This is NOT a book to read in the midst of marital difficulties. It may seem like a good idea, but it’s really not.

I like John Cusak, and he was really the best thing this movie had going for it. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either, and unfortunately the chemistry between Cusak and Diane Lane wasn’t really there. Also, the humor was a bit forced at times, and at other times downright not funny. There was a reason this was $6 in the bargain bin. But it was an entertainng way to spend a few hours, a cute romantic comedy to end a blah sort of day.

From both the cover art and Stephen King’s glowing descriptives (also on the front cover), I expected something dark and creepy. I turned each page wondering when it was going to turn into the horror fantasy I had bought it as, and it just never happened. At the very end it showed glimpses of what could have been a great horror novel, but then it was awkward, and the novel ended in a hurry without sufficient closure. Overall, a disappointment, although I may recommend to people with lower expectations for their fiction.

I read this years ago when it was still in the midst of its long reign at the top of the NYTimes bestseller’s list. I don’t remember much about it, other than I disliked it, and it’s doubtful that I’ll read it again.

The reviews on the cover of the book say that this is “full of joy” and other such positive things.

But when I read this, all I can think of is, “Dear gods she sounds depressed and frustrated.” I am seeing a distinct lack of joy in this book, in fact.

It’s still helpful to me, but it’s not helpful because it has any positive message. I’ve been laughing the the utter absurdity of being a writer. No one would choose to do this to themselves if they didn’t feel it was completely essential to who they are. So far, (I think I’m at chapter 3 or 4) it’s a book full of despair, and reminds me that every time I am frustrated with being a writer, others have been there before, and every time I think my writing is going well, I should savor it while I can because it won’t last.

But, nine days into NaNoWriMo, maybe I’m just biased.

I made this every summer when I was living in Maine, with wild blueberries picked from behind my parents’ house. This year I made it for me and my husband with local cultivated Massachusetts blueberries. It loses something since I didn’t pick the berries myself, but it’s still yummy. (Although I think he would have rather eaten the blueberries straight out of the carton.)

It makes my cholesterol cry just thinking about it, but it’s definitely worth eating every once in a while. And relatively easy to make, too. I recommend serving it with italian bread to sop up leftover sauce, and expect to fall asleep soon after eating, as this may be one of the heaviest pasta dishes I have ever consumed.

Ever since watching fragments of a VH1 special on Marilyn Manson, I’ve wanted to read this book. He impressed me with how articulately he spoke, and I was convinced that all the bad rap was misunderstanding. He couldn’t be as bad as all that.

What I have learned:

1. Rock stars do even more drugs than I imagined possible.
2. Shock rockers get involved in more bizzare, twisted, depraved shit (sometimes literally) than I thought possible.
3. Marilyn Manson had a really twisted childhood.
4. He is also extremely arrogant, which goes along with being a shock rocker and a Satanist.
5. He is not, in fact, as bad as “all that”. But it isn’t all an act, either. He really is that dark and twisted.

Even with an acknowledged ghost writer, the prose was not fantastic or riveting. Lucikly, the subject matter was enough to keep me going out of morbid fascination at first, and then just plain stubbornness, and desperation to finish it and move on to something a little bit less cheery.

I’m glad I finally satisfied my curiosity, but I’m glad that I’m done reading this. The coworker who lent it to me commented that it’s “like watching a train wreck” and I agree wholeheartedly. A bloody, animal-entrailed, drug-laden, shock-rocking train wreck. And that’s never good.

My fiancé lent this to me along with a bunch of other books one of the last times he was visiting me on leave from the Army. I have yet to not like any of the books he’s lent me, but I was skeptical about this at first – it looked a little bit too mainstream pop-literature for my tastes. I can’t put the damn thing down, though. It’s kept me up past my bedtime two nights in a row now.

It was pretty, and there were parts I liked, such as the monsters (I thought they got them right on) and overall, the visual effects. Very well done. But the plot was horrible, and it’s a bad sign when the entire audience laughs at dramatic moments. Plus, it just didn’t feel creepy to me, even though I felt as though it should have. Something was missing. Like a reason to care about what happened to any of the characters.

I was told by a Silent Hill fan that it was excellent if you had played and liked the games (I haven’t gotten around to playing more than 20 minutes of SH3 yet, myself, although I want to), and he also agreed that as a movie, it was crap.

I might watch it again, but only if it wasn’t going to cost me anything (ie when my fiancé buys the DVD, since he liked it).