Post by sturgeon on Jan 24, 2021 21:37:55 GMT
The aquatic one here, reporting for duty. I've recently been inspired by Amanda Gorman's poetic recitation at Biden's inauguration. Oh, to be so able and self-assured at twenty-two years old. (Oh, to be twenty-two!) Ms Gorman certainly is full of gorm, whereas I, sadly, am utterly gorm-less. Anyway, not to quail you, but that's the literary standard that I'm holding y'all against right now.
No more ado. To the Pencil Man.
Well written. I especially liked the first section, where Mr Kevin encounters the pencil man from time to time, experiencing an almost mystical connection with this transient street-corner vendor with whom he apparently has nothing in common.
The tale changes gear partway through, delving into grisly detail about the pencil man's childhood - and in my mind, during this journey, some cohesion is lost. Little things, like a grandmother (?) Miss Sarah that appears out of nowhere (just in time to die) and yet was apparently a pivotal part of Pencil Man's life; or references to race that seemed to signal meaning while simultaneously appearing irrelevant; or a smattering of minor point-of-view violations; or awkward dialect transcriptions like "You wurf a hundert dollars"; or pat dialogue like "You here with the stuff?"
"If you’ve got the bread"; or unnecessarily capitalised Moments, again signaling Meaning that I clearly Missed.
None of these flaws are fatal individually, but together their weight deflected me from the narrative's gravitational pull - so that, ultimately, by the end of the story I'd lost track of where it was going and found my attention spinning off into space.
A noble effort that, with the greatest of respect, I vote to consign to the venerable pile of needs-works and almost-theres. A no from me.
No more ado. To the Pencil Man.
Well written. I especially liked the first section, where Mr Kevin encounters the pencil man from time to time, experiencing an almost mystical connection with this transient street-corner vendor with whom he apparently has nothing in common.
The tale changes gear partway through, delving into grisly detail about the pencil man's childhood - and in my mind, during this journey, some cohesion is lost. Little things, like a grandmother (?) Miss Sarah that appears out of nowhere (just in time to die) and yet was apparently a pivotal part of Pencil Man's life; or references to race that seemed to signal meaning while simultaneously appearing irrelevant; or a smattering of minor point-of-view violations; or awkward dialect transcriptions like "You wurf a hundert dollars"; or pat dialogue like "You here with the stuff?"
"If you’ve got the bread"; or unnecessarily capitalised Moments, again signaling Meaning that I clearly Missed.
None of these flaws are fatal individually, but together their weight deflected me from the narrative's gravitational pull - so that, ultimately, by the end of the story I'd lost track of where it was going and found my attention spinning off into space.
A noble effort that, with the greatest of respect, I vote to consign to the venerable pile of needs-works and almost-theres. A no from me.
