years, but this is shaping up to be one hell of a dry spell. Not only is it dangerously long, but the ranchers have turned to new federal farm programs for help in their time of need. It's the 1950s, and the government will subsidize hay for cattle and sheep, cover costs for drilling new wells, help pay for construction of barns and windmills.

Charlie watches his friends and neighbors flock to this government money, and decides he would rather keep his pride than do the same. He's worked his land successfully for years without any outside help; why should he accept it now?

The drouth drags on.

Charlie's son, Tom, runs off to live on the rodeo circuit instead of taking on his share of the ranch. Members of the Flores family, who have lived and worked at Brushy Top for many years, suffer as Charlie can barely afford to pay them.

Misfortunes and debt pile up as the rain never comes, but Charlie Flagg still refuses to draw government help, and his fellow ranchmen take his conviction as an insult to their own integrity. He stands alone. At least, he's alone as far as he can tell; he's unaware of the deep respect the reader inevitably develops for him, unaware of how they root for a proud old crank. His successes and his losses are the reader's. This is certainly due to how personal the novel was, as Charlie's character was inspired by Kelton's ranch-owning father and other men he knew growing up who experienced many drouths. The lived experience lends a vivid, cinematic quality to the writing that's captivating and beautiful.

Anyways, I want to return to my earlier comparison. Butcher's Crossing, which I finished right before I dove into this book, follows a young man who dreams of the rugged Western lifestyle and connection with the land. In his travels, he becomes intimately acquainted with the hardships that result from self-sufficiency. He watches his companions slaughter buffalo by the thousands and wrestles with the animals' place in the world, as well as his own.

It's so entirely different from premise of The Time It Never Rained, where the protagonist has deep roots in the West. Charlie has had a lifetime to come to respect and love the land he manages. He also watches animals die, but they aren't felled by bullets as buffalo are in Butcher's Crossing; the harshness of the drought, coyotes, and poison plants claim their lives.

So, I think it's fascinating how two man vs nature stories can be so different yet revolve around such inextricable concepts. They complement each other perfectly. Reading them back-to-back has had my mind absolutely racing, and I already feel the need to write a full comparison review about the two. I HIGHLY recommend both books! Check them out and let me know what you think!

Review written July 2023.

It was a comforting sight, this country. It was an ageless land where the past was still a living thing and old voices still whispered, where the freshness of the pioneer time had not yet all faded, where a few of the old dreams were not yet dark with tarnish.

Time and memories—so many good things and so many bad—but strange how the bad things seemed to fade so that you remembered mostly the good. Maybe that was one of life’s main compensations, having those memories with the rough edges blunted down and the bright parts polished to a diamond gleam.

Emil had loved this land the way he loved his God. In a sense, he had seen God and the land as one and the same.

Did you ever know a man who didn’t have any bad habits? I have, and I always hated the son of a bitch.

In his writing, Williams strays from the typical Western romanticism of unexplored wilderness and instead allows a sense of loss and despondency to permeate the entire novel. While I don't typically seek that in stories, I think I was able to appreciate the criticism (which at times I mistook for cynicism) of depictions of the "conquering" of the west.

Though it is highly philosophical at points, it provides a realistic and grounded perspective on westward expansion, the over‐hunting of buffalo, and some sort of strange American indivualism, and I enjoyed it well enough.

Anyways, while I was searching for a cover picture to use, I found that Butcher's Crossing has been adapted into a movie. I'm not even sure whether production is complete or not, but at this time it doesn't seem available anywhere. You can be certain that when I find it I'll be reviewing it here!

Review written July 2023.

Sometimes after listening to the droning voices in the chapel and in the classrooms, he had fled the confines of Cambridge to the fields and woods that lay southwestward to it. There in some small solitude, standing on bare ground, he felt his head bathed by the clean air and uplifted into infinite space; the meanness and the constriction he had felt were dissipated in the wildness about him.

The city itself felt similar to the city I live in; the biggest difference is how flat Nebraska is. On the flight over, I was really surprised by how all the roads are perfectly straight, at right angles to each other. It seems painfully boring; I love the winding roads and rolling hills of my home state. Another interesting thing about the roads is how walkable the north end of the city is. I jaywalked CONSTANTLY, all hours of the day, during the week and on the weekend, and never came close to being hit by a car. I would have been hospitalized several times over (or dead) if I attempted that shit in my city. I also walked on the Pedestrian Bridge, which offered nice views but nothing spectacular.

The weather was alright. The sun seemed very harsh due to the lack of moisture in the air. People always claim "it's the humidity that gets you" in the summer, but this trip got me thinking I might not be built for dry heat.

I was there for four days, and that was long enough for me to become quite sick of the whole "conference" thing. Outside of business, though, I could have spent WEEKS perusing the oddities of the Old Market. I love shops that are packed to the brim with old junk, records, art, and candies. I especially enjoyed visiting the Artists' Cooperative Gallery; Virginia Ocken's vibrant and textured paintings left quite an impression on me. They're much more stunning in person, but you can see a couple of them below.

