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Amy said, “Already this is getting more violent than seems necessary for someone who, again, is probably standing at his locker right now and ranting to his football team buddies about which girls gained weight over the summer.” I said, “If your complaint is that he’s just a kid, note that we started trying to kill Mr. Swallow from the second it was born.”
“But what if we think the police can’t hold him, due to his, you know, special abilities?” “Then we offer whatever help we can to the police in holding him.” Amy felt like her tone made it clear she was done discussing it,
Really hammering this issue into place. Makes the book feel like it has fewer moving parts than it pretends to.
“I don’t want to leave this here,” she said, imagining some teenager stealing it out of the van and getting sucked into the Phantom Zone.
What. Why, at this point in the story, would any of them even consider leaving the book out of their sight? This makes either the writer or characters seem woefully defective. I WANT THESE CHARACTERS TO GROW AND LEARN
If those people out there, the normies, figure out what I am, they’ll show up with torches and burn me alive.” “And me along with you!” “That’s right. So it’s like a hyena accusing a sheep of being a wolf.” “Nobody is accusing anybody. We’re in a situation here where I may have to depend on you to not let me die. And to this day, I don’t know how you operate. Or why.
One of the most interesting characters with the most plot potential is then given the flimsiest personality archetype and the conversational gambits of a ten year old to defend it with. So far every single Joy moment has been unadulterated dithering. What a waste.
“At this point, I don’t even remember what my question was, but I definitely regret asking it.”
See? This whole scene is worthless in every way because Pargin won't risk fucking with this watered down dynamic. The convo isn't just meaningless; it does a disservice to two characters who would KNOW BETTER and have a much more interesting and useful convo than this.
“Bas,” Amy said. “Look around. All of your friends are dead. All of their families are going to find out soon. Think of all the funerals. Think of all the grief, all the pain. This can’t go on. You know it can’t.”
Sigh. It really makes zero sense that they would think a tedious chat about obvious stuff would change things. Or make for compelling reading.
Amy said, “Bas, you don’t get to make that choice for other people.” “They didn’t choose to be born!” screamed Bas. “None of us agreed to this! If nobody had chosen for them already, they wouldn’t be hurting. I’m just giving back what was taken from them—the peace of not existing. If you stopped this, and you can’t, but if you did, then every starving child, every burn victim, every cancer patient—all their suffering is on you. Every war, every plague, every earthquake, all of it.” “There’s happiness out there! Right now. Even in this town.
Gracie screamed again. So did Amy. The girl recovered and sprinted down the catwalk, jumping off the stairs and zooming past Amy and me, dashing away into the darkness, vanishing between a pair of the brick pump houses.
Of course she did. For the third time in a row. Because she's a human MacGuffin that thinks it's a plot point.
“Don’t romanticize people’s flaws. That’s what’s wrong with our culture.” “No. What’s ruining the culture is worshipping people who pretend they don’t have flaws. We’re all broken. And you couldn’t pull this off because you didn’t have John.”