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Book Cover |
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Excerpt |
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She moved her
hair out from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Men get turned on
by all sorts of different things. Some guy will go from soft to hard
from a hot pair of tits in a tight shirt (well, all guy do). Some guys
like long legs, some enjoy a big ass popping out of tight jeans, some
like the sight of an innocent girl working on a popsicle while mentally
picturing the cherry treat to be their wiener. But for me, what drove me
crazy more than any other action was a beautiful girl absent-mindedly
moving excess hair from over her face and tucking it behind her ear.
When Clarissa found out about this weird fetish (is it a fetish?
Probably not.), she constantly did it on purpose while winking at me and
posing like a sex kitten. But all this did was annoy the shit out of me. |
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Synopsis |
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Brandon is engaged to Clarissa, a beautiful
Chinese publicist who was recently promoted to a senior position at her
Hollywood firm. Clarissa divides her time between planning their wedding
(like Rommel) and telling cute stories about "Ashton." Brandon works at
a black television station, placing billboard advertising (top show:
Honey Buns). His co-worker and friend is Bryan Lomax, who Sills
describes thusly: "Bryan was built was like a tank, had a head the size
of an industrial refrigerator box, and excelled at coming up with
creative ways of telling me he had to take a shit."
Brandon's father (who won a 350 million
Powerball jackpot and promised Brandon he'd never see a penny of it)
gets in touch and begs his son to take a trip with him. Turns out, Dad
has lost a golf match and the payoff is an expensive dinner--in
Stockholm, Sweden. To get Brandon to come along, his father begs,
insults, cajoles, offers "to make it worth your while," and finishes
with, "I don't ask much from you, but I'm asking you to please go."
Sincerity: the last refuge of a scoundrel. Mysteriously, Dad also tells
his son he'll have to pretend he works for NASA--Brandon, that is, works
for NASA.
The trip happens. And Brandon meets Saga,
an ash blond, soulful, hard-to-read Swede, who happens to be the
daughter of the match-winning golfer. Sparks fly, romance seems
to be happening (sex definitely is) -- all set against a backdrop of
this beautiful European capital.
And then, trip over, it's back to LA.
Was this just a crazy fling? Should
Brandon tell Clarissa? Should he even marry Clarissa? And what's
up with this NASA thing? When Saga shows up in LA., it's decision time
for Brandon. He might just have to book another flight.
My Sweet Saga
by is a realistic literary fiction story
written by Brett Sills.
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Review |
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Brett Sills is a good writer. He combines a
quick wit with an encyclopedic knowledge of the Zeitgeist and keeps
popping out great one liners, one after another. He skillfully moves the
reader from scene to scene, keeping us involved with his characters
while making a strong case for visiting Stockholm as soon as possible.
(In fact, the Swedish tourism board should be distributing his book.)
To go along with the industrial-strength
language quoted above (typical of Brandon’s dialog with the reader),
My Sweet Saga also has passages of reminiscence like this:
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We found a bench and sat for
what felt like an eternity, and were soon joined by a tired
mother and her young son, who was probably about six. She
sat with an exhausted sigh while her son, still full of
energy, stood in front of the bench, tucked his thumbs in
the belt loops of his jeans that were too short for his
legs, and danced around, stiff legged, as if he was a short
Frankenstein, to a song that he softly mumbled to himself.
"Alec, please stop," the mother
said in an exhausted British accent. "Just sit down." It was
easy to tell that she was wiped out from chasing her son all
morning.
But Alec ignored her and carried
on. My attention was quickly diverted from the ship to this
little, strange kid, absent of embarrassment, spinning in
circles. I tried to remember if I ever did such things when
I was his age and quickly recalled an incident when I stood
up in front of a movie theater, halfway through some typical
'80s film my parents dragged me to, and started dancing a
few feet from the front row simply because I was happy.
Earlier in the day, my parents had bribed me with a He-Man
toy and I could not wait to get home and play with it.
Perhaps Alec just had A.D.D. and was in desperate need of
Ritalin; maybe he was just bored and wanted to entertain
himself; or maybe, he, like me as a child, was just in a
good mood and felt like dancing.
I wondered at what age this
ended. At what point did I have enough understanding of the
world where jaded energy dominated my condition? At what
point did I find it's silly to dance when I was happy? |
Sweet. Often while reading My Sweet
Saga I was reminded of Tyler Durden, the hero of Fight Club,
and one of the more potent black ops, black humor characters ever
written. An excerpt from Chuck Palahniuk's novel -- "Burn the Louvre,"
the mechanic says, "and wipe your ass with the Mona Lisa."
Serious attitude. And a lot of it seems
to have crept into Brett Sills' Brandon. For me, that didn't fit into
what was basically a light, romantic comedy (given, a comedy with some
pretty unusual twists). I guess I wanted to like My Sweet Saga
more than that voice allowed me to. Still, I was intrigued enough to
keep turning pages, and I definitely enjoyed the twists and turns of
Brandon's saga of Saga and their Stockholm experience.
I rated this book a 7 out of 10. |
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