For some reason, I have just read Larry Niven's classic(?) Ringworld.
Not quite sure if the early 70's sci-fi zeitgeist or the writer's curious style or my recently developed brutal elitist attitude was the cause, but oh boy... this book was one torturous read.
I know that all art is subjective, but honestly: with stylistic and narrative black holes the size of the Milky Way, this book doesn't even function as a decent pulp fiction, despite the killer premise.
Hugo? Nebula? Locus? For this? -- What were they smoking?
Anyway... Up next is Strange Wine by Harlan Ellison, because wounds must be healed.
Not quite sure if the early 70's sci-fi zeitgeist or the writer's curious style or my recently developed brutal elitist attitude was the cause, but oh boy... this book was one torturous read.
I know that all art is subjective, but honestly: with stylistic and narrative black holes the size of the Milky Way, this book doesn't even function as a decent pulp fiction, despite the killer premise.
Hugo? Nebula? Locus? For this? -- What were they smoking?
Anyway... Up next is Strange Wine by Harlan Ellison, because wounds must be healed.
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- Mar 3, 2008
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