Thanks for the reviews for ch 2 and 3. I must say that I agree with you completely about dialogue! I think it is much more revealing in terms of character than description of internal monologue and I find sharp, witty dialogue to be very entertaining!
Novel Treatments / Bardimax - Chapter 2 excerpt
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so they say, which after six pints loosely translates as ‘Don’t fancy yours mate’. But this mysterious They organisation has a point: I used to believe every woman has at least one desirable feature they can use to attract a partner. To attract tall men, the woman may be tall; for short men, short; and for Hugh Hefner she may have a pulse, though I guess even this is strictly optional. The woman may boast a cut bum or long slender legs or double-handful breasts or – in the case of Cindy Crawford – all three. Or she may offer beauty on a more intimate level: exquisite lips; a quirky smile; cute dimples; eyes flecked with an unusual colour.
Yes, I used to believe every woman has at least one attractive feature but now I know it’s not true. The person to prove me wrong sits at her desk, behind the door to Snyder’s reception. Angela. With her name the anagram of ‘a angel’, if some sad soul with a clipboard asked, ‘Based on their name, is this person pretty, yes or no?’ you’d say yes, I’d say yes and even the man from Del Monte would say yes. But we’d all be wrong with a capital ‘W’.
The door to Snyder’s reception is in front of me and I take my life in my hands and twist the doorknob and enter. Since it is a lion’s den containing a Rottweiler with more teeth than a great white shark, apart from some dubious science experiments I’m expecting an arena packed with lions, dogs and big smelly fish; yet inside it is vast, like the universe, and almost empty, like the skull of a disc jockey. Easily ten metres square, it’s more warehouse than office and inside this barn yet-to-be-converted is just Angela and her desk and a borderline-dead plant in a neglected pot. It’s a weird desert island in the middle of the ocean, though not an oasis. I chance a step. With TARDIS credentials to make Dr Who weep, it feels like one of those impossible places to reach such as the centre of the Earth, five metres north of the North Pole or the picturesque part of Birmingham.
After I stop gazing at the vastness of it all, my foot kicks the door to without asking and a strange stale smell wafts over me, as if something hasn’t been opened up for years. It’s a stronger version of the odour that greets you when you return from a holiday and realise all your windows have been locked shut.
‘What do you want?’ says Angela.
She spits the four-syllable ultimatum without even looking up from her work, her non-dulcet tones the secretarial equivalent of sticking my head in a crocodile’s jaws and shouting ‘Din-ner!’ Impressive. Her desk is a breeding ground of colour-coordinated In and Out trays, stacked at least a metre high on every corner and – bizarrely – on a few more corners it seems, as if her desk is such a vast cosmic object within the galaxy it spills across other dimensions. So when she doesn’t look up at me, I accept the consolation prize of assuming it’s because she can’t see over the tray-skyscrapers, rather than accepting the logical prize of it being because she hates my guts.
‘What do you want?’ she says again, as if she’s swallowed a box of Bonfire Night fireworks, whole. She still refuses to look up.
‘I want to see Snyder.’
‘Close the door on your way out.’
‘Do you realise your plant is dying? Have you been talking to it?’
‘Are you still here?’
Hmmmm, strong with the dark side of the Force, is she.
Rudeness to someone with whom you have yet to make eye contact is truly an art form to study across multiple lifetimes, which perhaps explains why Angela looks (and acts) about 160. She’s in front of me, not three metres away, but even at this distance I can clearly see she has not one, not two, but three bags under each eye. She has more bags than Tesco during the Christmas (October) sales.
I step closer to the lion’s den. Two metres away.
