Still like Death

Perhaps I was the only person who didn't really like The Man Who Knew Belle Starr. I agree it was a suspenseful read, but perhaps I like more laid back stories, of lazy summer days and sweet young romance. I agree, it was superbly written – each detail painted yet another stroke, added another layer of paint to the filled canvas. Descriptions of the characters, the actions, and the setting layered like acrylic paint, forming a three dimensional picture on a two dimensional page.

However, I still didn’t like it. Belle Starr was fairly unbelievable to me. A random girl who was psychotic and randomly shoots people for fun? I guess living in a sheltered little life; I would have a hard time believing that. Psychopaths just don’t cross my path. It almost seemed like she snapped halfway through… I suppose it started to make sense when she mentioned the “obscene” insults, and that she was supposed to be mentally unstable, but I was wary of her character. It was hard for me to truly imagine her as a real person. Rather, she seemed like one of those characters from those Asian dramas, where at least one person in each series must: 1) go crazy 2) die 3) mourn and grieve inconsolably over the loss of someone. Really, it’s just unreasonable.

I liked McRae, when most people didn’t. I guess I felt that he was written as a kind person who had changed. He didn’t seem like the man who had assaulted his superior. I suppose I have nothing to support that by (besides the last line, but that was implying that he changed right then), but a gut feeling.

Overall, this story left me with chills…

So, like Inx, I feel like writing a little creative blurb:

Night creeps in; the air chills with the absolute darkness of the inky sky. Long raven hair swishes as slow movement carries the light body through the empty space. Trees stand tall, and the smallest rustles are heard as delicate feet pad gently on the forest floor. Suddenly, movement stops. Soulful eyes raise their view from horizontal to vertical. They notice the wispy clouds, the lonely moon. A few stars twinkle feebly, as if not strong enough express themselves to their full potential. Lips part; a sigh escapes. An utter feeling of desolation and emptiness sweeps the forest; a wolf howls in despair. The eyes, searching yet not finding, lower from the sky to the ground. With a few more gentle steps, the flowing hair is gone. The earth is still like death, and all is serene.