When the average person thinks o’ the Bible, they think o’ a few famous stories, like “Genesis,” “Exodus,” “Jonah,” & the 4 gospels, which make up only a tiny percentage o’ its bulk, most o’ which is made up o’ forgettable fluff o’ random Jews like Isaiah & Jeremiah¹ ranting for pages & pages ’bout Jews being sinful, & all o’ Paul’s repetitive letters ranting @ Christians in almost incoherent ways² ’bout being lazy & cheap bums & their insistence on the need to have the fetish for chopping baby boy penises—look, Jesus is no bigot: he’s neither gainst nor for baby-boy-penis-chopping.

But the best o’ the Bible is found in neither those famous books, nor any o’ that other dreck, but randomly buried in “2 Kings,” which is a loose collection o’ stories in which shitty things happen to Jews—also known as “What Happens in Real Life All the Time Throughout History.”

I present to you, what the New International Version calls, “Elisha Is Jeered” (chapter 2:23-24):

²³From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. “Go on up, you baldhead!” they said. “Go on up, you baldhead!” ²⁴He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. ²⁵And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria.

& for the record, no, this story has no relevance to anything surrounding it & could be taken out without affecting the narrative @ all. ¿But why would you want to cut out such a hilariously awesome scene?

E’en mo’ hilarious, 1 o’ my Bible’s many pretentious footnotes³ feels the need to establish that ’twasn’t Elisha who sicked the bears on them, but God, & that ’twasn’t for mocking Elisha’s bald head but for doubting God’s bear-spawning powers.

As an extra, here’s a gem from “1 Chronicles” 21:1⁴:

Satan rose up against Israel and incited David to take a census of Israel.

Thank you, Bible, for inspiring thousands o’ gun nuts round the US to bring out their shotguns & threaten ’way those sinful gubbernit officials & their Satanic censuses.

Yeah, I know it’s s’posed to be a parable ’bout David’s pride in the hefty #s o’ his military; but that still doesn’t warrant the ridiculous melodrama o’ having Satan personally act “gainst Israel” in making a king act pompous—as if that’s not how every king that e’er existed has acted. I don’t remember the Bible talking ’bout Satan rising up gainst Israel when Solomon had o’er 700 wives.

O, all right, let’s talk ’bout a few mo’ lines.

Going back to “Kings,” I love how it keeps saying, “As for the other events of Solomon’s reign—all he did and the wisdom he displayed—are they not written in the book of the annals of Solomon?” (11:41), only for the footnote below it to say, “Nothing is known of ‘the book of the annals of Solomon.’ So I guess the answer to your question, narrator, is, “No.”

But ’nough ’bout that downer—how ’bout this great moral for good Christians from the great Apostle Paul himself (“2 Corinthians,” chapter 8:14-15):

¹⁴At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality, ¹⁵as it is written: “He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little.”

Translation: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.”

I’m glad to see my favorite US Constitutional amendment is supported by the other official US Constitution. It’s too bad I posted this a month too late: that would’ve made a great moral in which to celebrate Christmas Marxmas.

Though, my Bible, in an obvious attempt to mollify right-wingers, made sure to include a footnote in a later part in “Acts” chapter 4 talking ’bout apostles sharing things ’mong themselves that insisted it wasn’t communism ’cause ’twas s’posedly voluntary & s’posedly didn’t include all “private property” (personal property), which doesn’t apply in any communist system, either. This was sort o’ like the footnote for “2 Samuel” 1:26, which had to insist that King David’s claim that Jonathan’s “love for [him] was wonderful / more wonderful than that of women” was totally not gay.

But lets end this with the best, most profound moral o’ all, by Jesus himself (“Matthew” 5:13):

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?

That’s some Tsen shit right there.

Someone left the cake out in the rain.
I don’t think that I can take it,
‘Cause it took so long to bake it;
& I’ll ne’er have that recipe ‘gain—¡oh, no!

-Jimmy Webb

‘Pon reading many o’ my nonfiction work, one would see that I rarely write conclusions, & rarely write introductions, too. This is due to my literal-mindedness causing me to write precisely what I want to say: my “intro” is the beginning o’ what I want to say, & the end is simply the end.

