Blocked by Greatness, Freed by Trash
some of you will love this.....
I have three book reviews sitting on my desk that I want to write, that I intend to write, and that I keep getting completely stalled on.
My book reviews tend to be very popular posts. I take this responsibility seriously, and it’s a big reason why I only write two types, with rare exceptions.
One, I write snarky pieces of vicious mockery. Recent examples include my reviews of Karine Jean-Pierre’s Platonic ideal of stupid; Michelle Obama’s Platonic ideal of covert narcissism; Kamala Harris’s Platonic ideal of excuse-making; and these two reviews of novels so drenched in Woke insanity that the publishers included literal instructions telling reviewers not to misgender the characters.
And two, I write positive reviews of really good, interesting, thought-provoking books.
The latter are far more difficult to write — for the same reason that throwing a rock through a window is easier than installing a window. And the better the book, the harder it is, because I want to do it justice.
Which brings me back to the three excellent books I’m currently stuck on: Ron Chernow’s Washington (the first long entry in my planned “read at least one POTUS biography for each POTUS” series), J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy, and Ben Appel’s Cis White Gay. They’re all worth reading, and in completely different ways — which is exactly why I keep getting hung up. Writing a positive review demands precision, care, and the humility to get out of the way and let the book shine. It feels like installing three windows in a row while standing on a ladder in the wind.
So: rather than stall indefinitely, I’m going to change gears and introduce a new series — one where the stakes are lower, the prose is looser, and the mockery is absolutely justified.
I’m going to review and viciously mock the Left Behind series, starting with the prequels.
To be clear: I am mocking the books, which are terrible. I am mocking the apocalyptic cosmology, which is even worse. I am not mocking the fundamentals of the Christian faith. As any longtime reader knows, I would love to believe in a galactic Father — a benevolent presence at the center of the moral universe, who actually cares about me and whose care even extends past my utility. (Has Holly been in therapy today talking about her fears that something like love is only available when she’s useful, and has her therapist forced her to admit that whatever she earns by being useful is, it for damn sure isn’t love at all? Why yes, yes, she has. And yes, yes he did, that bastard.)
The “Heavenly Father” bit is the one part of Christianity I’ve always found emotionally compelling. But that’s not what the Left Behind universe is built on.
Its scaffolding is the idea that actual prophecy — history written in advance — was authored by John, in exile on Patmos while snacking on the local mushrooms.
That’s the part I’m mocking: the eschatological fanfiction that grew into an industry.
In other words: this series is not a critique of faith; it’s a critique of the narrative choices that followed.
And trust me — if you’ve never read the prequels, there is plenty to work with.
Look for the first one, on the first prequel, The Rising, later this week. The series will be paywalled with generous previews — enough to give you a taste for the level of snark, sarcasm, mockery, vitriol, and other humor and let you decide if you want sixteen installments of it.
And who knows — maybe clearing this out of my system will finally shake loose whatever’s blocking the positive reviews.