Michael Turner (3) (1962–)

Well Alanna, this book did make me think about you. But beyond that: the sneer, Michael Turner, the turtleneck, the twelve-year-old kids talking about Dutch Colonials immediately make me think we're gonna have trouble here. Those are not people of a kind who exist. Or if they are, they're not people of a kind whom I want to know anything about. That said, the beginning section captures cusp-of innocence quite perfectly. The middle is bullshit--I mean, whose names are you dropping, dick? This show more is a novel and they are fictional characters and you are a grown man so stop trying to sell us on punk auteur. And then the last section has a mystery but more importantly a mystical ouroboros thing where instead of letting credibility rest on the token unreliablenarratoring provided throughout by the question sections (which do not sustain that credibility on their own) you say okay, I know, this kind of thing only works by disappearing up its own asshole because once you're "The Pornographer's Poem," you either stay that forever, become it again and again, or leave it behind completely. So yeah: artists do get trapped by their personae. That, and the kids in Grade 7, and sex, gets you your 3.5. Just barely. show less

I found this an odd, yet disturbing read. I had in the back of my mind Room 101 from 'Nineteen Eighty Four' whilst reading this as it is unclear who those doing the interrogating are.

A weird world unfolds, completely surreal but easy to fall into. A bizarrley enjoyable read where we are made to feel (and be?) accountable for EVERYTHING we have done in life. Could this be a metaphor for our first encounter with God?

Not every going to be the best book I've read but worthwhile. If you are show more reading the book based on the blurb - 16 year old recording his neighbours - then you will be disappointed as this is a media crux I beleive to get you read it in the first place. If like me the title caught your eye you won't be disaappointed. show less

Basically 'I am the Cheese' meets 'Go ask Alice' with better prose than the latter. It seems as regrettable that the author wasted his effort on such an insipid, moralistic story as that I wasted my time reading such an insipid, moralistic story.

A collection of snippets, some stories, some just descriptions without evident story arc. Some characters vaguely echoed in other bits. Sort of a precise impressionism.
Very good. The second last one had a more conventional arc, with a satisfying ending. Probably even more satisfying because so rare. Most never arrived at the ending by the time they finished.