Necessary Intervention
Dear Laurell K. Hamilton
Normally, I don't do this. 'Live and let create' is my motto. While I don't subscribe to the "everything is art" slackadaisical modern philosophy of the current art world, I neither lift my nose in snobbery at supposed "low art". Great work is great work, whether it's a neo-beuysian performance piece or a good scifi novel. I am not a snob.
However.
I must beg of you, stop it. Just quit writing Anita Blake novels, before you ruin it completely. I know, even now, at the worst form I've ever seen in your writing, you still beat the pants off the alsorans taking the genre–you created–of romantic horror and making it the soppy dreck not fit to line birdcages. But seriously, Ms. H., don't you think mediocrity is a terrible thing to do with a creation like Anita Blake. She spawned a whole genre, dammit! That is bit of persona to be reckoned with. She deserves to have ended somewhere back around "Narcissus in Chains" or, if I were inclined to be kind, "Cerulean Sins". Everything after that, with the exception of "Micah", was a drawing room farce with elements of very weak kinky sex, a touch of gore and a whole lot of talky dramatics. If I were a pyschoanalyst in the room, I would've mowed down all particpants with a silver bullet, holy water machine gun due to my complete frustration. That is sad.
Now, I enjoy a little multiple partner erotica as much as the next sincere pervert. Beautiful men in stripper gear? Bring 'em on! Whips & chains? All I can say is: cattail or crop, handcuffs or manacles? But everything in moderation, dear. One does not enjoy licking a belly decorated with a gold chain, because one enjoys the taste of metal. I've read porn with more plot and more point than the last few books. Save the sex talk, sex acts and sex in general as highlights to a good, old fashioned mystery, which is what the original books were about.
Please, reread "Bloody Bones", "Blue Moon" or " Obsidian Butterfly". Wicked scary villains, fast talking Anita and some serious destruction made those books fun. Anita got out, kicked butt, raised the dead and a few eyebrows. The current, whining-about-my-boyfriends-and-my-stupid-powers-that-require-sex, Anita sucks. Richard should've died 5 books ago or gotten over it. All the new mantoys are pretty–in a forgettable way. Nothing is investigated and everyone's stuck in the same room for 200+ pages. The claustraphobia is killing the characters & the fans. Nobody is doing anything but whine!
Laurell, I promise you, I would gladly take you toy shopping at Good Vibrations or whatever it took to get you over the kinky sex hump (pardon any puns) and back to writing a good mystery. But, please, on the behalf of the characters, who I picture slinking around in a tortured embarassment at their current lines & predicaments on the barest of stages, quit messing up Anita Blake. Don't MarySue all over the pages, girl! Please, think of the characters.
rm
Normally, I don't do this. 'Live and let create' is my motto. While I don't subscribe to the "everything is art" slackadaisical modern philosophy of the current art world, I neither lift my nose in snobbery at supposed "low art". Great work is great work, whether it's a neo-beuysian performance piece or a good scifi novel. I am not a snob.
However.
I must beg of you, stop it. Just quit writing Anita Blake novels, before you ruin it completely. I know, even now, at the worst form I've ever seen in your writing, you still beat the pants off the alsorans taking the genre–you created–of romantic horror and making it the soppy dreck not fit to line birdcages. But seriously, Ms. H., don't you think mediocrity is a terrible thing to do with a creation like Anita Blake. She spawned a whole genre, dammit! That is bit of persona to be reckoned with. She deserves to have ended somewhere back around "Narcissus in Chains" or, if I were inclined to be kind, "Cerulean Sins". Everything after that, with the exception of "Micah", was a drawing room farce with elements of very weak kinky sex, a touch of gore and a whole lot of talky dramatics. If I were a pyschoanalyst in the room, I would've mowed down all particpants with a silver bullet, holy water machine gun due to my complete frustration. That is sad.
Now, I enjoy a little multiple partner erotica as much as the next sincere pervert. Beautiful men in stripper gear? Bring 'em on! Whips & chains? All I can say is: cattail or crop, handcuffs or manacles? But everything in moderation, dear. One does not enjoy licking a belly decorated with a gold chain, because one enjoys the taste of metal. I've read porn with more plot and more point than the last few books. Save the sex talk, sex acts and sex in general as highlights to a good, old fashioned mystery, which is what the original books were about.
Please, reread "Bloody Bones", "Blue Moon" or " Obsidian Butterfly". Wicked scary villains, fast talking Anita and some serious destruction made those books fun. Anita got out, kicked butt, raised the dead and a few eyebrows. The current, whining-about-my-boyfriends-and-my-stupid-powers-that-require-sex, Anita sucks. Richard should've died 5 books ago or gotten over it. All the new mantoys are pretty–in a forgettable way. Nothing is investigated and everyone's stuck in the same room for 200+ pages. The claustraphobia is killing the characters & the fans. Nobody is doing anything but whine!
Laurell, I promise you, I would gladly take you toy shopping at Good Vibrations or whatever it took to get you over the kinky sex hump (pardon any puns) and back to writing a good mystery. But, please, on the behalf of the characters, who I picture slinking around in a tortured embarassment at their current lines & predicaments on the barest of stages, quit messing up Anita Blake. Don't MarySue all over the pages, girl! Please, think of the characters.
rm
posted by Misanthropic Meanderings | 9:55 AM
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