Occasionally, I write places other than on snapperhead about films, novels, and the opinions of others, but I need to be very overwhelmed or underwhelmed to do so. In 2009, I was sufficiently underwhelmed by George Stewart's 1949 speculative fiction Earth Abides to write this comment on Goodreads:
If I were to teach an upper-level college writing class, I’d use this book as the foundation for my semester.
Just as secret service agents need real, expertly crafted, counterfeit bills removed from circulation and brought into their classroom to learn how to identify bad paper, every writer needs a counterfeit novel which made it into circulation and received praise. Through deconstruction of this book, I could teach almost everything writers shouldn’t do.
Hundreds of places the author could have ‘shown us’ with suspense, but instead ‘tells us’ with weak boring sentences. For example, this is all we are told about our main character being attacked by a mountain lion:
...In the end there was bad luck, because Ish missed his shot and instead of killing a lion merely raked it across the shoulders, and it charged and mauled him before Ezra could get another shot home. After that he walked with a little limp...
And this, I believe, is the author’s failed attempt at suspense, which results in confusion (I’ve omitted nothing):
...one question, he knew, that they had not yet faced, and now she brought it forward.
“That would be fine!” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, it would.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You mean you don’t like it for me?”
“Yes. It’s dangerous. There’d be no one else but me, and I wouldn’t be any use.”
“But you can read—all the books.”
“Books!” he laughed a little as he spoke. “The Practical Midwife?"...
The first sentence was probably supposed to read: …and now he brought it forward… But even without the typo, this is not only horrible dialogue (in a book desperately short on dialogue) as well as massive misuse of exclamation points (three times on every page minimum) but an example of the authors incessant self-censorship and avoidance of certain words and descriptions. He avoids reference to human intercourse, birth, death, pain, anger, hatred, bigotry and bloodshed. In a story detailing a handful of human survivors in 1949 California after a planet-wide plague—avoiding those topics (or glossing over them) becomes a herd of white dinosaurs in the room.
There are thousands of poorly constructed sentences (like this one, which contains a large word-proximity hiccup):
…He began to temporize, just as he used to do when he said that he had a great deal of work to do and so buried himself in a book instead of going to a dance.
Factual errors, which could have been avoided with a small amount of research, are prevalent (here are two):
…batteries with the acid not yet in them...they made the experiment of pouring the acid into a battery…put it into the station-wagon. It worked perfectly… (I guess in 1949, putting battery acid in the battery charged it too!)
…The clock was run, he knew, by electrical impulses which were ordinarily timed at sixty to the minute. Now they must be coming less often… (AC power is 60 pulses per second).
This book contains a main character and dozens of secondary characters we never grow to care about. On almost every page a situation unfolds which could be easily re-written to involve the reader in the action, infuse the character(s) with depth and emotion(s), or add suspense to the plot. Instead, the story centers around an emotionally dead man who preaches to a bland cast of less-than-ordinary idiots about their failure to reach for a fraction of their potential, while he wallows in an uncomfortable rut and never lifts a finger to attain any of his own potential.
Aspiring writers and educators should use this counterfeit paper, available for less than the price of a cup of coffee at used bookstores, as a valuable learning/teaching tool. In a time when there are so many books filled with examples of great writing—it's nice to have something chock-full of such a concentrated and vast range of terrible, boring, writing to weight down the other end of the scale.
In the last decade, there have been dozens of comments on this review; some have corrected my mistakes (or attempted to), others range from a simple 'I agree' to relatively elaborate reasons why I should not have my opinion. This week, a person who rants under the screen name Lumpy Dirtball added an extremely unique opinion:
Telling vs Showing: It's a stylistic pretense. Both styles can and do work to make great books. I get that you're dogmatically devoted to the modern party line, but honestly, you talk about it like you're making objective, scientific measurements, and it makes you sound ridiculous. It makes you sound mindless, as you're clearly just using popular, current opinion to flog peopl3 with - not because you've actually thought about it, or care, but just because it makes you feel witty and smart, despite being neither.