This contrasts the usual intros & conclusions, which: 1, repeat what is already said in the heart o’ the article, where the info truly belongs, insulting readers’ intelligences by assuming they have the memory o’ a 1950s computer; 2, spew rhetorical cliches like irrelevant quotes or stories.

But the worst problem with conclusions is that they represent a perniciously common intellectual failure, identified by their name: they focus on conclusions. Indeed, people—westerners, a’least—focus too much on conclusions, which are the weakest aspect o’ an argument. It’s the reasoning ‘hind the conclusions that should be focused on, for they are the key to the conclusions in the 1st place.

What conclusions do is they enable a bad habit: glazing o’er reasoning so one can snatch the conclusions quickly & then spew it to others like the plague without understanding the why ‘hind the conclusion, much less whether the conclusion is truly correct.

Thus, rather than conclusions improving the understanding o’ those too lazy to read the body, they make them mo’ ignorant o’ their lack o’ understanding. ¿What’s better, that one can’t comprehend an article & knows one can’t understand it, or that one can’t understand an article, but can understand the conclusion, & thus is fooled into thinking one understands it when one truly doesn’t?

So in conclusion, conclusions are superfluous. They obnoxiously repeat content that you’ve already read & help people ignore the reason for believing the conclusion. & as Lord Crocomire says, “That’s the news you can choose.”

Since I’ve been doing this fiction-writing thing for mo’ than 5 years¹, I’d been thinking o’ writing literary reviews, but actually haven’t found that many books I’ve read that I truly thought much ’bout. I try to read round 50 books a year, but I usually think o’ it as grinding I have to do to get better @ writing, rather than anything I feel passionately ’bout.

The exception is, ‘course, a book I felt very annoyed by, & therefore will be the 1st for me to rant ’bout.

Case in point: our protagonist & narrator. He’s a goody-goody shy nerd who buddies up with the raddest kids e’er, who all screw round doing deep shit, yo. 1 memorable scene was when they’re in some car, & 1 o’ the characters spreads her arms & says that she feels “invincible.” Said character is the sister o’ his other friend, whom he develops a crush on, not ’cause o’ her personality, but ’cause o’ her appearance—that’s the only reason he e’er gave for his infatuation. But this is a particularly creepy & hypocritical puritan form o’ infatuation: 1 wherein he praises her for not being like those other skanky hoes, ¡but has no problem with later feeling up her tits! Near after he 1st meets these 2, he tells her ’bout this dream he has wherein he imagines her naked, ’cause it’s cute when men tell women such creepy-ass shit; ‘stead o’ running, as any rational person would, she laughs & tells him no as one would talk to a 4-year-ol’.

Our protagonist also has a teacher who thinks he’s special & calls him the smartest student o’ his e’er². This is despite our protagonist’s writing being worse than the writing I did when I was his age.³ I don’t think this is ’cause Chbosky is developmentally challenged, but ’cause he’s trying to be, since he’s an arrogant adult with—probably—average literary skills, & tries to stimulate high school diction by dumbing his writing down, based on the assumption that high schoolers are much dumber than they truly are. Also, you know, the protagonist hardly e’er does any writing, other than these journal entries, & some simplistic book reports that’d get him an F in my high school language arts classes (they don’t just let you ramble ’bout your opinions, you know; they usually have rather strict rules in regards to organization, using citations, & analyzing aspects such as theme & authorial intent & how the style, structure, & plot o’ the work fits such). It’s the same reactionary moral that many airheaded American works give: amazing skills aren’t honed from years o’ consistent practice, aided by having favorable conditions for said practice, but by just being born special (¡’cause hooray for biological determination!). I want to emphasize that word ’cause Chbosky clearly wants to emphasize how special our protagonist is, as a shallow way o’ emotionally exploiting the kind o’ narcissistic nerds who are clearly this book’s target audience to think they’re special, too.

See, 1 o’ this book’s main moral is that you just gotta go out there & do it, man, & stand up for yourself & not let other people step all o’er you. This is both typical & ironic coming from an American: Americans don’t need to be taught to think ’bout themselves & how great they are; they need to be taught to think ’bout someone other than themselves for once. Such morals also might be mo’ valuable if they weren’t regurgitated from the mounds o’ self-help books already infesting bookstores & libraries.

