I finished reading Derek Raymond’s I Was Dora Suarez today, and it was easily the most graphic of the Factory novels yet (I have one more to go before I finish the series). The balance between the casual brutality of the killer and the grief the unnamed detective sergeant feels for the victim is what keeps the story from feeling like snuff. And I’ve so enjoyed the way the books are written – from the prose to the insults the detective sergeant throws around (I especially enjoy it when he calls the villains ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie’ – you always know something bad is going to happen when he goes there).
I have Dead Man Upright left, but I’ll wait a week or so before really getting into it. I Was Dora Suarez was a tough, emotional read. I cleansed the palate, so to speak, by finishing off a biography of Gordon Ramsey. Decidedly less difficult to read.
That was Saturday. I’ll pop onto Netflix and watch more episodes of How I Met Your Mother this evening. Perhaps make a giant bowl of popcorn. It’s funny to say that I’m still feeling uncertain about what to do with my time. I finished school a while ago, really – but there is still an uneasy feeling that these idle weekends and evenings aren’t right. It’s more having the freedom to not have to ‘do’ something on a schedule that plucks at me, I think.