March 4th, 2019 - The Starlet Apartments

Dear TNY,

My first thought as I bellied up to “The Starlet Apartments” was that I was glad for a week off.

What can I say?  I’m not a huge fan of this story.  It suffers from some of my bigger issues with literature.  Exclamation points galore.  Reams of summary that should have been scene or cut depending on their relevance (mostly not relevant).  A villain who is not sympathetic.  Unfresh writing.  The cliché, predictable ending.  The cardboard characters (all of them except maybe Maddy, and I’m only saying that because I can’t tell if she is the unique, attractive, super tall, backpacking sister of the MC or she’s just the stereotype of that aforementioned thing).  My inclination is that she is unique, and this is based on the detail of the teeth marks, which is one of the more unique things in the story.

I guess the part that sums up how I feel about this story is this quote, as taken from the story:

Oh, sister. Oh, reader. When is the moment to admit that this story has no good ending? That my unknowns remained forever unknowns, that I carry on trying to describe something I don’t understand?

So the above conclusion for a story (the narrator/writer admitting they have no good ending and don’t understand) is just fine if it’s the ending of an everyday life anecdote.  We rarely have answers.  But, literature isn’t that.  Literature must have ambiguity and not confusion if it’s shooting for this kind of conclusion.  But when you tell the fucking reader that you know there isn’t a good ending and then later you end the story exactly how this motherfucker was going to play out anyway (because it was mad predictable), you have taken away the ambiguity and shit on me as the reader.  The narrator has given us plenty of queues that Maddy isn’t going to talk about this incident again because the narrator is writing this from somewhere much further in the future than now (e.g. the “she never talks about it again” shit and also that Peter would have the higher-ups’ job).  So nothing is new with this ending statement. It seems literally there to disable the reader from thinking.

To summarize the above, the writer has disrespected the fitness of the reader, and you, TNY, have confirmed your fitness as a reader (bag of loose, dried turds).  If you read this and don’t recognize that the writer is spoon-feeding us what is purported to be transcendence (as that is what literature is supposed to do) then you are a fucking failure.  Newsflash:  We all already knew that.

Also, this is another fucking story about a goddamn writer.  I had considered once keeping track of the amount of stories you publish about writers, but it’s exhausting being mad at you all the time so I removed one less trigger factor for myself.  I find it hard to believe that non-writers find writing interesting (especially because they have no fucking clue what goes into it the same way I don’t know shit about orthopedic surgery).  And I find it even more unbelievable that writers find writing interesting, especially when it’s this kind of hackneyed shit these dudes were doing.

Okay, I’m done now.

Later.

Nick