Dear Ballantine Books,
I am writing to demand that you disclose the name of the person who championed the publication of 24/7, by Jim Brown, so that I may make a citizen's arrest. The charge: Crimes Against Humanity.
Allow me to concede a few things before I go into the nature of the offenses.
1) It is obvious from the final product that whoever was given the thankless task of editing this "book" had to wade through a morass of painful nonsense in order to carve out even the deeply, disturbingly, nightmare-inducingly bad final product that I checked out of the library on Saturday. I'm not saying you didn't make an improvement; the hand of some poor soul, attempting to guide this work toward some semblance of sanity, can clearly be seen in the ever more desperate attempts to explain key "plot" "points," flesh out the "characters," and reconcile the poorly conceived subplots. What I'm offended by is that someone, somewhere in your chain of command, looked at the progress being made, perhaps even filled out the paperwork that allowed a mental health leave for those involved, and still decreed that this manuscript should see the light of day.
2) I'll admit that this book does not promise to be high literature in the first place. After all, I went in search of some trashy entertainment to fill my lazy Sunday. That's why I'm willing to overlook the lapses in logic (although they are so numerous as to cause dizziness), the threadbare technological background (despite the fact that the suspense revolves around the acceptance of numerous advances in modern science), the gaping holes in the story, the snarl of loose ends, and the painfully trite personal relationships. These are all par for the course.
What I can't forgive is the writing.
Our man Jim Brown came up with a cheesy, sordid ripped-from-the-headlines story idea, and I can forgive you for allowing him to run with it. After all, a book about a reality TV show and violent, horrible death is bound to make you a buck or two, right?
But then, like a high school quarterback in the backseat on Saturday night, with an idea that women have "needs" culled from the Spice Channel, Mr. Brown felt compelled to add that descriptive flourish to his work. He knows, after all, that writers describe things, and so he set about to do that himself.
Why did no one explain to him that he is just a hack?
Why did you not do all you could to save the world from his fumbling word-caresses?
Allow me to provide you with some examples, so that we might better understand what I'm referring to.
One of Mr. Brown's major offenses is visual descriptions which are so labored, awkward, off-base, or all three that they completely halt the flow of reading, such as:
"Painted a bluish dark gray, the color of Windex on a wet cinder block..."
Um. Has anyone ever seen Windex on a wet cinder block? Comparative descriptions are supposed to make visuals more accessible to the reader, not give you an opportunity for verbal onanism. Second, if you were to actually spray Windex onto a wet cinder block, it would look, well, wet. Windex is just not that blue, dude.
Or how about:
"wind...tossing Tucker's hair like an overeager stylist."
Just. too. much, especially taking place as it does in the middle of an alleged action scene. Plus, while we're on the subject, how can you name one of your main characters Tucker and expect us to take him seriously?
Then there's:
"Renee's hair, teased by the growing wind, looked like an illustration of St. Elmo's fire sculpted in blond."
Ow. Ow! This guy clearly has the same authorial relationship to wind that I did when I composed the third-grade epic, The Unicorns at Night. One of us, however, grew up. Guess which one!
Another wee issue is the attempt to capture characters' inner lives. I can't imagine what drove Brown to try to do this in a mindless page-turner anyway; people are buying this puppy for the synthetically altered flesh-eating virus, not for the emotional development of those racing against time to save themselves blah blah blah. But then maybe he thinks he's a real author. However, you, Ballantine Books, should know better. Look what you made me read:
"her hands shook like the last leaves of autumn at the prospect of winter"
Setting the blinding purpleness of the prose aside - actually, no. Let us not set that aside. It made my brain hurt! It made my loved ones wonder if they should go buy me a special helmet, as I gave the term "head-slappingly bad" a literal interpretation! It is unacceptable! Also, this phrase is used to describe someone who is panicking from a nightmare. This is clearly wrong. If I were in some topsy-turvy hell dimension, and willing to use this as a descriptive sentence, it would clearly be used to describe someone infirm or elderly. Duh!
"It was as if he saw the world through a prism, splitting the white light of logic into a rainbow of possibilities."
Sweet merciful delete button, what inhuman monster let things like this actually get printed? What the hell does that mean? What? If anyone can form the faintest clue about what that sentence actually says about a person, I will personally fly to Oregon and perform an interpretive apology tap-dance on the nightly news.
Last, I present you with:
"like trying to surf a tsunami with an ironing board."
Here's what I figure must have happened: Mr. Brown, bitten by the writing bug, began to carry around a notebook that he could fill with the choice metaphors, similes, etc. that came to mind when his muse (i.e. SATAN HIMSELF!) struck. Then he needed a place to put nonsense like that quoted above, and so he just sort of inserted it into sentences of his book as best he could. Am I close?
Let me ask you something, Ballantine. Did anyone even read this book? Or did you just say "Hey, he's a news anchor, he can read a teleprompter, so there's no need to really check up on this book. Who's for another martini lunch?"
These are just a few representative examples, chosen from hundreds. I hope you'll agree that reparations are due to all those who suffered certain neural damage from this, this, thing. Feel free to contact me anytime regarding amount; I'm open to negotiation. Failing a cash settlement, perhaps you'd be interested in taking a look at my latest book? It's called Random Sentences I Pulled Out of My Butt That Are Still Better Than That 24/7 Crap.
Call me!
Best regards,
Hilatron
Perhaps a class action lawsuit is in order. I would like to get in on the ground floor. Although I did not technically read Mr. Brown's "novel", I have gone blind in one eye merely in reading the brief passages that you have selected. Also, I think I may have developed an arrhythmia. Please advise.
And no, I did not spell arrhythmia correctly on my first try. What of it?
Love your writing style. I would TOTALLY give you a book deal. Unfortunately, I am nobody.
Posted by: CW at January 14, 2003 03:59 PMdude, you've found your calling. making fun of bad writing is an editor's number one priority in life!
Posted by: jenni at January 14, 2003 11:31 PMYay! Where do I sign up for my glamourous, lucrative, snarky new job?
Posted by: Hilatron at January 15, 2003 08:39 AMThere are way too many people named James/Jim Brown and none of them should write.
P.S. What is with that picture of him on the site you linked to? One ear is completely white while the rest of his head is all discolored. Make sure you get a better photographer when you get published.
Posted by: Elle at January 15, 2003 02:20 PMYeah, that picture was inside the book jacket, too. I should've looked at that before I checked it out; it probably would have saved me.
And, CW, I'm sorry about the blindness. Thanks for the moral support, if not the book deal...
Posted by: Hilatron at January 15, 2003 02:48 PM