The firelight flickered over Alice’s handsome aristocratic face and bald head and on the magnificent body and long legs. Burton suddenly knew that all of him had been resurrected. He definitely was not the old man who, during the last sixteen years of his life, had paid so heavily for the many fevers and sicknesses that had squeezed him dry in the tropics. Now he was young again, healthy, and possessed by the old clamoring demon.
Chapter 8, To Your Scattered Bodies Go by Philip Jose Farmer
I spent most of today helping my brother move and when I got home I decided I just wanted to spend the rest of the evening with my family so I’m willfully disobeying my own rules and delaying my post until tomorrow for no good reason, other than that I feel like it. In place of a review for tonight, I figured I could give a little hint at my thoughts.
This book made me think of two things, one SF related and the other not. First, everyone in the Riverworld is resurrected with a towel. Every time this was mentioned I couldn’t help but think of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. So silly.
Second, I was reminded often of an installment of Dinosaur Comics (see my blog feedà) in which T-Rex asks whether the idea that we shouldn’t judge our forefathers and grandparents by today’s standards and cultural norms means heaven will be primarily populated by bigots and racists. It was a funny post and I wish I could find it to link it up. The characters of TYSBG are quite aggravating. In particular, Sir Richard Francis Burton makes certain to rate the attractiveness and/or suppleness of breast (as the above quote hints at) for nearly every female he comes across… Am I gonna have to bring this up in my review? Yeah...probably.