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Vampires at the Airport
Feb. 5th, 2009 04:01 pmThis is three minutes of pure wonderful. Superb writing combined with a delightful performance. The author's native accent simply accentuates the perfection of the entire thing. How good is it? I heard it once, almost seven years ago, and it had stuck with me ever since until I found it again today. It is every bit as fantastic as I remembered.
They are there. I have seen them. I can spot them.
This is the kind of writing I strive for, that I wish I could manage: evocative without being florid, clear and crisp, wry and self-aware without being self-conscious. It elevates banal routine to the level of mythological struggle while reminding us of the pettiness of our foibles. I, too, am one of them.
People wonder why I rail against bad writing so much. It's because I'm addicted to reading. I read all the time. As a result, I've developed a palate for words, and the structures they make up. Sure, I'll enjoy the occasional take-out Sookie Stackhouse book, because the execution's consistent and utilitarian and it's got enough story to stick to my guts. But the truly reprehensible I'll spit out like bad sushi: better that than to suffer the bellyache for the next several days. And like bad fish, you can often smell them from far off and avoid them entirely.
And that's why, to me, Codrescu's vampire narrator is sexier than a thousand Edward Cullens. Especially with that accent.
They are there. I have seen them. I can spot them.
This is the kind of writing I strive for, that I wish I could manage: evocative without being florid, clear and crisp, wry and self-aware without being self-conscious. It elevates banal routine to the level of mythological struggle while reminding us of the pettiness of our foibles. I, too, am one of them.
People wonder why I rail against bad writing so much. It's because I'm addicted to reading. I read all the time. As a result, I've developed a palate for words, and the structures they make up. Sure, I'll enjoy the occasional take-out Sookie Stackhouse book, because the execution's consistent and utilitarian and it's got enough story to stick to my guts. But the truly reprehensible I'll spit out like bad sushi: better that than to suffer the bellyache for the next several days. And like bad fish, you can often smell them from far off and avoid them entirely.
And that's why, to me, Codrescu's vampire narrator is sexier than a thousand Edward Cullens. Especially with that accent.
