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onomastikon "iankaplow"

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Pegasus Spiele 23600706 - Würfel, Opaque: Orange, 36er-Set in Acrylbox
Pegasus Spiele 23600706 - Würfel, Opaque: Orange, 36er-Set in Acrylbox
Wird angeboten von Game World
Preis: EUR 9,85

2.0 von 5 Sternen Tiny!, 22. März 2015
Verifizierter Kauf(Was ist das?)
These dice have a decent quality, but they are substantially smaller than one would have imagined. I had purchased other RPG dice from pegasus, with which I was quite satisfied, and purchased these to replace my d6 -- yet they are just too dinky to use.
Also, sadly, like the other Pegasus dice, they are packaged in a box sealed hermetically with an ancient sticker smeared with nuclear-powered unguent which, after investing 15 minutes of hard scrubbing, could be mostly removed -- but only mostly.

The Morbidly Obese Ninja
The Morbidly Obese Ninja
von Carlton, III Mellick
Preis: EUR 7,59

1.0 von 5 Sternen Bland and thin, 28. Februar 2012
Rezension bezieht sich auf: The Morbidly Obese Ninja (Taschenbuch)
After having read Mellick's first book, "Satan Burger", which was often entertaining and amusing, if somewhat shabby and puerile, I purchased this one, and was greatly dissapointed for many reasons.
The first is the genre. This is supposed to be an example of "Bizarro" fiction, but it is about as strange as a dishwasher. There are no surprises, nothing unusual, and nothing is risked here. "Shocking", as the book cover suggests? Hardly. This book falls far behind William Burroughs, who was writing thrice as bizarre 60 years ago. There are elements of cyberpunk in it, even if the writing is not up to the admittedly trashy level of his predecessors -- but that does not make it original. All of this would be forvigable if Mellick could write. But he can't. He makes William Gibson look like a poet. This is the second disspointment. This book consists of bland, used-up language Mellick seems to have found in an old castaway can of tuna, monosyllabic summaries of speech and action. Furthermore, Mellick seems to be bored with his own "story", and at times seems impatient to get it over with. One example of his style can be seen on page 12: "Cosmetic surgery had reached the point where humans could alter their appearance to look like anything they desired." While not a truly abysmal sentence, if not in the least innovative, this is a phrase which would fit perfectly on the back cover, as it is *about* the story. Mellick is not capable of conveying an atmosphere which pulls the reader in and conveys what he imagines: this sentence belongs outside of the story, not *in* it. If the book were interesting, however, this too could be forgiven -- it is, after all, pulp, and I am expecting pulp, not Faulkner. But the plot is predictable, bland, and clichéd. It feels as if Mellick wrote it in one quick session at the kitchen table. Finally, this "book" comes from a man who in the introduction to his "Satan Burger" claims to have forever forsaken a love for money: marketed as a novel at 92 pages, there are exactly 70 pages of text (the last 20 are full of advertisements for Eraserhead Press). The 70 pages are printed in gigantic typeface, and more often than not interspersed with huge shuriken icons indicating a transition in scene. This is an overblown short story -- and a bland epigone at that. I feel cheated. This book belongs to the very, very few that I have not given away, sold, or shelved after reading, but rather simply thrown away.

The Player of Games (The Culture)
The Player of Games (The Culture)
von Iain M. Banks
Preis: EUR 11,60

3 von 5 Kunden fanden die folgende Rezension hilfreich
1.0 von 5 Sternen The most disapointing Banks ever, 25. August 2005
I fail to understand others' enthusiasm for this shoddy, poorly edited work. In it, Iain Banks dashes expectations culled in works such as The Wasp Factory, in which interesting characters and mysterious hints and hidden atrocities of the human soul are pointedly uncovered. The Player of Games, however, is an atrocity in itself, completely unsurprising and written in a sad, tired prose unrecognizable as coming from Banks' pen. The story is based on a faceless character who trains and then subsequently plays the "ultimate" game ever imagined for very high stakes (the reign over a culture). Banks utter lack of imagination as to the nature of this ultimate game is simply astounding, almost unfathomable: Since the story takes part in the far future, in a (completely unplausible, certainly underdescribed) world in which mankind has evolved into a state of Marxian paradise, one would expect this "game" to be something novel. Instead, it is just a very large board game, its surface encompassing the size of a soccer field. Lack of imagination, lack of character depth, lack of plot best describe this feeble book. It is the only book I have ever thrown away after reading, and justly so.
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