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Title: No riptides, just rip-off
Review: I am growing tired of so-called "modern literature," and I'm about ready to go back to reading only fast, cheap thrillers. Modern authors seem to fall into two catagories: 1)those using writing as a means to their own catharsis, forcing us to read about the bad things that happened to them during their wretched upbringing; and 2)those whose creativity is so weak that they dream up some bizaar tale for critics to ooh and ahh over, which really amounts to nothing more than gore with which to shock the reader. Yann Martel has done this with "Life of Pi." He's done nothing more than write down his hashish-induced hallucinations as if they were the magical journey to an insightful vision. Only of money, I say--and I'm sorry he got mine.
