–Mrs. Bullock, Deadwood
Let us give thanks.
–Charlier Udder, Deadwood
Don’t you know? The world says it’s fucking name to us.
I don’t wanna open my eyes but you can go ahead and kiss me if that’s what you fucking do.
I am distressed and angry and seem for the moment to be taking this out on your ear.
Bullock just stared. And then turned and walked away.—Deadwood
Always superfluous bloodshed…. The deeper damage is best.
–Steve the Drunk, Deadwood
Do not come and try to murder me in my sleep. And I will not come and try to murder you.
Kid yourself about your behaviour and you’ll never learn a fucking thing.
Every fucking day takes figuring out again how to live.
It’s been awhile since I’ve read something, liked it for the first few chapters, but then chapter by chapter liked it less and less. This book is like that.
Johannes is not a pleasant or endearing character. His brother is, but he’s very much off-stage for long stretches of the action. And story-wise, the book is essentially a series of self-contained “bits” or set pieces that are wrapped up in the end with a few long final chapters suggesting just enough character growth to justify a happy ending.
None of which is necessarily a problem. Lord knows I like plenty of deeply risible claptrap. And this book is better than that.
It’s just that it’s a book that plays to a particular taste. You’re either going to eat up the constant winks, nods, puns and, most importantly, Johannes’s Victorian Gothic posturing or you are going to find them dropping like bricks, one by one and page after page, onto your last nerve.