Every day, after staring blankly at the
ground in front of the nearest
bus stop to my
house for over half an hour, and having
smoked one fifth of my pack of
Camels, my impatience regarding the ridiculous unreliability of
public transport reaches new-fangled heights.
Considering it's a one and a half hour
bus ride to get to my
destination, a
university in the center of the
city, I can do one of two things: sit on the
loud,
foul smelling bus, dwelling in my
tedious exasperation which will
proliferate if my
walkman suddenly decides to stir up a
migraine; or sit back and relax with my newly picked up
Anne Rice novel, Lasher.
Now I can't say that I couldn't put it down, or that it kept me
perpetually engrossed. I haven't been
immersed in a
novel since I was fifteen. I think my
patience has just run thin in recent years; but it was certainly a very entertaining read for the duration of my
bus rides.
A
tragic creature on a
journey to achieve self-righteousness while at the same time, one of the most perplexing
characters I've ever seen takes control of this
book and builds a magnificent contrast that parallels with the rest of the cast. This book bubbles with
witchcraft,
incest and
insanity, some of the finer
themes worth reading about.
Anne Rice's
romantic writing, unfortunately, is sometimes a bit too
romantic and pseudo-
passionate making it a tad
monotonous; her scenery is constantly beautiful and she lacks when describing more
unpleasant situations. On top of that, Rice alludes to a lot of conventional literary works like
Shakespeare or
Dickens, which makes her writing a little shallow.