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Book Reviews with a Buddha
Sep. 8th, 2005 03:11 am"Wankers, the lot of them."
"Who?" the buddha asked.
"Y'know, you seem awfully attached to my scooty chair, for all that it's an illusion. I thought you'd buggered off to somewhere else."
"We're British tonight?"
"The British have better profanity. All we've got is damn, and then your bog standard anglo-saxon terms referring to sex or poop, and yes, I KNOW what the British words mean. But they sound better, and aren't offensive to Americans, because they're not part of our culture. Sorta like how the British were weirded out when Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me opened over there."
"So we are British then."
"No, we are just fanboy. I blame Monty Python and Terry Pratchett. And probably Neil Gaiman, but I don't want to mess with him, he's got a satanic tomato."
"It's only a model. So which wankers roused your ire?"
I flopped down on my bed, on top of the pile of shorts. It's already starting to get chilly, and I just unpacked them. That's planning, that is. "Oh, 'literary' authors. Seriously, they write books that are about wannabe writers, and OMG TEH DRAMA, and then the character in the book meets some amazing chick and things go either good or bad, and Great Lessons Are Learned. Or similar dibble. It's like Real Life Self-Insertion Fanfic."
The buddha didn't say anything, but I'd gotten rolling, so I went. "I mean, seriously, you want to whine about your life and bitch about drama? Get an LJ, that's what they're for. Many of the novels would fit right in as LJ posts. And hey, they'd save a few trees that way. But I can't really blame them. Well, yet, anyway. The real culprits are the teachers who repeat crap like 'Write what you know!' over and over again, without mentioning things like 'Go and do something interesting.' And the ones who bash anything 'genre' as addlepated fluff. When they're told to write what they know, and all they know is being an underemployed wannabe writer, what else are they supposed to write about? All that creativity wasted. Oh, but hey, it's Real Life! It's Serious! It's got Great Human Emotions and Deep Meaning. Whoop-dee-doo. You can have Great Emotion and Deep Meaning and still have spaceships or dragons or guys in tights punching each other. But that's not 'Serious' literature. PAH! And of course, the kids they've trained grow up to become the next generation of gatekeepers of Literature with a capital L. And the cycle repeats itself."
The buddha spun quietly in my chair for a second. "Are you finished?"
"I could go on, but I think you get the point. Trust me, I could go on."
"So how much of that isn't sour grapes?"
"Bah," I said, "As you Californians would say, 'Whatever.'"
"Well, if people are buying it, what's your problem with it? If they're enjoying it, and the readers enjoy it, how's it hurt you?"
"Because they keep up this facade of what makes something 'Real Literature', and sneer at anything that doesn't meet their standards."
"Ah. Completely unlike what you're doing, then."
Unconcerned by my glare, he started trimming his toenails. "Do you show up just to annoy me?" I asked.
"If you just want comfort food, ask a fairy godmother. You wanted an imaginary spirit guide debate."
I sat up. "Yeah, but shouldn't you be trying to help? Infinite compassion and all that."
He leaned back in the chair. The chair's not set up to DO that, damnit. I wish it could. "Hey, I've got compassion. I totally feel your pain. Infinitely."
"That's because you live in my head."
"Bingo. But the other part of the whole Buddha thing you're forgetting. Infinite patience. I've got nowhere important to be. Nirvana's not going anywhere. Besides, time's just another illusion. So yeah, I feel your pain, but I'm not gonna kick your ass into gear. Even if I could. That's your job."
"That is almost entirely unhelpful."
"Ah, but only almost! I can only show you the door, you're the one that has to walk through it."
"That worked out so well for Neo."
"He got a cookie out of it. And phenomenal cosmic powers."
"And he got killed, then brought back for a pair of bad sequels."
"He got the chick."
I held up a hand to stop him. "And then SHE died. Twice. And what's with stories always rewarding the hero with nookie, anyway? Even stories for kids. Go out, kill something, get laid. There's a very caveman vibe about the whole thing..."
"We're wandering from the subject again."
"Not really, I think we've said all there is to say about it right now."
"So you're going to get to work?"
"No, I'm going to bed. Have you looked at the clock?"
"Time's an illusion, remember?"
"Fine, but I still have the illusion of Arabic class tomorrow afternoon, and I'd like to be up BEFORE five minutes before class."
"Sleep is for the weak and unenlightened."
That's me to a T. At least at this hour of the morning.
Things Wot Come Before:
Stories from the Rabbit Hole
Stories from the Rabbit Hole, Part 2
There's a Buddha on My Bed
A Discussion of Procrastination and Buddhism
Buddhablog
Haven't Seen Him in a While
The Illusion of Pain
Stuff that Binds
The Joy of Scrubdom
More About Failure
Tags: Rabbit Hole, Mindscribbles, Religion, Movies
"Who?" the buddha asked.
