I don't read much fiction
I don't read much fiction these days, which is a shame. I did, however, recently finish reading The Alienist, by Caleb Carr. It's a book I've been planning to read for three yearsóor maybe longeróand have owned since Christmas, but have just now gotten around to reading. It's not like I'm illiterate, or hate books. I usually read non-fiction, game books, magazine articles, or material on the web.
I quite enjoyed The Alienist, and if you liked both The Silence of the Lambs and Gangs of New York, you could do much worse. I'm not going to review the book or anything; the closest I'll come to that is to waffle for a moment between giving it an Añ or a B+.
What struck me most had nothing to do with the unique features of The Alienist, but was the simple re-realization (surely I knew this once) of how many goddam words novelists are allowed (nay, expected!) to use, and how many tangents they are allowed to explore, and how many new characters just keep cropping up! (Honestly! As if it were a game of whack-a-mole!) You'll find none of that in a script, friend. Economy's the thing, there, and if a thing's not easy to explain you're usually better just taking it out. I don't want to sound bitter and angry and ranty. That's not the case. It was pleasant to read something that sprawled so luxuriously and was still dramatic and well-plotted.
Perhaps I shall read a novel again some time.
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