In terms of food, a lovely shop owner recommended Jams, and I had an awesome salad there. The worst place I ate was Zio's, the salad was just lettuce and the pizza was soggy. And coffee places! One of the best decisions I made on the whole trip was getting the Hawaiian Vacation smoothie at 13th Street Coffee. I should have gone back for an actual coffee instead of trying a different place, because The Table Coffee Co. was a bust, my iced mocha had a horrible waxy texture. My friend got a blueberry matcha that barely had any flavor. With more time to explore, I'm sure we could have found the best coffee shop in the city, but we would have been hard pressed to find a place worse than The Table.

All in all, while the attractions of the thriving downtown weren't enough for me to consider Omaha a future home or vacation spot, it was a decent enough city for a short visit.

Review written July 2023.

The world of The Sixth Gun revolves around six pistols (get it? revolve? they're revolvers), all of which are imbued with supernatural powers. The First Gun fires with the force of a cannon, the Second Gun spreads the flames of perdition, so on and so forth. The titular Sixth Gun grants the wielder visions of the past and future, and it falls into the hands of Becky Montcrief when her stepfather is killed. Drake Sinclair, who is far from a decent man, seeks the guns for financial gain. The two characters' fates are inextricably connected to each other and the Six.

I was excited to read this series based on a summary much like what I've just written, and my attention was held even better than I expected. The comic immediately plunges the reader into quick-paced action with a fantastical twist. The plot is well crafted, weaving every story together. Nothing is dragged out or elaborated on too much, cleanly wrapping up at 50 issues. The art is bold and bright, painting the tale in full technicolor.

So, if I have little criticism regarding the plot or art, that leaves the characters and the relationships between them, which is where the biggest weaknesses of this series lie, in my opinion.

One of the lead characters, Drake Sinclair, is a gunslinger fighting his way towards the fortune he desires. It's quickly established that "while he had known one or two decent folks in his time, he didn't rightly count himself among their number." That phrasing stuck with me, not sure why. As you might guess, the term "anti-hero" describes him well enough.

The other protagonist, Becky Montcrief, is initially the victim of a common failure—as the only woman in the main cast, she has very little agency and she often ends up in situations where a man needs to come to the rescue. Though she is eventually allowed to have a personality and make decisions within the story, it would have been nice if she'd seemed like a real character from the beginning.

And when these two characters are paired together, something... somewhat less than magical happens. Fairly early on, they describe each other as "friends," yet there is absolutely no behavior anywhere that implies this. It's nice to see how the connection humanizes Drake, but it caught me off guard. The two rarely speak to each other outside of action scenes, so I was wondering "and is this "friendship" in the room with us right now...?" But hey, despite my complaints, Becky and Drake obviously make a really cool pair of protagonists. Slinging five of the six guns between them, every fight is explosive and fiery, and the thrills can't be dampened by an underdeveloped friendship. My overall enjoyment of the series was largely unaffected by it, I just like complaining.

As I said before, it captured my attention with the exciting plot, blended genres, and colorful art. I think I would say it's really my type of thing!! I enjoyed it so much I've already picked up another (albeit shorter) series by Bunn and Hurtt, The Damned, and I plan to delve into Bunn's horror work.

Review written July 2023.

The general plot is entertaining, if predictable; my main complaint overall is with the themes falling flat. Commentary regarding violent delights and violent ends is introduced at the conclusion, and Winter's reflections upon his life would have felt more meaningful to me had this discussion begun sooner. Other themes—antisemitism, corruption within the ruling class, growing old in a modern world, devaluing of the arts—are touched upon but receive little elaboration. I think, seeing as how it's such a short story, it might have benefited from paring down these themes and focusing on the concepts of violence that seemed like they were meant to be important.

I don't really have much to say about the art. I was never confused about what was being depicted, which is very nice, but it didn't leave much of an impression.

Essentially, while nothing about it surprised me or really stuck with me, I liked it well enough. I'm looking forward to reading other Western comics!

Review written June 2023.

Review written June 2023.

Review written June 2023.

Review written June 2023.

Review written Feb. 2023, edited June 2023.

I first heard Chismiten off Afrique Victime years ago when it came out, and I kind of tucked away the idea of listening to more for a rainy day. (Ironically enough, it did rain today.) I'm glad I finally checked out a full album!

Review written Feb. 2023.

Review written Feb. 2023.

I think most of the songs are weak individually, but listening to the entire album is a neat experience. You might tune it out for a bit, but at some point a slur or something should draw your attention back again.

Overall, it makes its point. It had me thinking about Pepsi more often than before I gave it a listen, that’s for sure.

Review written Jan. 2023.