Review And Book Review He Did

[DefJam101]

--1--

Please, I ask the manager of the Pressman Hotel, give me the money. And I giggle, again.
Please.
And please don't hit me, again.
You have so much, and I have nothing. And I start to climb my blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the Pressman Hotel who is leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooks its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulls itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and I wrap my bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
Please. I smile big enough to split my lips.
There's a struggle as the manager screams and tries to get his hands away from me and my blood and my crushed nose, the filth sticking to the blood on both of us, and right then at our most excellent moment, the security guards decide to walk in.

--2--

Please, I asked the manager of the Pressman Hotel, give me the money. And I giggled, again.
Please.
And please don't hit me, again.
You had so much, and I had nothing. And I started to climb my blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the Pressman Hotel who was leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips were retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooked its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulled itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and I wrapped my bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
Please. I smiled big enough to split my lips.
There was a struggle as the manager screamed and tried to get his hands away from me and my blood and my crushed nose, the filth was sticking to the blood on both of us, and right then at our most excellent moment, the security guards decided to walk in.

--3--

Please, he asked the manager of the tavern, give him the money. And he giggled, again.
Please.
And please don't hit him, again.
He had so much, and Maric had nothing. And Maric started to climb his blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the tavern who was leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips were retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooked its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulled itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and he wrapped his bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
Please. He smiled big enough to split his lips.
There was a struggle as the manager screamed and tried to get his hands away from Maric's and his blood and his crushed nose, the filth was sticking to the blood on both of them, and right then at their most excellent moment, the security guards decided to walk in.

---

Hmm. Surprisingly readable, although I'm sure I would have railed this despite coming from a book I like (Fight Club). Obviously this is assuming I am dumb enough not to notice it's fake with the anachronisms and names and whatnot.

I feel like there is a lot lost in translation during the switch from FP/Present to 3P/Past... but not nearly as much as I had thought. Interesting.

 

[DefJam101]

obligatory

The fireball exploded in Maric’s hand like the tolling of some great bell. The zombie’s face snapped backward in a brief flash of red before the momentum of the spell brought its body plunging to the ground. Maric paused just long enough to make sure that the spell had struck where he had intended, then jogged back to his mount. It wasn’t until he had saddled up that doors began to open in neighboring crypts and ghastly moans began to echo from the vicinity of the slain zombie. He rode away, and tried to leave his doubts and his fear and his rage behind him.

Light scintillated across his shield. Maric turned onto a side street, dimly recalling that he should feel something. He felt nothing. It was so easy. Shouldn’t fighting evil be harder? But that was foolish. He of all people should know how easy it was to kill zombies. And it wasn’t your first, either. Remember? That’s why you’re here. A brief flash of pain lanced through his thoughts at that memory. He brushed it aside. Focus. You have two more, and then it’s over. You can mourn, grieve, rage—whatever—after this is done. He headed toward his next destination. Two more undead to swallow his bullets, feel the lash of his hate. It should be easy, he reminded himself. Shadows cast by trees skimmed over his horse, like broken dreams, like deflected anger, and Maric know that this task was well within his abilities, and that he would not fail.
Could not.
He rode.

 

[Lumpy]

Moar liek:

"Please", I ask the manager of the Pressman Hotel, "give me the money." And I giggle, again.
"Please."
"And please don't hit me, again."
"You have so much, and I have nothing." And I start to climb my blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the Pressman Hotel who is leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooks its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulls itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and I wrap my bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
"Please." I smile big enough to split my lips.
There's a struggle as the manager screams and tries to get his hands away from me and my blood and my crushed nose, the filth sticking to the blood on both of us, and right then at our most excellent moment, the security guards decide to walk in.

Into

"Please", Maric asked the manager of the tavern, "give me the money." And he giggled, again.
"Please."
"And please don't hit me, again."
"You have so much, and I have nothing." And he started to climb his blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the tavern who was leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooked its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulled itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and Maric wrapped his bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
"Please." he smiled big enough to split his lips.
There was a struggle as the manager screamed and tried to get his hands away from Maric and his blood and his crushed nose, the filth sticking to the blood on both of them, and right then at their most excellent moment, the city guards decide to walk in.

 

[WanderingThrough2]

Hey, Wandering, love your books, write some more

Sadly, I died in the 70s.

 

[TNO]

Okay, seriously, wtf. is this 'tolling of a great bell' line coming from? I keep seeing it.

 

[DefJam101]

Moar liek:

"Please", I ask the manager of the Pressman Hotel, "give me the money." And I giggle, again.
"Please."
"And please don't hit me, again."
"You have so much, and I have nothing." And I start to climb my blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the Pressman Hotel who is leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooks its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulls itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and I wrap my bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
"Please." I smile big enough to split my lips.
There's a struggle as the manager screams and tries to get his hands away from me and my blood and my crushed nose, the filth sticking to the blood on both of us, and right then at our most excellent moment, the security guards decide to walk in.

Into

"Please", Maric asked the manager of the tavern, "give me the money." And he giggled, again.
"Please."
"And please don't hit me, again."
"You have so much, and I have nothing." And he started to climb his blood up the pinstriped legs of the manager of the tavern who was leaning back, hard, with his hands on the windowsill behind him and even his thin lips retreating from his teeth.
The monster hooked its bloody claw in the waistband of the manager's pants, and pulled itself up to clutch the white starched shirt, and Maric wrapped his bloody hands around the manager's smooth wrists.
"Please." he smiled big enough to split his lips.
There was a struggle as the manager screamed and tried to get his hands away from Maric and his blood and his crushed nose, the filth sticking to the blood on both of them, and right then at their most excellent moment, the city guards decide to walk in.

