Saturday, January 07, 2017

Book nasties

As a short fat kid unable to do sport I read a lot of books. I read books to transport me out of the real and horrible world into worlds of magic and wonder where even a short fat kid can forget he's those things. And if there is a protagonist who has any of your traits you glom onto them.

We are Bastian.

I still do it now when I read but unfortunately there will be characters that share your traits who are disliked and or fated to die.

We are Piggy.

I don't know the fate of this cat in The Secret Agent, Michaelis, but he's got a like-name, my height, is fat and spent long periods of solitude in leftist-laced oration. Not only that but all the other characters hang shit on him for it, noting his monstrous corpulence and wishing they could lock him up in a health farm given his height accentuated rotundity.

That's what I call a book nasty. And, like with horror films, as a fat man he is likely fated to die, die, die.

But I'm committed to finishing this book, even with my doughy avatar at risk.

Probs wept; fist raised in likely memory of comrade Michaelis.

UPDATE: He survived; go alter me!

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