Forget those dream houses you only sell once every fifty years. Forget those happy homes. And screw subtle: cold spots, strange vapors, irritable pets. What she needed was blood running down the walls. She needed ice-cold invisible hands that pull children out of bed at night. She needed blazing red eyes in the dark at the floor of the basement stairs. That and decent curb appeal.
And some more:
People who would never throw litter from their car will drive past you with their radio blaring. People who'd never blow cigar smoke at you in a crowded restaurant will bellow into their cell phone. They'll shout at each other across the space of a dinner plate.
You turn up your music to hide the noise. Other people turn up their music to hide the yours. You turn up yours again. Everyone buys a bigger stereo system. This is the arms race of sound. You don't win with a lot of treble.
This isn't about quality. It's about volume.
This isn't about music. This is about winning.
Some of you will probably ask "what is the book about?" Well, if I told you it's about a real estate agents who sells haunted houses and a reporter to believes that the cause for SIDS is poem in a children's book that might sum up the story but says nothing about the way in which the author has the ability to capture what our society has become.
Needless to say I recommend his work.
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