The last confectionary rabbit

The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse by Robert Rankin

This, to me, typifies why Rankin will never write a great book.

Good books, plenty. Really good books, one or two. But great books, not yet.

Rankin writes funny lines and his comedic situations, recurring jokes and characterisation are almost always spot on. His prose is easy to read, and the dialogue flows almost effortlessly naturally. It's in the plot (and particularly the climax of each book) where it all starts coming undone. All the way through the book you've been building to something, and then right at the end it lets you down. Unusual plot twists, unexplained coincidences, and uncomfortable get-out-of-jail clauses can be great comedic devices (and when you're parodying detective thrillers, they're almost demanded), but they can be overused. Use them too much towards the end and the reader can end up feel cheated. He (or she) has had a laugh, but what the hell was that?

And this is the major trouble with this book. At the end you feel as confused as Eddie Bear, simply because all the way through there was no indication of this final plot twist, and it takes the book in a tangential direction that wasn't even hinted at. I also had a little trouble believing that the main character who orchestrated it all -- a thirteen year old boy -- could be so plotting, so conniving, so, well, adult.

All in all it's a good laugh (out loud in many places), and the mixture of the world of nursery rhymes and Rankin's staple ingredients of sex, drugs, and rock and roll is inspired. Just don't expect too much satisfaction come the final curtain.

The last two miles

Rather randomly, I started running again last week. Have been as lazy as this last month or so. What with the house move and the holiday and a certain BRI that I don't really want to get into, I haven't been since sometime in October. Bit of a contrast since then: it's now dark when I run; it's now freezing cold when I run; and running the busy roads at the centre of the Concrete Kingdom is great fun compared to the quiet roads of Chaveldon.

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Also rather randomly, I started writing again last week. Was hoping to get something sorted for the meeting of the UKOWWers this weekend, but that doesn't look likely now. Have been working on a story I started way back in the summer for the June or July challenge at the zoo.

You gotta love my ability to meet challenge deadlines. It's now late November.

I'm fairly happy with the story, but am slightly concerned that I'll be able to keep the pace and the tone of the story consistent after so long a break.

The last time you see me

I'm suffering from a rather sporadic case of internet access at the moment, so entries here may be few and far between. Hoping to get this sorted in the near future, but apparently BT's commitment to new customers doesn't extend to getting you connected any time before the lease at your new flat has expired.

The last of the Seventh

Deadhouse Gates (The Malazan Book of the Fallen) by Steven Erikson

I had Erikson's Malazan Book of the Fallen thrust upon me, when I received Memories of Ice as an unasked-for Christmas present. It being the third book of the series I had to go back and read Garden's of the Moon and Deadhouse Gates first. I might never have picked up these books normally, but am I ever glad I was forced into it.

GotM was a fantastic book. I can't remember if I reviewed it here (if so it would have been the last incarnation), but if I did it probably went along the lines of writing 'Oh my god!' a couple of hundred times. The quality of this book -- the depth, the writing, the characterisation, every-damn-thing else -- was unimaginable.

So, you expect DG to not live up to it's predecessor but, somehow, it does. This book leaves behind the characters and settings of GotM almost entirely. It's set on a different continent, and the characters -- except for a couple of the Bridgeburners -- are all new. It's a bold move, and I must admit to a certain trepidation when I realised that the other characters were not going to put in an appearance.

But, Erkison pulls it off. He manages to introduce a new cast of characters that are every bit as complex and realistic as those in the first book. After a couple of chapters, you're totally swept up in these new story lines. Whiskeyjack, who?

So much happens in this book that it would be impossible (and unfair) of me, to try and summarise the plot. Just buy it (and GofM of course) and read it.

The last thing you said to me

Travelled down to Bristol last night to watch The Thrills with Lou. They were pretty good, although we were both quite disappointed that they only played for about an hour. Considering that they were the headline act, we felt a bit ripped off having paid ticket price purely to come and see just them. It's not even like they don't have the material, they've at least two albums worth of songs to choose from.

They rocked. They just didn't rock for long enough.

The second of the two support groups were an eight piece ensemble of some very weird looking people. From initial impressions it looked like an AA group just decided to form a band one day. A more mismatched and freaky looking group of people you'd be hard pressed to imagine (if, that is, you haven't seen the post-room scene in Men in Black II). Of particular note was the keyboardist, who could have stepped out of the library here at work. He had this pasty, 'don't see the sun very often' look, which would have quickly had him made leader of the archive monkeys (who, I hear, have a heirarchal system based on how close to translucent your skin is). Their music was good, technically sound, but too downbeat and too depressing to be played between the other two bands. You wonder at the choice.

