Just finished reading Hannibal. I liked Red Dragon and The Silence of the Lambs a lot, but I don't know how to feel about Hannibal. I really didn't like the ending. It was to depressing and not anything I could have imagined I wanted to happen. I'm also upset that Thomas Harris' next book will be about Hannibal's childhood with Misha, and won't explain what happened after Hannibal. And what's more, I'm a bit perturbed that he's writen the screenplay for the movie already, and it's been cast, before the book's even out.
Other than that, I didn't feel the book was quite as "exciting" or "suspenseful" as they made it out to be. My heart's beaten faster reading Ian Fleming's novels.
In any event, I have to figure out what to read next. I have a couple books I haven't read, but none of them are really calling out to me. Nothing really is. Now I must drag myself to shower and wash my hair. Then maybe I'll sleep when it's dry.
Update:
I would like to share briefly with you, my stupidity. You see, recently I fooled myself into a world of hope. No, more like a cave. A narrow cave, with an entrance and an exit. A light at the exit. This cave I built through a mountain of solid despair. Sure, the walls weren't perfect, and the cave itself wasn't exactly straight, but it was my cave. Imperfections are of course unavoidable, and the bends, of which there were a couple, were doubts brought on by my own subconscious, perhaps knowing better than I, and trying to bring me out before a cave-in. But the collapse did come, and ironically it came from a buttress that had previously held the ceiling strong in place. I had not a chance of getting out, it came so fast. This cave was the first of it's kind, and I know that as long as I shall live, I will never find a way to make another one. This first version was beyond rare, and more than I could have ever hoped for. The light at the end, from a sun so special and unique, it may very well be the only one. I am sure however, that as long as I live long enough, I can pull myself out of the rubble of my cave. The weight of the stones of despair, feeling lighter today than they did yesterday, but may yet still become heavier. From here through the cracks, to the night past the entrance, I can see the stars and the moon, held up by whatever holds my unique sun. Eventually though, it will drop the sun, and the sun will fall or burn out, if it hasn't already. I wouldn't know, for I can no longer see the sun from inside my crumbled cave.
A first-person story I thought up while in the shower.
Other than that, I didn't feel the book was quite as "exciting" or "suspenseful" as they made it out to be. My heart's beaten faster reading Ian Fleming's novels.
In any event, I have to figure out what to read next. I have a couple books I haven't read, but none of them are really calling out to me. Nothing really is. Now I must drag myself to shower and wash my hair. Then maybe I'll sleep when it's dry.
Update:
I would like to share briefly with you, my stupidity. You see, recently I fooled myself into a world of hope. No, more like a cave. A narrow cave, with an entrance and an exit. A light at the exit. This cave I built through a mountain of solid despair. Sure, the walls weren't perfect, and the cave itself wasn't exactly straight, but it was my cave. Imperfections are of course unavoidable, and the bends, of which there were a couple, were doubts brought on by my own subconscious, perhaps knowing better than I, and trying to bring me out before a cave-in. But the collapse did come, and ironically it came from a buttress that had previously held the ceiling strong in place. I had not a chance of getting out, it came so fast. This cave was the first of it's kind, and I know that as long as I shall live, I will never find a way to make another one. This first version was beyond rare, and more than I could have ever hoped for. The light at the end, from a sun so special and unique, it may very well be the only one. I am sure however, that as long as I live long enough, I can pull myself out of the rubble of my cave. The weight of the stones of despair, feeling lighter today than they did yesterday, but may yet still become heavier. From here through the cracks, to the night past the entrance, I can see the stars and the moon, held up by whatever holds my unique sun. Eventually though, it will drop the sun, and the sun will fall or burn out, if it hasn't already. I wouldn't know, for I can no longer see the sun from inside my crumbled cave.
A first-person story I thought up while in the shower.
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I can see why it would be a mixed bag.
~cheers
~cheers