I’m getting ready to post a sharky review . . . .
Alright. Now that THAT is done, let’s get to the sad state of affairs which is my reaction to the novel Jaws. I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this review – mainly because I’m bummed out. I was sure I would love this book and held out until the most magical of all weeks in order to read it and give it the praise I’m sure it would deserve. Ummmm, yeah. Well, that didn’t work out, but after finding some inspiration from my buddies Hooper and Quint . . . .
I did manage to finish this one and only cried for a little while.
At the end of the day Jaws is a fish story. Plain and simple. That’s all anyone really cares about and, really, that’s all it should have been about. Things started off with a real bang with descriptions of the shark itself and its thought process while perusing the ocean for a late-night snack. It was delicious. Sadly, the magic didn’t last long and the waters were almost instantaneously muddied (*hyuck hyuck*). Affairs, mafia side-plots, yada yada yada. We care about the shark eating people, plain and simple. No one gives a shit about horrible Ellen Brody!
But now that I’ve brought up that
Jaws was a 2 Star read, but is getting a ½ Star bump for ending (which is probably the one thing most other people didn’t like).
At the end of the day I have nothing left to say except for thank you. Thank you, Steven Spielberg for really taking the ol’ shoe shine kit to this turd of a book and creating something magical. Thank you for giving us one of the most quotable quotes of all time . . .
Thank you for giving Quint’s story even more depth (view spoiler)[with the U.S.S. Indianapolis tie-in rather than just his own personal charter being victim of an attack (hide spoiler)]. Thank you for giving us a classic that scared the crap out of me as a child and that I finally got to scare the crap out of my own children with this past year. You, sir, are a god amongst men . . .
My friend ☣Lynn☣ says White Shark is what Jaws could have been, so this won’t be the last Benchley novel for me. Until the time when I get around to reading that one, though, I’ll simply say . . .