The first of the two support groups introduced themselves as the Kooks. I'd never heard of them before, but the horde of teenage girls that surrounded us[1], seemed to recognise them (or were at least good at pretending). Standard stuff; guitar, bass, drums, vocal. Nothing immediately wrong with them (aside from the fact they all looked 12yo), but I wasn't inspired to rush out and hunt down their back catalogue.

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[1] I don't think I've ever felt so old at a gig. Early on -- before the headline act arrived -- I felt like I'd gatecrashed a school-trip.

The last one standing

Met up with my old university housemates and hangers-on on Saturday. It was good seeing everyone again, but the couple-club were in the majority so actually catching up with any of them was difficult. I'm all in favour of girlfriends and fiancées being brought along -- because if I were seeing someone I wouldn't want them excluded from such get-togethers -- but can't you let go of their hands for just a second? It gets to the point where each couple becomes a single entity, instead of six people you have just three (Alcath, Davejane, and Laetitiapaul). Encroaching upon that group is becoming increasingly difficult, esp. when you find yourself shoved on the end of the table like an unexpected guest.

I missed the rugby (amazing, being in Bath, how Davejane managed to pick the one bar that wasn't showing it). Disappointed on Sunday when I found out that the matches (England's, Wales', and Scotland's) were all really good.

Wombat Rob and I were late getting to the meal, and the other three (now accompanied by Laetitiapaul's T.A. Mate) were already tucking into wine and rolls. I recoiled a little when I looked at the menu, and saw the average price of a main course was about £18, but I wasn't too worried about that after I had eaten. The food was fantastic.

The evening fizzled out at 2300hrs, which was a shame because I was paying for a B&B room. Alcath and Davejane were terribly rude in leaving without saying goodbye to anyone (or at least they tried to, but Laetitiapaul caught up with them). Those of us left decided it was best to call it a night.

The last 13 years

The Family Man

Funny in parts, boring in others. Nic Cage is a favourite of mine, but the role here doesn't really stretch him and isn't all that memorable. The time it takes him to get the message -- Family success = good, career success = bad -- is too long, and I began thinking 'come on already, let's forward to the schmaltzy ending so I can get to bed.'

There really is no contest, but it takes him like six weeks to get it. You've been seeing this woman for 13 years, she's had two kids and she is still smoking hot. It's totally unrealistic, but there's seriously no contest (esp after he's seen her in the shower).

I would have liked to have seen Nic Cage's second chance be more realistic, to be totally honest. Have him wake up married to a woman who doesn't look like a hollywood actress, a woman who looks like she's had two kids. Have him get the message based purely on the love of his wife and kids and family and friends. Forget the hot wife for a second. It would have been harder to do, but had they pulled it off it would made it much the more memorable film.

Couldn't escape if I wanted to

French president Jacques Chirac is treated to a performance of Les Miserables during his visit. The performance is given in the Waterloo Room, which is temporarily renamed the Music Room so as not to offend the president.

Stop the country, dude. I want to get off.

The last chapter

The Dark Tower

Finally, after six books and god knows how many thousands of pages, King has ended his Dark Tower cycle. It took me a while to read this -- maybe because after so long I didn't want it to end. After recent King books have failed to impress (even Wolves of the Calla and Song of Susannah had their problems), maybe I didn't want to know if he could pull it all together and end on a high. This is, after all, his crowning work.

So what do I think?

The good bits:

The ending is great -- both the real one, and the one that King bolted on (the Coda) to appease the fans who would be mad with the real one. He cautions you not to read the Coda, but there's no way you can do that. If you've stuck with the quest that long, there's no way you're not going to read every word. I say read it anyway; it may not be the ending you expected or wanted, but it is the right ending.

I can understand what King says about the story being beyond the author's control; yes he could have made the ending happier, or easier on the reader, but it would have felt like a cheat. After this long, at least allow the man to end his story how he sees fit.

It's the freaking Dark Tower! That's a good bit of itself.

The bad bits:

It does feel rushed somewhat. So much happens in this book compared with the previous two that you can't help but feel that he was forcing himself to the end. The book may appear big, but compared with King's other works it's not huge, and you'd think that it would be somewhat bigger, that the final miles to the tower would warrant longer recounting.

Mordred's part is woefully underplayed; he doesn't really do anything right up to the time that he finally catches up with Roland's tet. The same could be said of Patrick Danville; we expected more from him, we expected more of him.