D. E. Ireland
Autore di Wouldn’t It Be Deadly
Sull'Autore
Nota di disambiguazione:
(eng) D.E. Ireland is a pseudonym used by the authors Meg Mims and Sharon Pisacreta to collaborate on the Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins mysteries.
Serie
Opere di D. E. Ireland
Wouldn't it by Deadly 1 copia
Etichette
Informazioni generali
- Sesso
- n/a
- Nazionalità
- USA
- Luogo di residenza
- Michigan, USA
- Istruzione
- Wayne State University
- Attività lavorative
- writer
- Agente
- Talbot Fortune Agency
- Nota di disambiguazione
- D.E. Ireland is a pseudonym used by the authors Meg Mims and Sharon Pisacreta to collaborate on the Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins mysteries.
Utenti
Recensioni
Premi e riconoscimenti
Potrebbero anche piacerti
Autori correlati
Statistiche
- Opere
- 5
- Utenti
- 132
- Popolarità
- #153,555
- Voto
- 3.7
- Recensioni
- 10
- ISBN
- 14
Most authors who attempt to appropriate other writers’ creations for their own benefit usually end up making a huge debacle of the whole thing, and this book is no exception.
None of the characters bear even a fleeting resemblance to their original selves. Narcissistic bachelor Henry Higgins is now incredibly sensitive and awash with love…what? Street-wise urchin Eliza is a burbling mess after a few hours in a police holding cell. None of it makes any sense.
The writing itself is atrocious. The authors make a painful spectacle of inserting well-known bits from the musical into the narrative at every tiresome opportunity: “She may not have liked him, but over the past two months she’d grown accustomed to his smug little face.” & “All they needed was a little bit of luck.” Urgh. It couldn’t possibly get any worse, could it?
Well, yes, unfortunately it can. It seems the authors couldn’t be bothered to research common idioms used by London’s Edwardian street hawkers in order to add some realism to Eliza’s speech, so they just took the phrase ‘blooming arse’ and had her say it repeatedly…over & over… throughout the entire book…the ENTIRE book. It’s almost as though it were a game to see how many times they could write ‘blooming arse’ before their editor put a stop to it; it appears there was no editor, so things ended up getting way out of hand…& it’s the reader who suffers
The ending is even more embarrassing. The story concludes with a third rate Three Stooges slapstick routine in which Eliza hijacks a stage production of Hamlet, knocks down the sets, spouts random quotations in her Cockney accent, and ends up slicing through Hamlet’s tights so he moons the audience. Throw in a transvestite actor and Prof. Higgins’ secret love child and you’ll realize what a low-brow bastardization of Pygmalion this atrocity really is.
I feel so sorry for George Bernard Shaw as he turns over uncomfortably in his grave.… (altro)