En smakebit på søndag - nr. 17

Jeg har aldri før kjøpt en bok hvor forfatteren så iherdig prøver å overbevise meg om å ikke lese boken han har skrevet:

"Burn this book. Go on. Quickly, while there's still time. Burn it. Don't look at another word. Did you hear me? Not. One. More. Word. Why are you waiting? It's not that difficult. Just stop reading and burn the book. It's for your own good, believe me. No, I can't explain why. We don't have time for explanations. Every syllable that you let your eyes wander over gets you into more and more trouble. And when I say trouble, I mean things so terrifying your sanity won't hold once you see them, feel them. You'll go mad. Become a living blank, all that you ever were wiped away, because you wouldn't do one simple thing. Burn this book. It doesn't matter if you spent your last dollar buying it. No, and it doesn't matter if it was a gift from somebody you love. Believe me, friend, you should set fire to this book right now, or you'll regret the consequences."

"...A little runt of a book like this isn't worth risking madness and eternal damnation over. Well, is it? No, of course not. So burn it. Now! Don't let your eyes travel any further. Just stop HERE."

"Oh God! You're still reading?"

"...No, no, and still no. Why are you hesitating? Do you think you'll find some titillating details about the Demonation in here? Something depraved or salacious, like the nonsense you've read in other books about the World Below (Hell, if you prefer)? Most of that stuff is invented. You do know that don't you? It's just bits of gossip and scraps of superstition mixed up by some greedy author who knows nothing about the Demonation: nothing."

Fra Mister B. Gone av Clive Barker!

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