These morals are so bad, they’re contradicted within the very same book. See, this moral ’bout standing up for yourself comes from that female friend o’ his I mentioned earlier, after she snaps @ him for not trying to make the moves on her. In a rare case o’ sanity from our protagonist, he rightfully points out that she told him to back off, & he rationally complied. Now, earlier in this book the author made it quite clear that you’re s’posed to think that when a woman tells a man, “no,” it means “no.” There’s a point ’bout a rapist who didn’t take this advice & was demonized for it, & ‘nother point when the protagonist’s father, who is clearly meant to be a voice o’ reason, says this outright (Chbosky has ne’er heard o’ subtlety, by the way). But here, the female friend, who is also shown as a voice o’ reason here, says the opposite: when she said “no,” that was apparently s’posed to mean “yes,” a’least when you’re a cuddly nice-guy nerd, & not 1 o’ those jerk jocks, ¿amirite? What a great moral to give to the nice-guy nerds that are clearly your target audience, Chbosky.

Part o’ her big speech also involves complaining @ our protagonist for not going out there & doing stuff, getting out o’ his shell, & such, but this makes no sense. Our protagonist spends the vast majority o’ his time doing the same shit they’re doing. I mean, I would agree that screwing round & doing drugs—or worse, acting like trite, obnoxious shits @ screenings o’ Rocky Horror Picture Show—probably isn’t a wise use o’ your time; perhaps he could, if he truly wanted to be a writer, maybe practice writing. Perhaps he could read books that weren’t just assigned to him, or read some grammar books, maybe a dictionary or something. Maybe practice mo’ writing than this li’l stuff he does in the book…

Anyway, I don’t think that’s what Chbosky’s trying to say: I think he’s trying to give ‘nother typical American moral: “introverts, who are totally awesome, by the way, need to stop being their filthy selves & socialize.” Clearly the screwing round & drug use is meant to be a positive example o’ what “living” is, since… I don’t know, that just fits in with the mindless American hive mind’s traditions, & it’s the only thing that almost makes sense in this context. The problem with that, though, is that there’s no indication that our protagonist actually is introverted @ all. Quite the opposite: in 1 scene, when his friends have to do something ‘way from him, he goes crazy from friend withdrawal & bugs his sister & her boyfriend. That’s the opposite o’ an introvert. See, the thing ’bout truly asocial people is, they don’t like being round people. They truly find it enjoyable to be ‘lone, with private time. That’s probably ’cause they have this thing called “intelligence” & “creativity” & thus don’t need other people to be their personal jesters. Inane extraverts like Chbosky don’t get this ’cause they don’t understand introverts, are too narcissistic to understand that some people might be different from them, & ’cause they don’t actually respect introverts, anyway, they just want to exploit them ’cause they’re too asocial to speak for themselves publicly, & therefore a weak class, & ’cause they’re hip due to that weakness.

Actually, that I think could be the core problem with this book: it tries to build itself up as this very caring book, but it’s shallow, & it’s clear that Chbosky cares mo’ ’bout making himself look profound & caring, without actually putting the effort into doing so. This isn’t true writing, from an author’s heart & unique creativity; it’s a cynical marketing ploy—the kind that probably started as 1 o’ those inane elevator speeches before being written.

Also, having a secret backstory wherein the protagonist was sexually molested by his aunt is both the most cliché desperate grab for critic praise & forced into the plot for no relevance. It could’ve been cut out, & the story would’ve been just fine. So could all the stupid bullshit he did with his dumbass friends, like that trite bullshit with the Rocky Horror Picture Show shit.

O, god, or what ’bout that fucking hacky conversation ’bout Kurt Cobain. Unfortunately, I can’t remember the exact wording,—actually, fuck that, I’m immensely satisfied with that outcome—but it went something like this:

[Some jerkoff] said ’twas grown ups, man; [other jerkoff] said ’twas corporate media.

[The absolute biggest waste o’ flesh on the planet] said he was hungry.

Fucking hilarious.

Man, I just realized how utterly unlikeable all the characters were. What a triumph.

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The Reviews

‘Cause I’m mean-spirited, I’m also going to bash some o’ the idiots online who actually thought this tripe was good.