"Y'know, you seem awfully attached to my scooty chair, for all that it's an illusion. I thought you'd buggered off to somewhere else."
"We're British tonight?"
"The British have better profanity. All we've got is damn, and then your bog standard anglo-saxon terms referring to sex or poop, and yes, I KNOW what the British words mean. But they sound better, and aren't offensive to Americans, because they're not part of our culture. Sorta like how the British were weirded out when Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me opened over there."
"So we are British then."
"No, we are just fanboy. I blame Monty Python and Terry Pratchett. And probably Neil Gaiman, but I don't want to mess with him, he's got a satanic tomato."
"It's only a model. So which wankers roused your ire?"
I flopped down on my bed, on top of the pile of shorts. It's already starting to get chilly, and I just unpacked them. That's planning, that is. "Oh, 'literary' authors. Seriously, they write books that are about wannabe writers, and OMG TEH DRAMA, and then the character in the book meets some amazing chick and things go either good or bad, and Great Lessons Are Learned. Or similar dibble. It's like Real Life Self-Insertion Fanfic."
The buddha didn't say anything, but I'd gotten rolling, so I went. "I mean, seriously, you want to whine about your life and bitch about drama? Get an LJ, that's what they're for. Many of the novels would fit right in as LJ posts. And hey, they'd save a few trees that way. But I can't really blame them. Well, yet, anyway. The real culprits are the teachers who repeat crap like 'Write what you know!' over and over again, without mentioning things like 'Go and do something interesting.' And the ones who bash anything 'genre' as addlepated fluff. When they're told to write what they know, and all they know is being an underemployed wannabe writer, what else are they supposed to write about? All that creativity wasted. Oh, but hey, it's Real Life! It's Serious! It's got Great Human Emotions and Deep Meaning. Whoop-dee-doo. You can have Great Emotion and Deep Meaning and still have spaceships or dragons or guys in tights punching each other. But that's not 'Serious' literature. PAH! And of course, the kids they've trained grow up to become the next generation of gatekeepers of Literature with a capital L. And the cycle repeats itself."
The buddha spun quietly in my chair for a second. "Are you finished?"
"I could go on, but I think you get the point. Trust me, I could go on."
"So how much of that isn't sour grapes?"
"Bah," I said, "As you Californians would say, 'Whatever.'"
"Well, if people are buying it, what's your problem with it? If they're enjoying it, and the readers enjoy it, how's it hurt you?"
"Because they keep up this facade of what makes something 'Real Literature', and sneer at anything that doesn't meet their standards."
"Ah. Completely unlike what you're doing, then."
Unconcerned by my glare, he started trimming his toenails. "Do you show up just to annoy me?" I asked.
"If you just want comfort food, ask a fairy godmother. You wanted an imaginary spirit guide debate."
I sat up. "Yeah, but shouldn't you be trying to help? Infinite compassion and all that."
He leaned back in the chair. The chair's not set up to DO that, damnit. I wish it could. "Hey, I've got compassion. I totally feel your pain. Infinitely."
"That's because you live in my head."
"Bingo. But the other part of the whole Buddha thing you're forgetting. Infinite patience. I've got nowhere important to be. Nirvana's not going anywhere. Besides, time's just another illusion. So yeah, I feel your pain, but I'm not gonna kick your ass into gear. Even if I could. That's your job."
"That is almost entirely unhelpful."
"Ah, but only almost! I can only show you the door, you're the one that has to walk through it."
"That worked out so well for Neo."
"He got a cookie out of it. And phenomenal cosmic powers."
"And he got killed, then brought back for a pair of bad sequels."
"He got the chick."
I held up a hand to stop him. "And then SHE died. Twice. And what's with stories always rewarding the hero with nookie, anyway? Even stories for kids. Go out, kill something, get laid. There's a very caveman vibe about the whole thing..."
"We're wandering from the subject again."
"Not really, I think we've said all there is to say about it right now."
"So you're going to get to work?"
"No, I'm going to bed. Have you looked at the clock?"
"Time's an illusion, remember?"
"Fine, but I still have the illusion of Arabic class tomorrow afternoon, and I'd like to be up BEFORE five minutes before class."
"Sleep is for the weak and unenlightened."
That's me to a T. At least at this hour of the morning.
Things Wot Come Before:
Stories from the Rabbit Hole
Stories from the Rabbit Hole, Part 2
There's a Buddha on My Bed
A Discussion of Procrastination and Buddhism
Buddhablog
Haven't Seen Him in a While
The Illusion of Pain
Stuff that Binds
The Joy of Scrubdom
More About Failure
Tags: Rabbit Hole, Mindscribbles, Religion, Movies
