13 July 2011

An Amazon book review

I wrote a review of A Complete Guide to the Talossan Language: Second English Edition.

I own the first edition of the Guizua, and it is probably the best book there has ever been. No, that might be a little silly: it is definitely the best book there has ever been, or indeed that ever could be. I understand that there are some people who have not read it - not everyone has the means, although only the basest fool would not splurge their life savings on a copy - but what I cannot understand is that I have heard it said that some people may not WANT to read it. I attribute this only to scandalous rumor, told for titillation by baser elements of the populace to destabilize the world economy. More reassuringly, I have heard from reputable sources that several species have been actively studying higher brain function and basic symbol use, in the hopes that they might be able to glean some glimmer of understanding from a few letters of the Guizua. This seems more credible, I don't mind telling you.

Some have suggested there are flaws with the work. I am here to tell you that if there is a downside to the Guizua, it is that there still exist other books that are not the Guizua. My bookshelf is filled with them: Austen, Twain, Dickens... all now worthless, useful only to burn for light by which to read the Guizua. I was already burning my Ayn Rand, but now all the other tomes are stacked up to kindle a glow to allow me to delve into the Guizua all through the wee hours. Nothing casts illumination like a Complete Shakespeare, and it has no better purpose at this point!

Another flaw is that now I despise the trees. What was once a pleasant walk through the woods is now torture: I no longer see aspen and ash, oak and pine. All I see are rigid columns of unused wood pulp, useless in their solidity. How much better it would be, could we take an axe to every one, topple them all down and grind them up to make pages for the Guizua! Until then they are waste... odious and stupid thick trunks of nonsense, begging to be ground and dried and printed with the sweet words. It's actually tempting to get silly with such desires, but I urge you to join me in restraint, and avoid chopping up your furniture and shipping the chunks off to a paper mill - however much you might want to! - because you must have something on which to SIT to read your Guizua!

The book has, moreover, changed my life - almost every aspect of it. As I read my Guizua, I cram my face with food. Pies, burgers, pizza... anything I can get my hands on, I gulp down in hasty bites. The more calories, the better: I have drunk nothing but Mountain Dew for several weeks. It is necessary to grow large, and my expanding girth fills me with shivery anticipation. Even when I am reduced to raw handfuls of sugar from a sack, or the coagulated drippings from the bottom of the oven, I read my Guizua and smack my greasy lips in anticipation. One day soon, I will be large enough to have the book tattooed on my very flesh. Each word emblazoned on my body, for my loving and continual inspection as I gently massage myself to keep the skin supple and text perfect.

I have been inspired to plan for the future by this book, additionally. I know I cannot read the Guizua forever, barring some marvelous new invention to ensure immortality. One day, I will die, slumping forward on my Guizua, my fading vision straining to continue to at least the end of the paragraph. I can hope for some sort of afterlife, where countless billions are each permitted to huddle in blissful contemplation of their own copies, but how can I be sure? Accordingly, I have made arrangements to have the book read to my preserved corpse, in perpetuity. A team of youths will be paid minimum wage, with a rotating duo of managers to perform spot checks by video surveillance, to intone each lovely syllable to my body - which same carcass will be pumped full of a blend of formaldehyde and a fine slurry of Guizua pages that have been read until they were tattered into illegibility (a problem experienced by no few others!).

If you do not already own a copy, then I can only presume that you are trapped somewhere. You may be in an elevator, lurched off its track between floors, perusing this review on your Blackberry. Or perhaps you have been captured by a bear-trap, and are taking a break to read this review from your busy activity of gnawing your leg so you can get to a bookstore.

If you are in any other situation, then you must simply be a madman and the authorities will be informed.

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