over the cliff

Okay, I’ll admit it right up front: I read trash fiction on occasion. The Anita Blake books, the first two Paolonigodheneedstochangehisname dragon monstrosities, the Lackey dragon monstrosities, the DaVinci Code, the Nanny Diaries, and most recently… The Devil Wears Prada.

My mother bought it and loved it when it had just been released, she’d read me sections and I found them amusing… so when I was in Barnes and Noble a couple of weeks ago cursing that they didn’t actually have The Final Key by Catherina Asarao in stock, I saw it… I bought it… and true to form, it took me until the other day to actually start reading it.

And just now, I finished it.

And parts of it were amusing, very amusing. Laugh out loud and repeat it to my mother and aunts amusing. But it was a complete and total waste of my time. And it wasn’t because it was horrendous prose or particularly distasteful characters… it was just… not satisfying. It was like the whole thing was set up just to showcase these little ‘look how awful my boss is’ vignettes.

And what was really irritating was how she kept going back and forth in time. In fact the first chapter takes place at least 3 months into her job just to see Andy run around doing this bizarre errand that ends badly. Nothing crucial happens to Andy or her job. The entire chapter is nothing but ‘oh god isn’t this funny in a ‘I am so glad this is not me’ kind of way’.

Ummm. Okay.

Dear Author, I promise that if you write well and give me an interesting character that I like and care about, I will read the first however many chapters it takes me to actually get to the ‘Omg this is the bitch from hell’ war stories. Promise.

At any rate, I could’ve forgiven the first chapter if it had been a one time deal. But she kept doing it. She’d start a new scene–a phone conversation between Andy and her co-worker and then flashback into a ‘Ooooh isn’t this a funny story that I forgot to tell you about when it happened’ moment. That’s really what the book was all about. Moments. Which was why I didn’t care nor was particularly interested in all the heavy relationshipy stuff. I didn’t care that Andy and her boyfriend were falling apart, or that Lily, her best friend and roommate, was becoming an alcoholic. I actually didn’t understand why anyone was upset that Andy had to keep cancelling plans because of the bitch because… well the whole book was about the bitch and the office—that’s where all the interesting stuff was happening. Screw Andy’s real life, it’s never been important to me as a reader so why should I care about it at all?

Which is why the book is completely unsatisfying as a whole (other than the moment where Andy finally says ‘Fuck you’ to Miranda… that felt good). When she leaves her job, all the interesting fun stuff is now gone and I stop caring about Andy and what happens to her. Sure the author gives me the nice cotton candy ‘Andy is actually gonna be okay in the end’ ending, but I’d stopped caring the moment Miranda found her voice to fire the girl.

And if you’re mad at me for giving away the ending, don’t be. The point of the book is to hear the ridiculous things that Miranda does and says… I haven’t ruined anything.

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is the author did only a halfass job of making me actually care about Andy and her “real” life. Andy’s job never seemed to be in any real jeopardy, and it also didn’t seem like being fired would be such a bad thing. Maybe if the author had made it appear that if Andy were fired from Runway she’d never get a job anywhere else—well, anywhere that Andy would actually like to work—then there would’ve been real tension.

I could probably go on for another 10 minutes about what needs to be changed and where… but just like Lily in the coma… it just doesn’t seem all that important.

If you read this, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want — good or bad — BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.

The following were taken from an IM conversation in which Oliver and I were discussing the movie Dragonslayer.

RE: Virgin Sacrifices

You know what they really ought to do. They ought to just have someone go around and get all the virgins knocked up. Then they wouldn’t qualify.

“Yeah, sorry, my daughter’s a tramp. Oh well!”

And a little later…

I don’t get to say “The babies ate her” enough.

Both quotes are from Oliver. Bask in his glorious wit.

As all of you know, I was in a really bad accident a couple of years ago. The car caught on fire and destroyed everything that was still inside it.

The next day we went to go look at the wreckage, to see if we could salvage anything. My father drove right past it without even realizing it.

We took pictures, poked around trying to figure out what had been what. I found the charred remains of Shadow of the Hegemon but it was the only thing recognizable.

As we were looking I remembered that my purse had been in the back seat. Lots of money, my wallet with license and credit cards, and a necklace. Silver.

It had been a gift from my grandmother, a Mignon Faget Newcomb Oak on a silver chain. She’d received it from Newcomb when she went to her 50th reunion. Out of anything in the car I wished I could retrieve, that was it.

We searched for it but it was pretty useless. My purse had been a straw handbag–not the most flame retardant material in the world.

It wasn’t like it had been my most valuable possession, I really should’ve been more concerned over the loss of all my clothes, dresses, shoes, and the $200 in cash. But I wanted that necklace.

I tend to get overly attached to silly things. Teddy bears, cards, once I cried over a broken picture frame that my grandmother had given me. And maybe this necklace meant a lot to me because it had been my grandmother’s, and because it was a Newcomb oak.

I was a 7th generation at Tulane–my great great great great grandfather was one of the founders of the medical school. And I was a 4th generation at Newcomb. My grandmother had been one of the editors of the Literary magazine, and had graduated with a BA in Chemistry.

In 1914 mind you.

My grandmother never graduated from Newcomb, but she’d been there for 2 years and always went to the reunions. I asked her once what she’d majored in. “Boys”, she said. Nevertheless she became essentially fluent in Latin–a skill that helped her when she edited a book for one of the Classics department’s professors years later.

My mother and both aunts graduated from Newcomb. My mother’s cousins, my mother’s aunt… Between Newcomb, A&S, Engineering, Medical, and Law… I probably can come up with at least 100 relatives who have gone to that school.

Still, it was just a necklace. Silver. In a straw purse.

We looked for a long time, longer than we should’ve, before we decided to leave. My brother gave one last poke, something shifted, and I saw something flash.

It was the necklace. A little dirty, smudged, but still intact.

Tonight I received word that Newcomb College no longer exists. In an attempt to rebuild in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, Tulane University is creating an all inclusive undergraduate college. The school that Josephine Louise Newcomb founded in honor of her daughter will no longer exist.

I suppose this is the point where I say that I will treasure that necklace I recovered for the rest of my life, pass it on to another female relative or daughter if I ever accidentally have one… but I can’t.

A couple of weeks after coming back to North Carolina, the necklace disappeared. So now it’s just a nice story I can tell to those who’ll appreciate it.

In the span of months I’ve lost my boarding school and my college. What’s next?

New issue of Ideomancer is up. With my poem. *dances*

Why I Learned to Cave Dive

Ideo Main