I shuffle forwards like a kid the headmaster is about to cane and now – finally! – she looks up and makes eye contact across the paper Manhattan skyline. All up close and personal I realise another one of life’s rules: some people are pretty; some are ugly; and some – like Angela – are both. Her face nuzzles through centre-parted ginger hair so thick and wavy she looks like a Scottish terrier. Many women have sparkling eyes imbued with splashes of the Caribbean but her drawing-pin eyes are a dull blue and lifeless, like a mannequin. To make matters worse, she wears purple eyeliner applied in thin strands to her lower eyelids, which makes her appear to have two bruised eyes as though she has done a round with Mike Tyson. Maybe she has? Maybe each day Snyder beats her if she fails to brew his coffee to exactly 95°C? It wouldn’t surprise me; he’d do it and he’d enjoy doing it.
Another step, another step further from the exit, further from the truth. One metre away. I’m now officially within farting distance of her desk, not that it’s likely her desk will blow any unpleasant odours my way. I’m wrong. When Angela uncrosses her legs I realise the stale smell of something not been opened up for years is her. I bet the last time she had sexual intercourse Harold Macmillan was prime minister and the only other person waggling their hips was a pre-army Elvis.
‘I was just wondering, aren’t you lonely all day sitting in here by yourself?’
‘Do you know how many annoying people interrupt me each day?’
Ouch. Angela delivers this with a snarl, as if something has just gone bang inside her. It wasn’t me, honest.
‘It’s not the same though. Don’t you miss the banter of chatting to someone?’
‘Would you if you were in here?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you want to move in with me?’
What? I’m being propositioned by the lady elephant man, someone with the charm of a female Darth Vader who has a migraine and pre-menstrual tension.
‘No, no, I just thought I’d be friendly. I like talking to people about what they watched on TV last night.’
‘Why?’
‘“Why”?’
Yes, God, why am I bothering with her? Anyone? What, not even a guess?
I glance away for a moment. ‘Because it makes an otherwise dull day more bearable.’
‘What did you watch?’
I rack my brains but remember I didn’t see Coronation Street or EastEnders or anything else beamed out to the masses for their social control.
‘A programme about a woman having a sex change,’ I somehow blurt out. ‘They described the drugs she has to take to increase her testosterone levels and they even showed the operations to create a synthetic penis. Surgeons cut out a rectangle of skin from her stomach and rolled it up into a sausage.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ says Angela. ‘Does it work afterwards?’
‘Not as a sausage, no.’ I lean forwards, about to rest my palms on her desk as a sign of our new friendliness, then remember just in time not to. She is particular about this: it is her desk, her pens, her collection of genital warts (well, possibly). Anyway, I don’t really want to touch her desk because it might be cloaked by an invisible forcefield that scrambles the molecules of anyone who touches it, bar the owner.
Angela spies my palms levitating above her desk. ‘What do you want?’
Phew, that’s better, she no longer wants my babies. Unless, of course, she wants mine so she can eat them.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
Freedom reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
Solid writing. I was sucked into this story right away, and I really enjoyed it. I’d love to keep reading it as you made me genuinely curious about the world that you’ve created here. That’s eighty percent of the battle, I think.
“‘That’s disgusting,’ says Angela. ‘Does it work afterwards?’
‘Not as a sausage, no.’”—This is absolutely laugh-out-loud funny.
Keep up the good work!
- add/view comments (0)
jaugne reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I know I should review this on its own merits, and resist comparing, but I have to say this flows much more naturally for me than “The Void Sucker”. I like the style you use to write this, and I really enjoyed your narative voice. It felt more natural. “The Wry Observer”, I like to call it. You pull it off amazingly well.
Blue_Eyes reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I really wouldn’t change much in this excerpted piece. There is a lot of lively dialogue in this piece, which I enjoy. I have always thought that hearing the characters speak really brings them to life, rather than listening to a narrator, so from my point of view this is good.