Our 1st example is the 1 that inspired this in the 1st place, someone with the misspelled name “Wandergurl,” which I think is a character from My Immortal, on stupidly-named Book Thingo, which “earns commissions through affiliate links and Skimlinks. So if you buy a book using a link from [their] site,” you got god damn played, sucker.

Anyway, you can already tell this review if inane by its headline: “This book needs a hug.”

Then in the 1st paragraph we can see that this reviewer didn’t actually read the book, or wasn’t paying attention: she claims that the protagonist’s writing “is filled with raw emotion,” when I remember it being Chbosky’s clumsy & offensive attempt to pretend to know how an autistic writes, with the classic technique o’ having the character describe sensitive events like a 4-year-ol’ medical scientist.

O, fuck, wait, ¿what? Look @ what comes right after—right after—that quote I just put in: “in what I imagine to be Charlie’s matter-of-fact, possibly even slightly monotone—but always honest—passive voice.” Yes, that’s right: monotone, passive raw emotion. This book needs a hug, & this reviewer needs a fucking dictionary.

At first, Charlie doesn’t have any friends.

This lasts for less than 20 pages. Boo fucking hoo.

He is a little weird—even weirder than the cool kind of weird[.]

Um, I’d like to see some mathematical formula so we can deductively prove that this weirdness level has gone beyond the threshold o’ “cool” weird. Noah Smith would not be happy by such sloppy economics.

He makes friends with two seniors, Patrick and Sam, and begins to experience life, sometimes without really trying.

By the way, I can feel the raw emotions in these sentences written by a person who just figured out how to write sentences yesterday.

“And begins to experience life.” Fun fact: Charlie was born just before he met these 2 seniors. That’s why he had such trouble making friends; nothing’s mo’ uncooly weird than a newborn baby in high school.

I first heard of this book when it was released and kept meaning to read it, not realising, ten years later, that I would be determined to read it because they’ve made it into a movie!

Either this reviewer didn’t realize they would do something 10 years later based on events she couldn’t predict, or she wasn’t realizing that she was doing something 10 years later as she was doing it; but either way, ’twas quite amazing ‘nough to merit that exclamation point.

I thought it would be a typical coming of age book…

Surprisingly, ’twas worse.

[A]nd I expected to be caught up and be able to relate to the story, because who hasn’t felt like a wallflower sometimes—on the outside looking in? It was a lot more than I expected.

I can tell by the way you’re so excited that you couldn’t e’en stop to break your review into coherent sentences.

For one thing, it’s actually quite a serious book.

The fact that you e’en have to say that proves elsewise. Nobody says something like, “The truth is that Toni Morrison’s Beloved is quite a serious book,” ’cause anyone who needs to be told that’s too stupid to know how to read.

There are serious undertones beyond just the typical teenage drama of boys, clothes, girls, football and prom.

Yeah, it talks ’bout important things, like Rocky Horror Picture Show & what the characters’ favorite books & movies are. (¡Charlie’s is This Side of Paradise, by F. Scott Fitzgerald, which is super serious, guys!)

The book touches themes of abuse…

(Laughs.) Worst diction e’er.

I question whether everything bad really had to have happened to everyone in this book, but at the same time, it’s not unrealistic[.]

Yeah, it’s not unrealistic for real life to be like a badly-written book.

[S]hit does happen.

Best summary o’ this book.

The reviewer then babbles on ’bout the 90s & other bullshit.

It took me a while to read this book[.]

This book is short & extremely simplistic. It took me a day to read—& I’m a damn slow reader. Now I’m seriously wondering if I’m an e’en bigger asshole than I thought & whether this might be a middle schooler writing this.

Charlie can get a bit depressive, but he pulls through and you find yourself barracking for him, especially at the end when he figures things out.

“I didn’t actually read this book: but I’m sure this sad character has [insert conflicts], but [does something to not be killed by them] & then [like, figures something out, I guess].

I spent most of this book just wanting to give him a hug.

Stop touching the imaginary character’s abuse, please.

Author Stephen Chbosky fills the book with pithy observations, the most famous (and my favorite) being, ‘We accept the love we think we deserve.’

