“Reading books will doom you to a life of fear and shame.”

Breaking the waves. Bellerive Beach, Hobart. March 2021.

The Plotters by Un-su Kim (translated by Sora Kim-Russell)

This is the silliest book that I have read in a long while. I did enjoy it as the pacing was fine and plenty was happening. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that it read like a far better version of that dreadful creative writing exercise by the Virginia Tech shooter that found itself on the Internet back in the day.

The biggest flaw is a common one found in the genre. It is like the author has not really met or spoken with any women, so he's not quite sure how they work. However, he obviously means well and sees women as more pure and worthy in a debased world, which I guess is better than the way that it usually goes in these things.

It's an action movie in book-form. I found the pretensions to something more meaningful hamfisted and a bit childish, but nothing worse than anything you'll find in the Matrix or John Wick. I can't quite figure what he was trying to so about reading, but it doesn't strike me as if the author has read many of the books that he cites in the novel.

All told though, it is impossible to take it at all seriously, so didn't really distract from the main piece (shooting, stabbing, running, jumping and lots of bleeding).

⭐ ⭐ 1/2

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If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

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This will hurt me...

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