The Passage: post 3

My first retraction. One I have been anticipating for a while. Folks (and I need you to remind me of this), do not, under any circumstances, no matter the book, no matter the author, no matter where you are or with whom - ok, I'll stop - review a book you have not finished yet. Or do - I'm not the boss of you - but be prepared to lose some credibility. The ending of The Passage surprised me, pleasantly, as did the last book of Wool.

The main character in the movie, named Amy and played by Destiny Whitlock

I anticipated this almost as soon as posted my last post, a list of my own projections onto a story set in the post-apocalypse. (The author is dead, people. Figuratively. Where the 'author' is the idea of an author. So, as a reader, I can pretend I wrote the book, or something. Hang on, this does not make sense. My degree may be a sham.)

The plot holes become more obviously devices meant to reinforce the good ole themes of the apocalypse. Loss,what it means to be human, time, civilisation, and of course the eternal quest. Basically, The Heart of Darkness, except not as boring, racist or badly written. (This is a touchy subject, so please move on along.) But these themes could only develop over time, by comparison with other places and people, because they themselves progress.

I complained about the improbability of human tools being intact 100 years later. And practically this is true. (Rust, erosion and general entropy being, like, real. And language, you know, changing - ask Mr Chaucer. Seriously, my degree is a con.) But figuratively, it is like the whole world - not only the human world - is in stasis.

I could only appreciate this in the last few paragraphs of the book (thanks for that, Mr Cronin. I hate being manipulated), during which I cried. Yep. Real tears, runny nose, thick throat et al. I am still sniffling. I cried in the same way as I cried in the first couple of chapters, because those disappearing characters I complained about? Yep, like the Virals themselves, they showed up again to bodyslam me.

A scene from early in the book (c)  uncannyphantom. They had me at 'polar bear'

Wait a minute. One of the sub-plots is still hanging (pun). Because, guess what? The author's publishers want me to buy the next book. Did I mention I hate being manipulated? Well, joke's on them, because I have a pirated copy. Now, I am not proud of this. But my degree is a sham and everyone with access to spellcheck thinks they can be a writer and editor, so this is a hazardous career if you want to pay rent. But, if I didn't have this copy, I probably would buy it. And if you buy a copy of each book, I would feel justified... (This is not manipulation. This is guilt. Very different.)

I very, very badly want to know what happens and how, I want the characters in my life (although to be kind I might remove them from the apocalypse), I want to understand the sub-plot. Because the author surprised me every few pages and not because the author had attention-deficit disorder but because the surprises made sense and I wondered how I did not see these glowing, flying human bats coming. (This is not manipulation; this is errrr something else.)

This book has a plot. I am always suspicious of plots, partly because, yes, my degree is a piece of paper, and this piece of paper says that the author is dead which means I am the author and I have always been better at characters. (Never trust a piece of paper, because it is clearly false to say that all authors are dead and books are written by readers, and as ludicrous as saying you can see humanity in someone's eyes, much less that humanity glimmers.)

When I was growing up, I read all the Enid Blyton mystery books and Nancy Drews. I would lie on my bed or crouch in a tree (I was a tomboy) and read nonstop for a day or two. Then I needed the next one. Have you ever had that need for a work of fiction? Like being thirsty or wanting Monday to be a weekend day on a Sunday evening. I need The Twelve and, in fact, writing this post is time I could spend reading the sequel (this is how much I like you).

This need has less to do with the heeby jeebys than my fondness for the two main characters. I feel as though I could protect them from the big bad, but contrary to intellectuals who think books write themselves, I can't. Still, I feel as though I could. Now, the author has had George RR Martin moments (when he killed off my favourite character, I was devastated), so I need to keep my eyes peeled. Or open. Or glimmering.

Enough. You are distracting me from reading the next book. Retractions retracted, author murdered, degree burnt, emotions manipulated. Vampires called Virals, Amy. We good? Good.