Your criticisms of technology are flat wrong, but your giant, brittle ego would never permit a simple admission. Even when you kinda-sorta acknowledged your mistake, you had to couch it in another insult at the person who corrected you. Talk about petty. That's just embarrassing. But I don't think you have the requisite neurological or cognitive "maturity" to experience that emotion. You're not really a developed human.
Oh. You also used "mmmkay" in a sentence to taunt a grown up. That'sca cringe that gave me cramps. What is actually wrong with you?
The thrust of your criticism is nothing but a dogmatic assault on a style of writing that bores you, and the cool kids don't like. So you took the lazy opportunity to bash the old guy in front of the hip young revolutionaries, as if you ever have a hope of passing yourself off as an adult human.
Your taste in books is trashy. The Road? Awful book. Truly awful. I suspect older, longer, 'historical' novels tax your patience. You clearly are not a neurologically 'complete' animal, so it's just a logical guess. All kinds of telling over showing in older books.
It nakes mectaste puke to even say "show, don't tell" as if it really meant anything more than a marketing strategy for getting people with child like brains to buy books.
And your stylistic crticisms... besides your own silly writing style - made to seem witty where wit is absent - you again show this highly neurotic rule-governed streak that amounts to nothing. Who would ever ask you to teach a writing class? You're a pop-culture, dogmatist with a personality disorder and no talent. You're generally ignorant, you imagine you know about topics you're utterly ignorant of, you don't know why you think what you preach, and I guarantee you, in whatever alternate universe that wants you as a teacher, the students will hate your guts, they'll learn nothing but how deranged you are, and you won't last a year. You bring nothing to the table but a chaotic jumble of unconsidered beliefs, hostile opinions, and obviously unmedicated mental illness. You'd fail that job (that nobody would ever give you) with terrible force. Into the ground and out the other side.
You didn't like a book. No biggie. You try to turn your dislike into a theatrical display of witty scorn? And pretend to have useful criticisms? Like you're a great writer? Good grief. I guess this is a safe place for you to exercise the hateful idiot within y ones ou. Lots of people use reviews to pretend they're that person. You're not. And even the smart ones are idiots.
If I were to coach a high-school debate team, I’d use this comment as fodder for a head-to-head practice debate.
Future trial lawyers, politicians, and philosophers need interestingly convincing topics, taken from real life examples of point/counter-point, brought into their practice debate-room to learn how to identify fallacies in logical argument. Through deconstruction of Lumpy's comment about my comment, I could teach a debate team something they shouldn’t do.
(This, dear reader, is what is referred to as a 'call-back' as well as 'bookends,' which I teach in an alternate universe for one whole semester.)
I posted this re-re-reply to Mr Dirtball on Goodreads:
Wonderful example, Lumpy.
Thank you for so clearly showing you don't abide with any of my opinions, comment-replies, or even my taste in reading. Perfect angry outrage. I especially liked your slight typo usage (...That'sca cringe... and ...It nakes mectaste puke... as well as ...within y ones ou...) because it shows your emotional-crazy and helps add to the reader's immersion in your adrenaline as well as really paints the picture of you pounding keys followed by hurriedly sending without proofreading.
If you'd written using George Stewart style, you might've told it in this manner:
...your review was neurotically off the mark! I know this is so, because your taste in books is dogmatic and instead of providing any useful criticisms you merely make me so very incredibly, lividly, ups3t that my finger just hit the wrong key and my scorn causes me to not even it gointo edit. Your stylistic criticism is nothing but witty scorn from a hateful idiot and you need to know it as soon as possible. You aren't a good writer so don't follow through with your hypothetical college course, you'd fail. Idiot!...
other comment-replies to emails and other internet commenters:
Modern Design Incorporated - when in need of irony and jewelry
Modern Design Incorporated - when in need of irony and jewelry
