Read at your own risk.
Sometimes I feel betrayed by books.
Why do you force me to invest in your characters, finding pieces of myself within them, vicariously navigating through twisting and entwined plot lines only to follow them into the oblivion of a half-assed ending?
I’m talking to you, Galt Niederhoffer. Your prose is eloquent and witty and you have beautiful lines that could qualify your books to be dancers. Let’s just say that if I actually owned either of your books, I would have dog-eared the shit out of them.
Your characters speak to me. They’re complicated. Misunderstood. Often thought cold and calculating, but you know they’re more than that. So why do you abandon them there, so helpless and unfulfilled?
It’s lazy, really. Reckless even. Irresponsible. The least you could do is be consistent with your character development.
Here’s a hint: not all of us need love to have a happy ending.
(But when we do, you should have it make sense.)
