Why Ben Affleck Can’t Be Batman

Side note (more note to self) about own blog. I have yet to find what makes this my book review blog vs a generic book report of what I like and dislike. I need a thing, and I don’t know what that is. I was hoping to get specific about writing style, but really, as long as I can read it and produce an image and read on, I’m golden. Will keep working on this thing of mine.

Since I just wrote about writing style. I enjoy the first person narrative because you really get inside the mind of the characters. I like the switching of POVs. You really get all sides of the story. Sometimes, I did have to think back on what happened to a character in one chapter when we come back around to them, so that’s a minor caveat. But it’s not like she does five chapters in a row of the same character.

What makes the book so much creepier than the film is that the book, being first person, delves deeper into the characters. It was like they were talking to me. whereas watching the film, they were just characters doing their thing only letting me in a couple of times through their voice over narration.

This will be more of a personal reaction to Gone Girl, the book, than a review. Remember that Facebook post that was going around about books that have stuck with you? This is one of those books.

To recommend this book would attract some judgement on my character, and reading this twisted story had me judging the author. I usually don’t read the acknowledgments, but I thought in this case, it could give me some insight on Flynn. Funny enough she is happily married with kids, and she had married friends read over her work. She even joked that she was glad the story did not ruin their marriages.

Anyway, it is a good book, but it is also terrifying. Don’t overthink it, okay?

I watched the movie first, and my mistake was watching it before attending a wedding, so that was fun. The movie has haunted me enough to pick up the book. Let me tell you, it is an interesting experience to be reading a book when you already have the story, and I think the movie has stayed true to the book, but with all movies based on books, a few scenes had to be cut. I’d have to watch the movie again to be sure, but I think the movie covered the important aspects. It is a testament to the book for me to sit down and read through it when I already know the story.

I don’t even want to summarize this one for you because I don’t know how to do it without spoiling it, and I think because I got no spoilers before walking into the story (the movie), that is why it has such a hold on me.

What is terrifying is the psyche of the characters… And you think about it; people like this actually exist in this world. The characters are extreme, but I think humans are capable of such extremity, and that is horrifying.

SPOILER WARNING!!

There is no happy ending; no one gets their due justice. They’re just trapped. I like and dislike this. I dislike this because the formula calls for a happy ending. Something that at least hints someone will get what’s coming to them; justice must be served! At the same time, I like that Flynn doesn’t follow the formula and not just for the sake of it. It’s a believable “resolution” to the whole story. It wouldn’t make sense for it to end any other way.

END OF SPOILER.

I’ve looked up the author and am intrigued by her work. Random fact about me. Edgar Allan Poe has always been my favorite. I loved the dark stuff, but he had such a dark childhood. I always thought I needed darkness to write. I’ve got my own monsters helping me with that, but I thought I needed Poe-level darkness, and Flynn, I think proves otherwise, and so far, I like that about her.

Advertisements

Oatmeal and the Secret Suitcase, Part 2

We walked for miles. I’m not sure who was leading who. We were just walking, and we would have walked on forever if Oatmeal didn’t tug the rope and nearly throw me into the dirt. A dark wooden fence stood in front of what looked like a forest. The open grass land and trees were all I could see. Oatmeal’s nose nudged the lock on the gate, and then he turned and stared at me. I stared back, and for a second, I forgot he was blind again. 


The trees rustled, and my neck nearly snapped off my head, but Oatmeal was calm, and he let out a loud exhale that blew air on my shoulder. A girl with long black hair came running out of the trees as she shouted in a high pitched voice. “Oatmeal!” 

She opened the gate so fast, I wondered if it was even locked to begin with, and her arms locked around the calf’s neck as she buried her face in it. I dropped the rope lead and laid a hand on his back and took a step backward. The girl let go but left her hand on Oatmeal’s nose and looked up at me with shining brown eyes, standing just a few inches shorter than me. 

Oatmeal gave another loud exhale and nudged my arm with his nose. “Yeah, why don’t you come inside with us,” the girl suggested. She looked down at the suitcase still in my hand, balanced on its wheels behind me. “Surely you need some rest.” 

Oatmeal and the girl both gave me the same expectant look, and I succumbed and followed the girl and Oatmeal through the trees and to the barn behind the one story peach brick house. “Do your parents know you’re inviting a stranger over?” 

The girl held the barn door open for me, and I walked in and immediately took a seat on the cube of hay that sat on another bale with the calf in front of me and the girl next to him. The girl shrugged. “You look like you could be in my class.” 

“How old are you?” 
“Thirteen.” I nodded and stared at the dirt that scattered the floor of the barn. “How’d you know where to bring him?” She put a hand on Oatmeal’s shoulder. 
I shrugged. “I didn’t.” I looked up at the calf. “But he did.” 

The girl patted Oatmeal’s shoulder. “Where’d you find him?”

I put a hand out and touched the calf’s nose. “He found me.” I petted him as I looked to the girl. “I know his name. What’s yours?”

“Daisy. Yours?”

“Leila. Okay, Daisy, tell me about Oatmeal.”

“Only if you tell me about that suitcase.” Daisy pointed at the suitcase that laid down next to the bales of hay I sat on.

“I deserve his back story for bringing him back.”

“I deserve to know what’s in your suitcase if you’re staying in my barn.”

I looked to the girl whose eyes held their own adamance. “Fine.” I nodded. “But first, Oatmeal.” I leaned back against the wooden wall and crossed my arms as Oatmeal began chomping on the corner of my hay chair.