Reading The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

I don’t do a lot of traditional book reviews and this isn’t going to be one of them, I guess, more like thoughts on the book while explaining why I think it’s so great. Maybe that is a traditional review. Whatever. It’s morning and I’m not awake yet.

So I’m re-reading the ENTIRE Anita Blake Vampire Hunter Series from book one to infinity because I last stopped reading the series at book 13 (or something, can’t remember) and got into other things and then Laurell K. Hamilton’s Merry Gentry series.

By the time I wanted to pick the Anita books up again I’d forgotten half of what happened and knew I needed to start from the very beginning to get the full immersive experience.

I picked up Guilty Pleasures back in January and I was going to try to finish all of them by the end of this year. Seeing as it’s already August and I’ve just started book 4, I probably won’t.

But I wanted to talk about what I’ve read so far, specifically in the context of how art imitates life and how I connected with the second book in the Anita Blake series, The Laughing Corpse.

Trigger warning: Don’t read below the cut if you don’t want spoilers or expositions on violence, gore, and rape in literature.

Continue reading Reading The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

How I got into Stephen King

I don’t like all Stephen King books but I can’t deny he is a master of the horror genre. And the books of his that I do like, I like because they entertain me as a reader, not a writer. I get transported into that world and I don’t want to leave because there’s something there in the terror that feels like home.

So when I was a kid, my mom went to Pennsylvania for a conference or something and first I got scared because I didn’t hear Pennsylvania, I heard Transylvania and I thought Dracula was going to kill her. I was corrected rather quickly about that before I could realize that if Dracula “killed” her she could turn into a vampire and have a pretty cool life after that.

But then after we dropped her off at the airport my dad said something about how her plane might crash, a possibility that had never popped into my head before even though I had my first plane ride when I was 3, and when we got home he put on The Langoliers.

And I fucking loved it.

I loved the creepy abandoned airport, I love how the characters could pick through other people’s stuff and explore things that seemed ordinary but were really out of the ordinary.

I loved the little girl, I wanted to be her. I loved the tough Australian guy, I wanted to marry him and I was sad when he died. I loved the pilot and his bravery flying the plane through the rip in reality knowing that if he fucked it up they would all die. I even liked the guy who ripped up paper, even though he was also kinda creepy. And I felt kinda bad that he was messed up. But I also loved it when the Langoliers ate him.

I could go on and on about those characters. I think it’s one of the few stories where I like every single character, which doesn’t happen often.

I hot-glued cotton balls to a rock and drew teeth on it. I am not artistic. It was an albino langolier. Whatever.

I thought those monsters were fucking adorable. And if you think about it, knowing that a toothy, round monster thing eats the past is kind of comforting because everything embarrassing or humiliating that ever happened to you is, technically, gone now.

And that’s how I got into Stephen King.