You know, because the author is a douche. And I can separate the man from the work to some degree. Like, ignoring the fact that Kanye West is more than likely a sociopath or a psychopath, definitely an @sshole and an egomaniac. Because songs like “I wish you would” are crazy. The entire My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy record was stupid good. Really. And I don’t really think Kanye can’t perfectly relate to his own message with “New Slaves,” but “Black Skinhead” is a bit genius. And The Weeknd is definitely a womanizer, or pretending to be. But his sadistic streak is entrancing. He can make music, he can. Lana Del Rey is happy with being the other woman, drifting from man to man and literally dying and hurting herself for love. For men. Or so she portrays. But her voice is distinctive and addictive. She’s a beautiful and heartbreaking storyteller.
But when you beat a woman, or bury dozens of dead dogs on your property that you killed personally and otherwise; when you’re cruel or misogynistic or homophobic or racist, there has to be a line drawn.
Why wouldn’t that apply to when you oppose same-sex marriage with such a vehemence that your bigotry is straight up glaring and gross and disgusting to behold/be aware of? It does. It really apples. It applies a lot, man.
I would never buy a thing of Orson Scott Card’s. I wouldn’t even buy anything associated with him, because despite The Verge reporting that he isn’t getting even $1 for the film, he’s getting AMAZING advertisement. Which is why his books are selling better than ever (I think–NYT best seller list).
A coworker gave me a copy of the book earlier this year. I still haven’t cracked the cover. I’m trying to think of a way to explain that even reading it is more than I’m willing to give Card. My time is worth more than that, no matter who claims it’s a classic. There are many classics I haven’t read. I’m sure I can find one with a considerate and kind author to read.