I’m glad I forgot that 1, since it’s as inane as the others. It’s borderline tautological, & @ the very least meaningless, since one doesn’t have much control o’er either (a’least I like to think that I think I deserve things based on what seems to be objective reality, & don’t magically consciously trick my own mind into thinking I deserve something simply ’cause I want to—rendering the whole idea o’ “deserve” nugatory). Man, think how easy psychological issues would be to solve if people didn’t have them. & while we’re @ it, ¿why don’t idiots like Chbosky just stop being dumb? ¿Can that be my pithy quote? “Dumb people are just people who haven’t learned that they’re dumb yet.” That definitely belongs on a mug.

It spits you out, a little tired and worse for wear, but somehow I feel like I’ve been made better by it.

Well, I’m glad that you’ve been made so much better off by my being spit out & made all tired by this shit. Way to rub it in.

Its raw honesty makes it truly one of the best [YOU CAN BUY PHANTASIA SCHLOCK BY ANNIE MELANINE & GET IT TODAY WITH A FREE TRIAL O’ AMAZON PRIME] books I’ve ever read.

Thank you, Adbot3031 for your wonderful review.

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Next review:

Charlie’s a master of observation. Much like with the essays he writes about literary classics, he constantly tries to discern meaning in the events and people around him.

The fact that you think his literary essays showed his ability @ discerning meaning is ample evidence for why you’re a “professional cat pamperer” & not a literary major, “Kate” Nosurname McGee.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower reminded me of coming-of-age classics like The Catcher in the Rye…

…in that they’re both shitty & both have protagonists who were utter wastes o’ oxygen.

[…] and, to a lesser extent, The Bell Jar[…]

A li’l too much actual thought put into that 1. Plus, it’s likely that protagonist isn’t a waste o’ oxygen anymo’—ha, ha… ugh… I’m sorry…

Something I wasn’t expecting from this book was the focus on women and how girls develop as a result of society. This theme is present throughout the story, and particularly demonstrates how girls – young, old, popular, activist – are taught to define their value based on the opinion of men and whether or not they’re seen as attractive.

Kinda like how Sam is pretty much just the generically cute girl that our protagonist lusts after, with hardly any development (¡but a’least he gets some undershirt action, ¿amiri—? Wait…). Also Mary Elizabeth is just that yappy bitch who needs to learn to shut her trap.

Yeah, Chbosky’s an amazing feminist.

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You can find a bunch o’ 1 paragraph clumps o’ incoherent reviewing @ AMAZON.COM, WHERE YOU CAN ALSO BUY MUCH BETTER BOOKS, LIKE 13 REASONS WHY, WHICH IS ‘BOUT A CHARACTER WITH AN ACTUAL PERSONALITY & WASN’T A WASTE O’ OXYGEN, E’EN BEFORE BEING DEAD.

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The Guardian shows their power to bullshit:

The writing here is so rhythmic that it’s almost hypnotic.

Chbosky’s approach is always unflinching[.]

¿What? ¿You’re not going to make some trite metaphor ’bout this book being “savored” like a fucking stew? ¿You’re not going to talk ’bout how this book “reaches inside of you and pulls everything to the surface,” like 1 o’ those paragraphs WHICH YOU CAN FIND @ AMAZON.COM? Which is just proof that if any o’ those people e’er learn what a paragraph break is, they’ll be qualified to write reviews for The Guardian.

I also love how this idiot complains ’bout this book being sexist ’cause it had a male gay character, but not all the immensely sexist shit I mentioned earlier. This fucker didn’t e’en read this book.

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Holy shit, fuck everything I wrote here: This Tumblr post summarized everything I had to say ’bout this book in just a couple, succinct paragraphs. It’s like the Euler’s Identity o’ Perks reviews.

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Last Words ’bout the Film

1. The guy who plays the protagonist looks like a smug douche.

2. That Chbosky is a film director isn’t surprising, since The Perks of Being a Wallflower has that shallow stench o’ Hollywood.

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Footnotes:

There exist two commonly contrasted prose styles: purple and beige.

Authors who verse in purple prose gush extravagant diction, saturated with figurative language that attempts to magnetize readers’ glazed eyes to the style—and thus it is often criticized for obnoxiously distracting attention away from the important part of a story: the actual story. One could liken it to ketchup half-assedly splattered over a moldy potato to cover the sour, furry taste—or just ketchup on a plate itself, which some crazed little kid might like, but discerning tastes might find undesirable.

