First, I open up to scream that it's not what bloody happened in the book, but my roomies are too happy with it to pay me any attention.
I dump going ahead with the movie and decide to chore around because I want to dispell the urge to clamp down on the television, all the while muttering you bloody fabricators you bloody bloody cloudgoats.
Then I remember the author probably endorsed the movie and if the author did, where then does my personal distaste stand in the justle of things?
Which heightens the sense of being betrayed by the author.
And my rage is more directed: if only these dumb housemates read at all, they would understand my betrayal enough to sympathize with me now.
I drop to my knees and sink into cloudgoats cussing.
There's also the problem of whether the actors match the idea you have of the characters in the book.
Like when in Gabriel's Inferno, the professor’s mom dies, I was already mentally through with writing an angry email requesting they take that guy off because Paul was cuter in the book, wasn't he?
But it's solid and sold once you see the movie because even though you have a personal idea of how a xter looks or should look, the rest of the world will be deaf to your pleas and those xters will go down in history looking less than themselves (or in the case of idiots who develop a more cultured sense of humor, more than themselves).
And that's a moment of crisis for any devoted bookworm, realizing you're really powerless in saving your favorite characters.🤪🤣
