POSH by Lucy Jackson
A Review by K.I.N.G. Wenclas
POSH!
FRANKLY I'm tired of trying to play the game with all these bland mandarins ruling and ruining literature with their constipated attitudes sending me their shitty refined books produced for shitty refined mandarin sensibilities hanging around their condos or mansions with Muffy the Cat on their laps dictating to us out of their refined constipated phony-British-accented mouths the definition of "Literature" capital L should be capital B for Bullshit which is what they've turned fiction and poetry into the last thirty years refining it through their kitchen strainers eliminating life relevance meaning leaving orange pulp puke remains and coffee grounds packaging this garbage between glossy slick glowing vomit green covers and charging twenty-four bucks for it.
POSH!
This is a shitty sloggy nearly unreadable novel produced by a pseudonym-wearing widely celebrated hideously out-of-touch literary dilettante "acclaimed short story writer and novelist Her last novel was a New York Times Notable Book Her fiction has appeared in The New Yorker Best American Short Stories and many other magazines and anthologies " etc. etc. etc. yet the person has hardly a speck of writing ability, is unable to create a narrative thread can only pile on scene upon precious scene of phony stiffly-emoted characters wandering mechanically like outdated Manhattan robots through phony cardboard set stages it reads like an early silent movie circa 1905 shot with static cameras as eternally boring as an Andy Warhol movie.
POSH!
Most hilariously the fake author "Lucy Jackson " has a character on page 177 comment about literature --"highlighted one passage after another that she recognized as sentimental and poorly written, dutifully taking note of all the characters that seemed like nothing more than ciphers and the dialogue that seemed so painfully stilted"-- when this sentence describes her own book exactly.
POSH!
It's taken me several months to write this review because every time I tried I had to run to the nearest toilet to vomit from anger and disgust at the ridiculous boozhie class of posh people who control literature and produce warehouses of phony upper-class garbage shit novels like this if you buy the book you're crazy thank God it's vanished though more like it keep being cranked out by conglomerate literary assembly lines the author should shove her pseudonym up her pretentious upper-class ass and retire permanently from the scene doing real literature a favor thereby earning hosannahs of praise from future generations excuse me I'm still nauseous from reading the thing I'm beginning to gag where's the toi--
"urghhaaarrfffglhgghhhaaraarrrffgghhh!!!!"
POSH!
