|Posted on Tuesday, August 02, 2005 - 04:10 pm: |
"But, in my opinion, there can be misreadings which really are mistakes on the part of the reader and which do lead to substantial misinterpretation. The question then is, is that the author's fault? I dunno. It's kind of frustrating - this orthodoxy that the reader is always right."
I agree that this can cause problems if that reader is influencing other people who haven't read the book yet. But what if that reader is a reviewer?
It's a reviewer's prerogative to say a book stinks, and more power to them! But when a reviewer says that something substantial exists in a book when in no stretch of the imagination, does it, is it the role of the author to be a stone toad at dawn - silent, but covered with sweat?
Therefore, this spurs me to do what I previously thought better of, but my base instincts have bubbled to the surface.
So I now announce a Prize of a GOLD-PLATED COCONUT to anyone who finds the plot ending that was stated (and reviewers who reveal plot endings deserve a special place in Eternity, but that's another issue)in the recent Publishers Weekly review of Spotted Lily.
Here it is:
From Publishers Weekly
This shocker from Australian author Tambour (Monterra's Deliciosa & Other Tales &) about a 20ish down under Faustess who sells her soul to the devil (aka Brett Hartshorn) for lasting literary fame and fortune may well strike some like a bracing tonic and others like something a lot less palatable. Having fled her Wooronga bush station home, Angela Pendergast takes her B.A. and M.A. in English at Sydney University and predictably goes walkabout, works at a bank and for five years pours out her dreams of authorship in journals until Brett appears during what he calls "pledge week." Her ensuing adventures with her behorned and betailed Byronic companion take them to Prague, Bali, New York and finally back to Wooronga. Tambour's racy, florid style achieves some witty one-liners, like Hartshorn's breakfast of heart tartare au jus Masai, but Angela's devil-sent humiliations too often verge on the off-puttingly scatological. Angela's loosely connected "adventures" also feel contrived until she returns to the bush she realizes too late she loves, whimpering over the death of her dreams.
|Posted on Wednesday, August 03, 2005 - 06:26 am: |
she doesn't become a famous and rich author? and perhaps dies in the bush?
|Posted on Wednesday, August 03, 2005 - 10:07 am: |
I suspect that gold-plated coconut will be going begging, Anna. Seriously, though, (and on reflection) I think the stone toad at dawn scenario is the better option, uncomfortable as that is.
|Posted on Wednesday, August 03, 2005 - 04:26 pm: |
Me lips are superglued, Ben, hey hey!
And yes, Tamar. I'd be sweating if I had to think of paying for a coconut to be gold-plated. But that is some conundrum, isn't it? One doesn't want to be a 'precious' kind of author.
|Posted on Thursday, August 04, 2005 - 05:24 am: |
aw. but i wanted me the gold plated coconut. i got children to feed.
|Posted on Thursday, August 04, 2005 - 03:29 pm: |
The temptation of the gold plated coconut almost compels me to contrive some kind of response that would allow me to win it. What a prize! bristling with goodness and, perhaps, temptation in equal measure.
As it is, I have to admit that the PW review's version of the ending of Spotted Lily is NOT the ending as I read it, not one bit at all. Actually the PW's version of the ending is (as is said in the Scots vernacular) shite.
I therefore concede to having failed to win the fabled gold-plate coconut, known from days of yore to be a prize more worthy than the Grail itself.
|Posted on Thursday, August 04, 2005 - 06:17 pm: |
How about a gold-plated mango? :-)
And yeah, that PW interpretation of the ending makes me think of Gone With the Wind....
Something Spotted Lily is decidedly NOT! :-)
|Posted on Friday, August 05, 2005 - 12:04 am: |
Ben, knowing your twisted mind, when you said, "i got children to feed," I must ask, to whom?
Alistair, is it legal for a non-Scot to write "shite"? It's so tempting.
Vera, gold-plated mango. hmm. Reminds me of when I chocolate-coated medlars. When they were perfectly bletted, they tasted like pureed wine covered with chocolate, and then they bletted more and more...
I wonder what would happen with a gold-plated mango. Would it explode if it weren't dried first?
|Posted on Friday, August 05, 2005 - 09:02 pm: |
lets no ask about the children, anna. lets just give me the gold...