If we're to assume the narrator isn't paraphrasing, yes. But that's not how it is in the text.

 

[Vibalist]

The screaming went on and on. It couldn’t be men, they couldn’t scream that horribly.

“Wounded horses,” said Loghain.

Maric had never heard a horse scream and he could hardly believe it. There was a whole world of pain in that sound, creation itself under torture, a wild and horrifying agony.
They all went pale.

Wilhelm sat up. “Bastards, bastards! For the Maker’s sake, someone kill them!” He was a farmer’s son and used to handling horses. It really got to him. And as if on purpose the sounds of battle died away almost completely. The screams of the animals became that much clearer. You couldn’t tell where it was coming from any more in that quiet, silver landscape, it was invisible, ghostly, it was everywhere, between the earth and the heavens, and it swelled out immeasurably.

Wilhelm was going crazy and roared out, “Kill them, for the Maker’s sake, put them out of their misery!”

“They've got to get the wounded men out first,” said Loghain. The band stood up and tried to see where the horses were. If they could actually see the animals, it would be easier to cope with. Rowan had a spyglass with her. Through it, they could make out a dark group of pages with stretchers, and then some bigger things, black mounds that were moving.

Those were the wounded horses. But not all of them. Some galloped off a little way, collapsed, and then ran on again. The belly of one of the horses had been ripped open and its guts were trailing out. It got its feet caught up in them and fell, but it got to its feet again.

Wilhelm raised his wizard’s staff and took aim, muttering the words of a fireball spell. Loghain knocked the staff upwards. “Are you crazy?” Wilhelm shuddered and threw his staff to the ground.

They all sat down and pressed their hands over their ears. But the terrible crying and groaning and howling still got through, it penetrated everything. They could all stand a lot, but this broke them out in a cold sweat. Maric wanted to get up and run away, anywhere, just so as not to hear that screaming any more. And it wasn’t men, just horses.

Whoever wrote this, I think it's pretty bad. I'm no literary expert or anything, but the writing comes off as very clumsy in places, like when the writer suddenly stops his/hers descriptions of the events to tell us that a certain person is feeling such and such ("Wilhelm sat up. “Bastards, bastards! For the Maker’s sake, someone kill them!” He was a farmer’s son and used to handling horses. It really got to him." O rly?). But maybe it's true that associating this with Gaider makes it seem worse than it really is.

What the hell, though, I still love hating that fat bastard.

 

[DefJam101]

Yes, but the original version was not third person, nor in the past tense..

edit: prefer Hemingway for that matter

 

[Vibalist]

Yes, but the original version was not third person, nor in the past tense..

How would the sentence read if it was unaltered?

 

[WanderingThrough2]

I posted links to the original text. They're on the previous page.

 

[DefJam101]

Those particular sentences change to:

He is a farmer and used to handling horses. It really gets to him.

But ultimately it's not necessarily a sentence-level issue, although switching from present tense to past tense will fuck up a lot of syntax things—meaning the text, altogether, won't read as smoothly.

The change from first person to third person results in some diction inconsistencies. For instance, it makes no sense for a third person omniscient narrator to say, 'It really gets to him,' where it might be perfectly acceptable for an established character/narrator to say that in certain situations. Certain things also have to be changed from second person to third person when you make the switch:

You want to get up and run away, anywhere just so as not to hear that screaming any more. And it isn't men, just horses.

becomes

Maric wanted to get up and run away, anywhere just so as not to hear that screaming any more. And it isn't men, just horses.

But there certainly is some validity to the argument. I mean, the line "We go pale." seems, to me, more powerful than "They all went pale." but it's hardly a game breaker. This could be showing our anti-Gaider bias, or how the perspective/pacing/context of passages effects our response to them, or a little bit of both. Hat tip to WanderingThrough2, IMHO. Took some balls and cracked open an interesting eggshell.

 

[Clockwork Knight]

Hey, Wandering, love your books, write some more

Sadly, I died in the 70s.

Fine, let's just end combat so you auto resurrect

Okay, seriously, wtf. is this 'tolling of a great bell' line coming from? I keep seeing it.

Dicksmoker's story.

http://www.rpgcodex.net/phpBB/viewtopic.php?t=35438&highlight=critique

 

[Vibalist]

This could be showing our anti-Gaider bias, or how the perspective/pacing/context of passages effects our response to them

Or maybe just that the text itself isn't too well written. I read the original and still found the "... it really got to him" part unnecesarry.

 

[TNO]

Dicksmoker's story.

... Wow. Meme justified.

 

[GarfunkeL]

The book is great (Remarque, that is) but I've always thought that it is great because of the images it conjures up and the message it has, not its technical literary merits.

 

[Jasede]

So you could say it's Remarqueable?

 

[Emotional Vampire]

Never do that again.

 

[poocolator]

So you could say it's Remarqueable?

I'd say it's fairly Remarqueable.

 

[DreadMessiah]

So this book sucks along the lines of a fanfic written about a hentai game "story" ?

 

[Gragt]

Some hentai stories can be pretty fun.

 

[DefJam101]