Shocking Tales of Harsh Noise (series: Book Reviews, part 2)

Now with more nothingness!

by Dave Skipper

“Pummel this!” he said with a crackle of his choice.

As the sheet of noise encroached, there was only way left: right. Right into it.

Anti-silence made sense at last. It was the seventh sense of unbeknownst singularity.

Sooner or later, in the end all book reviews inevitably start and end with quotes from this inexhaustible 1953 sci-fi classic. I can think of no better contender with which to kick off my book reviews. This is the book that launched a scholarly revolution decades later, presciently expounding the latent dangers of amplifying analogue television static to previously unimagined levels.

I have no favourite scene: all the scenes are my favourites. Every page ends in either a nail-scraping climax or a spine-quivering anticlimax. Wherever you look, you don’t know where to look next. I can’t reveal plot details here, because the whole thing unravels if you don’t grit your teeth through the entire journey.

The unpredictability is just so sweetly predictable that you can’t help reaching for your tissues, tossing all known shaker boxes into the blender for good measure. Time stands still in all the ways.

Do you want to know true fear? Read this book.
Do you want to know true pain? Read this book.
Do you want to know true love? Read this book.

In short, this should be an indispensable tome in the filing cabinets of inspiration beneath the floorboards of every handyman, demolitionist, thinker, and nodder. Harsh noise never tasted this good.

And did I say already, it’s just so so quotable! I’m holding myself back from just typing out the whole 113 chapters right here, right now.

Long out of print, I may have the last copy in known existence – let the bidding begin!

Rating: all the stars
Best quotes: all of them
Noise musician value: total
Content: yes

Sheila screamed. “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!” But relentlessly, all she could do was BUT hear.

Harsh as a starling’s oeuvre, lavished like ancient gristling shrapnel, frantically encrusting the disintegration of his lobotomical snare, the noise wall was truly harsh.

No escape. No respite. No more tears, because the ducts dry out eventually. Total spectral density was heavenly after all, Sheila or no Sheila.

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