Grant could tell that Ben was a little hurt.
"No, I don't mean that you would suck as a governor," Grant explained. "You'd be great. It's just that-"
"It would be insane to think I could ever be governor," Ben said after snapping back into reality. "I was just playing with you." Ben was in part of the yard that the neighbors couldn't see, and he took a big piss.
"Hey look, the governor's pissing in his yard, Ben yelled. They laughed so hard it hurt. Grant would remember Governor Ben pissing in his yard for years. There was something about it that he couldn't get out of his mind. It was like the path. It was like he was seeing the future, but he wasn't. It was hard to explain.
So here's a person who has decided to write a book without an iota of writing ability. I've read books from individuals like this before - this is the age of self-publishing, after all. In some cases, that turns out all right, as a solid, lifelong reader can often feel his way through a story simply by trusting in the echoes of those pieces of writing he has admired throughout his life. In Glen Tate's case, however, the book turns out to be rubbish. I'm guessing that Mr. Tate doesn't do a lot of reading in his spare time because his prose is appallingly unskillful. Strike one.
Secondly, there's a bit of a shell game going on here. The book actually contains very little in the way of useful prepper knowledge outside of accounts of Tate's gun and food purchases. There are so many important prepper skills and plans that will be necessary in a national emergency that the protagonist omits in favor of weekend target practice. In a way, this book is more of a "how not to get prepared for a world crisis" book or a "how to think you're preparing for a crisis when, in fact, you're actually catering to your preadolescent fantasies." Strike Two.
The final nail in the coffin is the tone of the writing. The main character is someone I don't think I could stand to be around for five minutes, as he is always complaining and labeling those around him as pieces of shit and sheeple, looking at the world he lives in with a viewpoint of "there are the few people who get what's really going on and then there are the idiots." When I read the work of Ayn Rand last year, I was blown away with how her stories border on allegory in the way her characters are depicted in such stark moral or villainous ways. Rand described this as a "romantic" style, as a way of accounting for the unreality she established in her stories. Reading Tate's story, however, I'm wondering now if it's just a natural inclination for writers on the far right to view the world in this polarized manner. Have they no close friends whose views they may disagree with, but whom they respect simply for the purity of their convictions? Here in Montana, we have a strong mixture of liberals and conservatives, and I think there is a lot of listening, a lot of discussion, and a lot of mutual respect of differing views. I think Mr. Tate is a bitter man, and that bitterness poisons his writing. It's impossible for me to understand how he can espouse a Christian faith whose principal doctrines are the turning of the cheek, the loving of one's neighbor, the selfless care for the poor, peace, and forgiveness.
I strongly value books and reading in my life and believe firmly in seeing a book through to its conclusion. That being said, I put down 299 Days: The Preparation and have no plans of finishing it anytime soon. It's not worth the pain.