...of "Dope, Dreams, and Deliverance" by Shawn Phillips


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Okay, well, just remember - you asked for this... presenting, what is it now? Oh yes, the fourth installment of the Sartain Literary Review. We're reading "Dope Dreams and Deliverance" by Shawn Phillips. Take it away, boys!

Davy: *holding head* Ow. This story makes my brain hurt. And do the chapter titles have anything to do with the actual story?

Mark: *raised brow* If this is the state of the Ethereal these days, no wonder the world is the way it is. Even the gods can't tell if they're coming and going.

Davy: He's got a point. *blink* So are these guys deities, or angels, or what?

Mark: With our luck, Grain is God. *flings back his head and laughs* That would certainly explain a lot.

Davy: *scratching his head* No... because I'm fairly sure that our god is a SHE, and she's out to get us.

Mark: She probably only got the job because he is very confused right now. Probably had a nervous breakdown. Running the world can do that to a deity. Once he finds a nice psychiatrist, gets a nice prescription, takes a little vacation, picks up a nice tan, and gets himself sorted out, I'm sure he'll be just fine. *smirk* Then we get rid of that temp bitch goddess.

Art Wench: *scowl* You two do realize that I'm sitting right here, right?

Mark: *charming grin* When I called you a temp bitch goddess, I meant it in the most flattering possible way.

Davy: Just remember, I didn't call you anything. That was all Mark. I think you're a fantastic creator. You're also very pretty. ^_^

Mark: *snarl* You disgust me.

Davy: *innocent look* What?

Art Wench: Nice try, Blondie. *points finger* Story. Review. Now.

Davy: *sigh* Okay, okay... well, let's go over what we know. We know that Grain is a not-human something. A very powerful not human something. And he's dealing with a Morningstar, and there's more than one of them. And they are... god-like entities... but bad, very bad... and full of lies... okay, so are they Christian demons... fallen angels, that sort of thing? You know, like The Morningstar? Creatures like Satan himself?

Mark: *shrug* Could be. Or they just could be a bunch of fae that have lived a little too long, and went a bit... odd.

Davy: Heh. Wouldn't be the first time that happened. Remember the elf that used to work in Spellwriting? Came in one day insisting that he was Jesus? Turned the coffee into wine... or so he thought, anyway. It was only an illusion. His 'wine' burned I dunno how many people until they figured it out.

Mark: *burst out laughing* Then he tried to walk on water, and fell into the Hudson and drowned.

Davy: Is that what happened to him? *wistfully* Jeez, I didn't know... how sad.

Mark: Ahem! Yes... *quickly puts on a more sober expression* Very tragic. As far as the story goes, I enjoyed the imagery. Very impressive. It's comparable to some of the better Sidhe poets. But I'm also rather annoyed that we don't know who this Grain character is yet. I get the impression that the author is toying with us, and I don't care for it.

Davy: I think that little piece of information is what the story hinges on, Mark - I mean, will it be over once he knows?

Mark: That may not be the case - it could be Grain was on a quest that was rudely interrupted by this bout of amnesia. Finding out who he is may only be the beginning.

Davy: Another very valid point.

Mark: Naturally. I'm full of them. Hmm... but that has me thinking... Bonnie also did not know who she was, until she spent an evening with Yours Truly... I wonder if the same experience might not benefit Grain? >=)

Art Wench: *glare* Oh no you don't, Markkastanen! What did I tell you about other people's characters?

Mark: *dismissive wave of a hand* Oh, I don't know - you have so many annoying little rules.... let's see... was it, 'Play nice'?

Art Wench: ^_^ Good boy. You get a cookie! Besides, with the amount of power Grain is packing, he'd blow you out of the water. Or turn you into a marshmallow chick.

Mark: *thoughtfully rubbing his chin* Yes... that is true. Well, if Mr. Phillips ever does wish to avail himself of my 'services', such as they are, he knows where to find me.

Davy: *scowl* My brother, the humanitarian.

Mark: Why not? I'm good at what I do. You could even say that I'm an artist.

Art Wench: ...No, we couldn't.

Mark: Oh, I see. It's only art if you say it is. *folds arms* Well, I beg to differ.

Art Wench: Permission to differ denied. *staring match*

Davy: *looking relieved* Hey look, we're out of time! (thank you!) That's it for another, um, exciting edition of "The Sartain Literary Review". Assuming that our creator isn't completely fed up with us, and doesn't kill us off slowly and horribly in the next story, (help us!) we will see you all again next time. *bows* Good night!


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