We’re off the dang map here, folks, because we don’t know where we are, but we do know that here? there be monsters! Just in time for spooky season, we’re taking on one of the giants of the bad-book genre, Hannibal by Thomas Harris.
This book is a big, corrosive bummer, with lots and lots of moments where the words on the page seem to rearrange themselves into concrete poetry of the author’s middle finger extended, straight into the reader’s face, and even more moments where the narrator is calling you “we” or being very, one might say scrupulously, careful to mention the race of every character (except the white ones) and the attractiveness levels of every lady-type character. Come for the shopping sprees, but STAY for the choppin—you know what, I don’t even have the energy to finish this one. It’s a direct sequel to Silence of the Lambs. You think you know what you’re in for. You don’t. That’s why…you need us! Take our hands and join us through a whirlwind tour of hog farming and new love.