Then there’s beige prose, which rejects all unnecessary words, including figurative language. This is like a regular potato: It certainly doesn’t taste bad, but there’s nothing much interesting, either. And while one may argue that story is the utmost in importance, it’s hard to argue that works by Shakespeare, Tolkien, and Terry Pratchett didn’t derive value from style. For instance…

Come, bitter conduct; come, unsavory guide!

Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on

The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark!

Here’s to my love! (Drinks.) O true apothecary!

Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

…is just a little more memorable than “Romeo drank the poison and died.”

I propose that the best is a new version I call “thistle prose”—a hybrid between the sensory qualities of purple prose and the brevity of beige prose. Rather than saying as much as possible with as many words as possible, as in purple prose (or as little as possible with as many words for failed purple prose), or saying as little with as few words, as in beige prose, thistle prose attempts to say as much as possible with as few words as possible.

Take diction. The key mistake surrounding the contrast between purple prose’s extravagant diction and beige prose’s plain diction is the conflation of “plain” with “simple” and “extravagant” with “sensory.” The latter is particularly false when one considers words such as “utilization,” which is certainly long, but does not call any images to mind—other than perhaps business meetings and despair. Such a word may be compatible with (bad) purple prose, but it certainly doesn’t fit in with thistle prose, where “use” would work just as well.

The former cannot be shown well with single words, so let’s compare two sentences that use only simple words:

It was a cold, cloudy, and rainy late afternoon.

Al shook as rain struck him from sunset-burnt clouds.

Count the words: both have the same number—nine. The latter even has one less syllable than the former, even though it also uses more “extravagant” diction. This is because “simple” and “evocative” are not incompatible, nor does figurative language need to be longwinded.

Moreover, by replacing simple identifying constructions such as the former sentence with actions one can tell more with fewer words: one can say not only what’s happening, but hint as to the tone one wants to give. In the first sentence, “cold” is vague. Cold to whom? Is this positive or negative? “Al shook as rain struck him” leaves no such uncertainty; it’s obviously not an environment Al finds comfortable. (This sentence also already introduces the character Al. For the first sentence, we still don’t even know if any sentience exists in this story.)

Now, compare the thistle prose sentence to this purple prose sentence:

The atmosphere was bespattered with a brilliant fusion of pinks, blues, oranges, and grays—akin to a sodden newspaper dropped into a crystalline bowl of tangy fruit punch—from the reflection of the descending sun gleaming its luminescent light against the begrimed billows smothering the celestial heavens. Precipitation rained all over Al like a volley of arrows show by a million archers, each gelid projectile striking his marrow with chilly quivers.

Techniques for Thistle Prose:

Use (active) verbs: Verbs are the easiest way to add action without adding fluff. Even simple phrases like “the ground growled” and “storms brewed” are massive improvements over “there was an earthquake” and “it was stormy.” Of course, as any good technique, one should not use this any more than one should put ketchup on every meal. For one, unless you’re writing a fanfic of PeeWee’s world, readers may wonder why every part of nature seems sapient.

Go easy on adjectives and (especially) adverbs: These are why purple prose is so reviled. For instance, one can’t just “rip out someone’s eyes”; one must “mercilessly and violently rip out one’s round, terror-stricken visual organs.” First, why use a vague noun with an adjective when one can just use the specific noun in the first place? Two, this eye is round as opposed to what? Al’s cubic eyes? And is there a nonviolent way to rip out one’s “visual organs”? I suppose if one were undergoing surgery, maybe. As for “mercilessly,” that information should come from the context of the story. Do we know why this person’s ripping this other person’s eyes out? Will we eventually? Then why not just let that tell the story? For example, if we know she’s only pulling this poor fellow’s eyes out as a form of torture, then “mercilessly” is probably redundant. Torture is inherently merciless—causing agony is its whole purpose.

Of course, there are cases in which one of the other two styles may be preferable. For instance, beige prose is probably still better for strictly informational writing; there’s not much need for growling grounds or striking rain in an article discussing the labor and subjective theories of value. Even purple prose may be tolerable for more poetic works or for exaggerative humor. There is also, admittedly, a fine line between thistle prose and purple and beige, as there can be trade-offs between sensory description and brevity. Sadly, no literary device can completely overrun an author’s personal judgment successfully.