2012-11-20 14:06![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldiscipline(I was going to title this post "dead man's debut," but that's a phrase too nifty to burn, so i'll squirrel it away for some project of my own that may or may not ever get written.)
Due to my being clever else-web,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nmamatas deemed me worthy of getting a TPB copy of this novel.
If you like your nihilism on the crunchy, day after tomorrow, pseudo-military/pseudo-intellectual side, this book is for you. If Neal Stephenson fucked Bono in John Ringo's bed, this book would be one of the offspring.
Less a story than a collection of action-movie set pieces against which the protagonist, antagonist, and other characters exchange philosophical monologues, it's Ayn Rand by way of Michael Bay, though with a very different set of political sensibilities. Maybe the dialogue lost a lot in translation; maybe it's intentionally horrid as a craft decision.
Itoh walks up and kicks American privilege and exceptionalism square in the nuts without apology, and isn't shy about fucking with, and fucking over, his characters. Unfortunately, none of them are terribly likable or sympathetic; I felt like turning a blowtorch on these mannequins to watch their skin bubble and blacken.
Too long by half (at least), it would, boiled down and distilled, make an excellent theme-setting novella for a collection of American Apocalypse stories.
Due to my being clever else-web,
nmamatas deemed me worthy of getting a TPB copy of this novel.If you like your nihilism on the crunchy, day after tomorrow, pseudo-military/pseudo-intellectual side, this book is for you. If Neal Stephenson fucked Bono in John Ringo's bed, this book would be one of the offspring.
Less a story than a collection of action-movie set pieces against which the protagonist, antagonist, and other characters exchange philosophical monologues, it's Ayn Rand by way of Michael Bay, though with a very different set of political sensibilities. Maybe the dialogue lost a lot in translation; maybe it's intentionally horrid as a craft decision.
Itoh walks up and kicks American privilege and exceptionalism square in the nuts without apology, and isn't shy about fucking with, and fucking over, his characters. Unfortunately, none of them are terribly likable or sympathetic; I felt like turning a blowtorch on these mannequins to watch their skin bubble and blacken.
Too long by half (at least), it would, boiled down and distilled, make an excellent theme-setting novella for a collection of American Apocalypse stories.
