August 14, 2012 in Wordsmoker Book Club
Hello! Hello! It is time for Book Fight Club. Tonight we are discussing Threats by Amelia Gray. Are you ready to rumble?
Tags: Amelia Gray, book fight club, Threats
Well, this got all fucked up, with this Disqus shit, didn’t it now?
Anyone here yet?
I just want to make it clear that Amelia Gray never threatened me…directly.
How do you have an icon?
And comments go backwards. Okay.
Well, I guess I’m here, but I am grumpy.
How do you have an image, Bell?
Because he’s a bastard.
You can upload one by clicking on the thing I mentioned above.
The book did make me anxious at times.
I was going to make a Barbie movie but didn’t get to it. I might still make it, though.
I liked the book. I did. There were things that bugged me. Like the threats weren’t actual threats, more like pronouncements.
I liked the poetic quality of the threats too. And the odd sanity of it all. How off kilter everything was. That constant dream state or state of shock. As if they were both in a constant state of shock for years before and then suring. I think my favorite scene was him finding all the buried socks.
It got a little too poetic those three or four ALL CAPS pages at the end. Were those the fake psychologist’s notes? Or what?
Am I here alone?
People are getting their sea legs in this stupid commenting system, and it’s annoying.
I refreshed and only the first two comments showed. Everything else disappeared.
No. I AM WITH YOU.
It was haunting. I liked that. I like the surrealistic quality to it. The trance therapist who lives with wasps. You are right — finding the socks was a great scene.
I liked the way that the house was disintegrating along with its inhabitants.
I was annoyed that the dreamlike state was taken further from the dude’s point-of-view, and it turned out everybody else was same crazy pants, too. So…grief in his head, or no? Land of weirdos, or no? If it wasn’t all just in his head, then, fine, whatever, what’s the fucking point Amelia? (Something about Amelia.)
Nice writing, though.
Yeah. She is okay. It’s going to make one fucked up movie though. Sometimes I thought I was reading The Lovely Bones crossed with a Thom Jones short story.
Was it the fucking red berries or not? That’s all I want to know. I will save my comments about the objective correlative and experimental fiction if it was the fucking red berries. Whats with all the sticking objects in the mouth by the characters too. What’s that about? Berries? Red?
And did she die, or did she just fucking leave him for a guy a lot like him, the way people do?
hahahahaha I don’t know, but I thought she cut her own throat. No?
I missed the throat cutting. How did she vomit though in the opening scene with her throat cut? Details.
Yeah, I thought vomiting blood. But by the end I wasn’t sure if he’d actually sat there with her decaying corpse for days or not.
I think she ate the red berries. It ruptured her stomach lining and then she died because David wouldn’t call the fire department. Such a mundane, hippie-ish thing to do and it destroyed them. I think I am projecting here.
She did tell him not to bother. He was sort of a passive dude.
She did. He was just following orders.
There was a sinister element to it — the legacy of the mother killing her daughter. It made you think that there was a part of this that was real — not just psychological.
Wences — yes — I was disappointed when the craziness started spreading to the other characters. Then you couldn’t see it as just a psychological exploration. The whole book becomes an experiment in surrealism.
Yep. Unless, I don’t know, he’s projecting it all, but that’s not how it comes off.
I really liked how the woman who washes and folds finds the wedding rings in the washer and that that pulls back to earlier in the book : “Your brain has wrapped a comfortable piece of fabric (ribbon?) around where memories are stored (the wedding rings?).”
Grief, I figure. Grief, and loss and sadness, and the craziness that comes with grieving and losing and sadding so hard. All vividly told, if not with enough cohesion.
Yes. It created a world where madness of the grief has taken over — the grief that comes with the loss deep and profound love. Although the deep and profound love part is not quite as strongly felt.
She was getting the right emotional reactions from me but so did BEE in American Psycho. I don’t like my novelists to be so obviously manipulative
I had a girlfriend in LA who was a cutter. This novel would be like porn to her. Except for that she was great by the way. Don’t want you to get the wrong idea.
I almost dated a cutter, and I went, “Oh, hell no!” and ran away. Really fast.
Oh, ha, twice. There was another cutter. Yelled “Oh, hell no!” that time, too.
Pretty sure all women in LA are cutters, anyhow. Swing a dead cat, hit a cutter.
She really was fine except for that.
A lot of nice things. The guy is vanishing from the world, can’t help it, yet planks up his windows and paints I’M STILL HERE on them. Desperate to connect, not connected.
I’M STILL HERE is the most heart wrenching message in a book filled with failed attempts to communicate.
O! I really liked that some of the craziness was actually forgotten memory. Like the electrified doorknob. he had come up with that idea earlier as an alarm system, never put it to use and forgot about it but remembered the possibility and so was fearful of his own design.
There’s something going on about a wet stone. The wife smells like one. And stones and wet stones get mentioned a lot.
Though it was part of the jarring outside crazy, the laundry lady’s nephew working at the police station, he was a funny kid. I liked him bopping around because he cracked me up. Trying to find the sugar cereal. But I was still all, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Yeah. Liked him, but he couldn’t work at the police station. That didn’t fit. Also, didn’t like that the laundry lady flitted about moving from sane to not. The logic of it, I couldn’t find.
I got tired of the laundry lady.
There was precious little point to laundry lady, really.
She has to find the wedding rings.
You can change the sorting order of comments by clicking the little star-shaped tool thing to the far right of My Disqus.
I just figured that out right just now, you comment meddling fuck.
I knew there was a reason I thought she might have slit her throat, page 160. “‘She was found with multiple lacerations on her arms and legs. Massive laceration on the right side femoral artery which killed her.’ He tapped the top of his right thigh. ‘Something caused by a dull blade, sad to say. No drugs in her system. Some vegetable matter in her stomach, also objects like thin cloth or paper, about the size of a berry.’” Not her throat! But, okay. So maybe climbing out there in the back, maybe over a fence and sliced her leg open.
I have a lot of typos tonight. Sorry.
There were harsh brambles and shit back there. But he also had a thing for weird dentist tools, so…
And quite a bit of broken glass made appearances.
Fights? Violent fights, with the breaking of things, and forgotten in the haze of crazy?
How come you have a picture icon now? How did you do that?
I clicked on some fucking thing earlier and found the place to do it.
No. Click on “Discussion” at the top right of your comments list here, and choose “Oldest”. That’s how you do it.
I’m learning too. btw.
What if I want “Newest” on top, you Hitler?
How do I make my comments, the “best.”
I forgot how gay these things were to people who didn’t read the book.
I wonder if I can embed a picture?
You can upload and embed images, everyone. From your computer.
This is from another site. Just paste the link into the box that pops up, instead of linking to a picture on your computer.
I see no picture, you prick.
Amelia Grey reminds me of Jim Krusoe. She’s more vivid, and sly with humor, but he does a better job of hanging a world of crazy that holds together.
She is fine. The kids will like her. Nice short paras. Just 140 clauses long. I need more story. But I am old.
Was breezy, for sure.
Hahaha. I think our cheap-ass server crashed. Sorry.
Okay. Now I have to figure out how to make this my icon.
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