I like the idea behind the novel, about the corrupt pharmaceutical companies. I am sure that scenarios like this probably do occur in real life, so this novel carries some credibility as far as I’m concerned. It should be interesting to see where you go with this story. Cheers! :)
tstone reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
”...it is vast, like the universe, and almost empty, like the skull of a disc jockey.” and ”...Angela looks (and acts) about 160.”—these lines are funny, descriptive, and to the point. you’ve got some other very comical lines in the story – but try to whittle them down a bit, so the joke isn’t lost in the telling. example: ”...which makes her appear to have two bruised eyes as though she has done a round with Mike Tyson.”—cut it down a little, maybe: ”...giving her the appearance of someone who’s gone a round with…”
Overall, good stuff. i enjoyed Ch.1, and this is a nice continuation. you keep with the feel of a small man in a large cog. your visuals are great!
Awake_At_Last reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
The paragraph in which your protagonist is one meter from Angela’s desk seems out of place. You set it up earlier in the chapter (”...a strange stale smell wafts over me, as if something hasn’t been opened up for years…”), and it looks like a lot of work for one nasty joke. Otherwise, this has good humor (your sarcasm is great, as in your description of Angela’s face). It is hard to guage whether this is publishable or not, because there is little content. Your protagonist merely enters a room and has a conversation, the ramifications of which are not given evidence. I look forward to seeing more of this novel, and learning what this scene means in it’s grand scheme.
faydiablo reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
That was hilarious and the plot sounds very absorbing (like a book I would read). Angela sounds like a human version of one of those annoying yappy dogs (yes, I know they have names, but there are alot of little yappy dogs). I really enjoyed the dry sense of humor.
carolinahermit reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
Or upon closer inspection/introspection she may offer beauty on a more intimate level-or not
Like your jokes, but seems a little lapse cutting off with a capital “W” and no going into more detail until later-ugly is funny too-perhaps a hooked nose or dental problems, acne, thinning hair-different height/size ears, the smile/laugh of the Wicked Witch of the West, mustache/beard/hairy palms-
such a massively cluttered cosmic object that it has its own gravity-or not
migraine brought on by pre-menstrual
I don’t think I could have resisted going into a sex change operation without asking Angela if she had ever considered it-or at least thought of asking
Interesting way of making jokes using sci-fi references, see much potential, but not much of the plot revealed thus far, other than in your prologue
VirtualSun reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I like this piece even more than the excerpt from chapter one. The humour is quite a bit stronger here.
“But this mysterious They organisation”
I like how you’ve pointed out that most people use “they” without knowing to whom they’re referring.
Technically, I don’t think ‘What do you want?’ can be an ultimatum, because it’s a question.
“Hmmmm, strong with the dark side of the Force, is she.”
This line is a bit too much of a cliche, and a bit too juvenile.
I like the concept of “farting distance”; it’s as if he’d done the math in his head and was planning on executing the act on demand.
“lady elephant man” has a nicely oxymoronic ring to it.
“a female Darth Vader”
This is the second Star Wars reference, and makes the protagonist seem distinctly nerdy.
“Not as a sausage, no.”
This is probably the funniest line so far.
Really quite good overall. My only suggestion would be too avoid those lines that make the protagonist seem too young and too nerdy…unless you really want him to be young and nerdy.
NancyAllen reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I definately get the picture. Good description. “Woman has at least one desirable feature they (she agrees with woman) Perhaps you wanted to say women have. ”Door to Snyder’s reception… reception what? I like the analogy: Rottweiler with more teeth than a great white shark. You have a good start. I’m interested. I don’t know much about Snyder or the narrator.
Teuffelhunden reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I reviewed your last excerpt from the first chapter and I am really staring to get into it. I love the bit about some women being ugly, some women pretty, and some like Angela are both. Great! Classic Brit humor, Being an American, I really have no knowledge the British caste system, so I hope that I am not offending you by saying that your insights remind me of a mix between Hugh Laurie, Ricky Hatton, and Douglas Adams. Good work on sneaking in an anagram, by the way, although that part does come out a little clumsy, though. which is an anagram of I am hooked on Bardimax! Keep up the good work.
Showing 1 - 10 of 13
Next →
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
13 Reviews 9 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: 8 months ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 703 Times
Skipped: 6 Times
Ratings & Rankings
