sevenspiders -
Helpful Score: 2
The Dead Travel Fast offers a fresh look at the fascination of vampire lore, remarkably lacking in cliches, and an honest yet humane look at the people who obssess over it. Author Eric Nuzum cheerfully undertakes experiments that would daunt the casual vampire fan (i.e. sampling his own blood, watching every vampire movie ever made). He visits Romania on a tour of vampire history with uncomfortable conditions and limited appeal. He spends months trying to contact a real vampire. Nuzum journeys to the very outskirts of accepted culture to find source of the undead's universal appeal. He attempts to reconcile the equal strength of the mainstream's fascination and the fringe's obsession with vampires and he does so with wit, spunk and an open mind.
Bridget O. (sixteendays) -
Helpful Score: 1
It is purely due to the relatively low page count that I did not DNF this book.
Think back to your freshman English Lit course in college. Do you remember that one guy that sat two rows from the back, against the wall. He claimed Tom Waits was his favorite and he wore a leather jacket, but only one that he thrifted and he made sure you knew it was thrifted because he would never put money in the leather trade. He always brought a book to class that wasn't anything the class was reading. It was probably Heart of Darkness or Albert Camus or his "comfort copy" of Catcher in the Rye. He definitely thought he was leagues smarter than everyone else in the class and it was downright embarassing that the rest of the trash around him dared express themselves and their interests at all. He sneered and guffawed at everyone'e answers, ESPECIALLY women who dared to have an opinion about literature.
Reading this book felt like having to listen to that asshole for 5 hours. Mind-numbingly, jaw-crackingly, skin-crawlingly uncomfortable. Wanting to cut him off and tell him he's an asshole, but it's a book that was published 14 years ago so you just have to keep listening to him and hating every second of it.
Think back to your freshman English Lit course in college. Do you remember that one guy that sat two rows from the back, against the wall. He claimed Tom Waits was his favorite and he wore a leather jacket, but only one that he thrifted and he made sure you knew it was thrifted because he would never put money in the leather trade. He always brought a book to class that wasn't anything the class was reading. It was probably Heart of Darkness or Albert Camus or his "comfort copy" of Catcher in the Rye. He definitely thought he was leagues smarter than everyone else in the class and it was downright embarassing that the rest of the trash around him dared express themselves and their interests at all. He sneered and guffawed at everyone'e answers, ESPECIALLY women who dared to have an opinion about literature.
Reading this book felt like having to listen to that asshole for 5 hours. Mind-numbingly, jaw-crackingly, skin-crawlingly uncomfortable. Wanting to cut him off and tell him he's an asshole, but it's a book that was published 14 years ago so you just have to keep listening to him and hating every second of it.
