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578 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 21, 2007
Why shouldn’t middle-aged mothers get a wish-fulfillment character, you sad little bigot? Everyone else does. H.L. Mencken once wrote that “Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.” I can’t think of anyone to whom that applies more than my own mom, and the mothers on my friends list, with the incredible demands on time and spirit they face in their efforts to raise their kids, preserve their families, and save their own identity/sanity into the bargain./fans self
Shit yes, Zamira Drakasha, leaping across the gap between burning ships with twin sabers in hand to kick in some fucking heads and sail off into the sunset with her toddlers in her arms and a hold full of plundered goods, is a wish-fulfillment fantasy from hell. I offer her up on a silver platter with a fucking bow on top; I hope she amuses and delights. In my fictional world, opportunities for butt-kicking do not cease merely because one isn’t a beautiful teenager or a muscle-wrapped font of testosterone. In my fictional universe, the main characters are a fat ugly guy and a skinny forgettable guy, with a supporting cast that includes “SBF, 41, nonsmoker, 2 children, buccaneer of no fixed abode, seeks unescorted merchant for light boarding, heavy plunder.”
You don’t like it? Don’t buy my books. Get your own fictional universe. Your cabbage-water vision of worldbuilding bores me to tears.
“Difficult" and "impossible" are cousins often mistaken for one another, with very little in common.”
“Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind”
“Worst of all, the inner vault is guarded by a live dragon, attended by fifty naked women armed with poisoned spears, each of them sworn to die in Requin's service. All redheads."
"You're just making that up, Jean.”
“I want to hug you. And I want to tear your gods-damned head off. Both at once."
"Ah, near as I can tell, that’s the definition of 'family' right there.”
“Who’s the biggest, meanest motherfucker here? Who’s the best bruiser in the Brass Coves?”
“Pretend I’m a barrel, then.”
“Barrels don’t have br—”
“So I’ve heard. Find the nerve, ___.”
“You want me to pretend that you’re a barrel so I can tell you what I was telling barrels back when I was pretending they were you.”
“Precisely.”
“Surely you boys can do simple sums,” he said. “One plus one equals don’t fuck with me.”
"You are thieves. I am offering you a chance to help steal history itself."
"I'm not resigned, Jean. I'm angry. We need to cease being powerless as soon as possible."
"Right. So where do we start?"
"Well, I'm going to go back to the inn. I'm going to pour a gallon of cold water down my throat. I'm going to get into bed, put a pillow over my head, and stay there until sunset."
"I approve."
“Know something? I'd lay even odds that between the people following us and the people hunting us, we've become this city's principle means of employment. Tal Verrar's entire economy is now based on fucking with us.”
Look for us in history books and you’ll find us in the margins. Look for us in legends, and you might just find us celebrated.Thus spoke Locke Lamora, one of the greatest characters I've ever had the fortune of coming across.
The sun had been swallowed by thick clouds on the western horizon, and a soft, dying light rippled across the water beneath the first stars of evening.The geography of Tal Verrar is in your face, constantly juxtaposing the beautiful landscape with the brutality of its people.
“You might still be a lying, cheating, low-down, greedy, grasping, conniving, pocket-picking son of a bitch.”What Lamora lacks in brawn, Tannen makes up for it along with philosophy. Tannen has a love for literature that sang to my little bookish heart. At one point, when Lamora was pretending to be recuperating, Tannen decided to start a little protection racket. When he enters a room full of thugs, he asks who's the meanest motherfucker in the room. A hapless man foolishly answered.
“Thanks,” said Locke.
“Wrong,” said Jean, not even breathing heavily. “I’m the meanest motherfucker here. I’m the biggest bruiser in the Brass Coves.”But when Lamora jeopardises their stay at Brass Coves by robbing the governor in a very Lamoran fashion, well... they had to run again.
“Surely you boys can do simple sums,” he said. “One plus one equals don’t fuck with me.”
“You son of a bitch!”
“My mother was a saint,” said Jean.
“That’s a sweet piece,” said Jean, briefly forgetting to be aggravated.I love this man.
“You didn’t snatch that off a street.”
“No,” said Locke, before taking another deep draught of the warm water in the decanter.
“I got it from the neck of the governor’s mistress.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“In the governor’s manor.”
“Of all the—”
“In the governor’s bed.”
“Damned lunatic!”
"With the governor sleeping next to her."