Lucy Furr's Reviews > The Egg Said Nothing

The Egg Said Nothing by Caris O'Malley
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Oct 06, 2011

it was amazing
bookshelves: thats-bizarro, favorites
Read from October 06 to 07, 2011 — I own a copy

REREAD UPDATE: I'm not going to pretend that every time I crack open an egg (which I do quite often) I think of this book, but sometimes when the stars and planets are aligned properly (and, let's face it, I'm high as a kite) and I start making something eggy, I do think about it. This happened to me the other night and I decided to reread The Egg Said Nothing while I shoveled a cheesy, eggy mess into my mouth. And it was damned fine (the food and the book). I've upped my rating to five stars, because, damn it, I just really love this story, predictable ending be damned!

I first saw The Egg Said Nothing on the Goodreads giveaway list and immediately thought to myself: “Oooh! I like eggs!” I wasn’t entirely certain of how I felt about eggs with the potential to hold conversation, but since the title clearly stated that the egg in question said nothing, I decided to take my chances and entered the giveaway.

Sadly, a few days later found me sitting on my couch trying to cheer myself up with a bowl of ice cream. I had lost the giveaway! “How is this possible?” I asked my quiet apartment, but no ready answer came. Like certain eggs, my apartment isn’t much of a conversationalist. “I mean, I like eggs, I should have won.”

These sorts of thoughts ran around in my head for at least another five minutes, until I realized that I needed to be at work in one minute, and I lived fifteen minutes away.

All thoughts of eggs vanished from my mind, and for quite some time, I’m sad to say, until one fine evening, while enjoying the company of a friend who may or may not have been under the effects of hallucinogenic drugs (I honestly don’t know, it’s hard to tell with him sometimes), asked if he could make an omelet. I said: “Sure, just don’t make a mess.”

He made a mess (I am now more inclined to think he was simply stoned).

I went to sleep.

I woke up.

I cursed at having forgotten about the eggy mess in my kitchen. I stared at the beautiful broken egg shells on my countertop. I picked up a white, smooth shell and gazed at it as if it might tell me the answers to all the questions I’ve ever had about life and about living it. I suddenly dropped the shell on the counter, ran to my computer, went to and purchased The Egg Said Nothing for my Kindle.

True story (except in the instances where it’s not and I’ll leave it up to you to decide what those instances are).

I managed to get about two thirds of the way through The Egg Said Nothing before the call to arms came once more. This time I allowed myself two minutes to get to work instead of one. It’s an improvement, I suppose.

And all the while, as I worked, I kept thinking of a chipped tooth and gender equality and shovels, and whether or not one could feasibly live off the coins rescued from the bottom of a fountain. I mean, really, in this economy? Who would toss away their spare change? By the end of the month I usually have enough spare change to see a concert or two the next month. If I tossed it into a fountain every day, I’d be tossing away the greatest joy in my life: music. But then I thought, if I don’t toss it, am I depriving someone their utility bill payment?

“Get a grip,” I told myself as I drove home from work, “it’s too late in the day for this sort of crazy talk.”

I can’t say I agreed. It was two thirty in the morning. It seemed like the perfect time of day for that sort of crazy talk.

It’s funny how fifteen minutes can seem like an eternity when you are talking to yourself in your car, but eventually I arrived home, and in a fashion most uncharacteristic, I went straight to bed. I dreamt the dreams of the dead, if the dead dream about throwing their loose change at the front man of In Flames while he belts out the chorus of The Quiet Place, that is.

I awoke a few hours later with a renewed sense of vigor; I had a story to finish reading, and finish it I did.

I could list on one hand the books that have made me laugh so loud and so hard that I had to set it aside for a moment so I could regain my composure. The Egg Said Nothing is now one of those books and I found it to be a truly entertaining read. I only wish it could have been longer. But in saying that, I realize that what ever sense of urgency the book was giving off would have been totally ruined by a longer story. So I guess I just have to settle for the hope that in the future we will be graced by more written brilliance (and sheer awesomeness) from Caris O’Malley.

I wish I could give The Egg Said Nothing a 4.5 star rating, but such is life on Goodreads, that I must settle with 4 stars, my only real, honest complaint being that I found the ending somewhat predictable. But that could be my own damned fault. I knew Kevin Spacey ‘did it’ within the first five minutes of The Usual Suspect and then went on to joke that Kevin Spacey did it in Seven, having no idea that he was even in the movie to begin with. Sometimes I just know things.

In closing, I’d like to ask one simple question: does anyone have any recommended cleaning liquids that would help me in getting the smell of three day omelet out of my cheap kitchen countertops? If so, please do leave a messa…

Shit, I need to get to work.
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Reading Progress

67.0% "Damn it! Work prevented me from finishing this in one sitting, and exhaustion is preventing me from finishing it now. This book is entertaining as all hell though, that's for sure!"
08/29/2016 marked as: read

Comments (showing 1-1 of 1) (1 new)

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Lucy Furr Heh, thanks! Time travel, of course! Why didn't I think of that?

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