If you get nothing else out of this book, I believe that this post proves that you've raised loathing it to the level of an art form. How many books can be compared to "a dead rat with a ribbon on it under your Christmas tree?" How many books are so ghastly that you are driven to read reviews of them by other people in the vain hope that you, too, might come to feel a little vicarious enjoyment, only instead to be driven to calling those fans "the Rainbros"? How often in life do we get to appreciate the truly fine qualities of blank walls, which at least leave us scope for imagination?
200 more pages! *crashes cymbals of encouragement* You can do it! William Dean Howells awaits you at the end.
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Date: 2019-11-21 07:09 pm (UTC)200 more pages! *crashes cymbals of encouragement* You can do it! William Dean Howells awaits you at the end.