You have to understand. I'm in a bit of a book rut. Being only a little employed at the moment, I read a lot of books. Most of the time it's an anticlimactic experience. Sort of like going back and watching a TV show you used to love when you were a kid. I should watch that again, you think. So you try, but after five minutes you're gaping at the TV wondering, Was I ever stupid enough to enjoy this drivel, truly? When you relate this adventure to your friends, they say, Oh, you should try X. It's just like that show you used to watch, but way better. So then you're running through Netflix animated, crime-fighting robot DVDs like they're going to start melting them down to make water bottles without giving you adequate warning, all the while searching for that old thrill that used to keep you glued to the floor in front of the TV, unblinking, for twenty-two minutes at a time when you were a kid. But you never find it.
That's how I am with books now. I used to love books. I used to ache for them when I didn't have them (during gym, or science class, or car rides--I get motion sick, very easily); I devoured them when I did. I spent summer afternoons when all the other kids my age were outside playing kickball or riding bikes sitting in a dim, danky basement, curled up on the corner of a couch reading. But now, I read books and think, Meh. That was well-written. There was nothing wrong with it. It was fine. But boring. Uninteresting. Done a million times. Bland. A chore to get through.
But not I, Lucifer. This book passed my first paragraph test with flying colors. Hell, this book made me forget I had a first paragraph test. "I, Lucifer, Fallen Angel, Prince of Darkness, Bringer of Light, Ruler of Hell, Lord of the Flies, Father of Lies, Apostate Supreme, Tempter of Mankind, Old Serpent, Prince of This World, Seducer, Accuser, Tormentor, Blasphemer, and without a doubt Best Fuck in the Seen and Unseen Universe (ask Eve, that minx) have decided -- oo-la-la! -- to tell all," it started (with Nabokov "Lo-lee-ta" promises of linguistic playfulness) and putting the book down was quite possibly the very last thing on my mind.
This book, with it's deceptively uncomplicated give-the-Devil-one-last-shot-at-redemption-and-let-him-tell-you-about-it premise, I want to re-read. I never want to read books a second time. I already know what happens, so what's the point? But I, Lucifer I want to re-read so that I can watch Lucifer luxuriate in the vivid sensations of the human world one more time. I want to experience again the sheer pleasure of listening to Lucifer's arrogant, prideful, hubristic, intelligent, angry, rebellious, cheated, doomed, screwed, curious, philosophical, mischievous, scheming, playful, fun, fierce, sad, pathetic, sympathetic, futile, tragic voice. I want to close the book and think, Ah, right, that's why I read.
I suppose if you're touchy abour religion or have influid ideas about the Bible, you might want to stay away from this book. It is narrated by the Devil. He will offend you. On purpose. But if you're not like that and you, you know, like fun, I highly recommend I, Lucifer. And considering the vast amount of things in the world I think suck, that's something.
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