You know what's TRULY great about being a book blogger? I do some things only because I can. And here's a caffeine-fueled rant about something I just feel like sharing right now. I am dying to read Megan Abbott's latest novel, The End Of Everything. I pre-ordered it already. The funny thing about that is that I have never read any of her novels before. Even when I specifically looked for her stuff in New York, I didn't find any (OK, there aren't many book stores in Manhattan). There's just something about this cover, this title and this blurb that's calling me. It happens rarely but whenever it does, resistance is futile. Here's what the blurb says:
Thirteen-year old Lizzie Hood and her next door neighbor Evie Verver are inseparable. They are best friends who swap bathing suits and field-hockey sticks, and share everything that's happened to them. Together they live in the shadow of Evie's glamorous older sister Dusty, who provides a window on the exotic, intoxicating possibilities of their own teenage horizons. To Lizzie, the Verver household, presided over by Evie's big-hearted father, is the world's most perfect place.
And then, one afternoon, Evie disappears.
There are many reasons why I go bonkers with anticipation over this. First, Megan Abbott is renowned as one of the best noir writers alive. The fact that she writes a book about innocence and suburban life is promising that something will go unspeakably wrong. Noir is often about people who are already broken in little pieces, but the prospective that there is something left to break is making me pathologically curious. And you know? I'm sure Lizzie's dreams and innocence won't be broken into pieces, but rather shattered into tiny little jagged splints.
The second reason is the freakin' title. The End Of Everything. Since I have first read it two months ago, I keep mumbling Cradle Of Filth's greatest success, From The Cradle To The Enslave. The chorus goes like this:
Thirteen-year old Lizzie Hood and her next door neighbor Evie Verver are inseparable. They are best friends who swap bathing suits and field-hockey sticks, and share everything that's happened to them. Together they live in the shadow of Evie's glamorous older sister Dusty, who provides a window on the exotic, intoxicating possibilities of their own teenage horizons. To Lizzie, the Verver household, presided over by Evie's big-hearted father, is the world's most perfect place.
And then, one afternoon, Evie disappears.
There are many reasons why I go bonkers with anticipation over this. First, Megan Abbott is renowned as one of the best noir writers alive. The fact that she writes a book about innocence and suburban life is promising that something will go unspeakably wrong. Noir is often about people who are already broken in little pieces, but the prospective that there is something left to break is making me pathologically curious. And you know? I'm sure Lizzie's dreams and innocence won't be broken into pieces, but rather shattered into tiny little jagged splints.
The second reason is the freakin' title. The End Of Everything. Since I have first read it two months ago, I keep mumbling Cradle Of Filth's greatest success, From The Cradle To The Enslave. The chorus goes like this:
This is the end of everything
Hear the growing chora that a new dawn shall bring
It's a song about the friggin' apocalypse. Put that, next to a suburban settings and the innocence of a thirteen years old going down the drain and you have nuclear fission on pages. The words are extremely strong. The End Of Everything. Means that the world as you know it is about to end. I don't know anything about Lizzie Hood, but I already like her. And I will read her adventures with great enthusiasm next month. And you should do the same. I'm sure it's going to own.
Talking of adventures and awesome titles, I have stumbled upon The Adventures Of Cash Laramie And Gideon Miles by Edward A. Grainger. That's about the most convincing title for a Western novel since like...ever? If I lived in the Far West, I would wholeheartedly trust men named Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles to work for me. But since it's an eBook, I'll have to buy a Kindle before I read it, something I'm already thinking about. But the title alone makes me want to read a western. Any western.
Now excuse me as I go running and screaming down the hallway in frenzied excitement, McCauley Caulkin style. By noon, coffee should have worn off and my boss will find me sleeping over my desk, wondering what the fuck is going on.