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Alex Eviscerates The Bourne Legacy: Chapter Three
All riiiight. Happy Yule, everyone, I've got a good wassail buzz going, and I'm ready to hit the next part of what will undoubtedly be an enormous fucking shitshow.
LET'S GET STARTED!
Oh boy, time to be further introduced to our shit-nobody-cares-about villain, Stepan Spalko.
A Composition in Heliotrope: 6
Suck it, Trebek.
Oh, and immediately after, we get this little gem: "He had come around from behind his huge desk to sit on an upholstered chair facing the very dark-skinned Kenyan president."
Emphasis mine. Like. WOW! AMAZING! WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO ADD THAT ADJECTIVE??
Oh, wait, we all know why.
How Are You This Racist?!: 14
And of course since he's the president he has to be a direct descendant of Jomo Kenyatta. We are provided with more superfluous information about him because EVL is trying really really hard to show that he did some research, but bro, him being a Kikuyu, which is the largest-- oh, COME ON!
"The president's name was Jomo and he was a Kikuyu, the largest ethnic tribe of Kenya,"
Tribe. Tribe. T R I B E.
Not only did he copypasta the first clause of a wikipedia article into his book - nice research skills, buddy! - he sure did just have to call an entire ethnic group a "tribe".
How Are You This Racist?!: 15
All white people are now from the Tribe of Caucasia. I HAVE SPOKEN.
I'm going to add a point here for the redundancy of "ossified into stone" in a description.
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 5
As opposed to what? Raspberry Jell-O?
And...oh, no. Oh, good god. Guys, hold on to your butts. The racism count's only going up from here.
Mkay, mkay, mkay. With the three minutes of Googling I've done to make sure he's not pulling this entirely out of his well-lubricated asshole (I hope it's well-lubricated, because there are so many Ass Pulls in this book, if it's not I seriously wonder how he's not dead of a ruptured colon), I've found records of the githathi, sure.
From an issue of the Journal of the Royal African Society, from 19-fucking-11. Second-to-last result on the first page? This fucking book.
So, let's see. Accounting for the giving of an important ceremonial artifact to the oh-so-generous white man, the description of the Barbaric African Rituals, and the PRESIDENT OF FUCKING KENYA "ALMOST SHYLY" PRESENTING AN IMPORTANT CEREMONIAL ARTIFACT FROM HIS HOME VILLAGE TO THE MIGHTY WHITEY?!
How Are You This Racist?!: 18
Fuck off.
And to make it even better:
Yeah. Let's up that again.
How Are You This Racist?!: 19
Because ooooh, the white man knows so muuuuch about the secret African rituals! Fuck off.
The wassail's making me feisty, it seems.
Guys, I'm literally one page into this chapter. Just so you're all aware.
More posturing because oh how humanitarian is our villain, what a diabolical man, ooh, doing so much for the AIDS epidemic, but it turns out that little present is just the Kenyan president buttering him up, because they need more pharmaceuticals to fight the disease.
Fucking go to ThreeBees, they're less sinister than this guy, and that's saying something. (Protip: Not usually a good idea to make me think of better books that I'd rather be reading than this one. Maybe I'll have some nice le Carré as a palate-cleanser later.) Anyway, since apparently Humanistas is the only fucking charity in the world, the president of AN ENTIRE COUNTRY is browbeaten by this douchecanoe into giving him three days' unrestricted access to Kenyan airspace.
Yes, you read that right. No customs, no immigration, no inspections - and he's asking this as a personal favor! Jesus, this guy could be smuggling drugs or guns, engaging in human trafficking, plotting a terrorist coup...no way is this going to happen. No way would this ever happen in real life. That's literally asking a country to give up its territorial sovereignty to you, a private citizen who isn't even from that country! Who is literally holding the health and well-being of its people hostage!
Of course it happens.
Because The Plot Says So: 6
Christ on skates, I hate this book.
Next, we're introduced to Ethan Hearn, who is "a highly successful fundraiser" and "well connected among the rich and elite of Europe". Also, he's "articulate, personable, and empathetic - in short, a born humanitarian".
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 4
Cool story bro.
Anyway, Hearn's given the tour so that we're given the tour. There are laboratories, and an accounting department, and a fucking motor pool "full of private jets, transport planes, ships, and helicopters". So, neat.
STATE TRANSITION! And then we meet the Director of Central Intelligence. His name is Kurt. He is called the DCI, or the Old Man. If I remember rightly, he never gets an actual full name. He's putting together a wargaming model of a Revolutionary War soldier (you can't try and convince me he's not painting Warhammer, dammit), and getting annoyed at his wife for telling him to answer the phone.
Dammit, I'm just so salty about all of this. You know who's a character who actually has history with Alex? Dimitri Krupkin. You know who we never see? Yeah...I thought so.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 29
That's for Kruppie, you bastard.
His fist "hammered the tin soldier into a cripple" because, symbolism, you see, and he finally picks up the fucking phone. About time, Kurt, Jesus.
There's an update from Pisshead - I mean, Lindros - and Lindros informs him that Bourne-Sue is on the loose, five days before the terrorism summit. Tick. Tick. Tick. And apparently, the CIA has jurisdiction on this case, because they muscled out state and local law enforcement, and the FBI.
THE CIA HAS NO LAW ENFORCEMENT CAPABILITIES AND NO DOMESTIC JURISDICTION, DICKLESS!!!
Because The Plot Says So: 7
I've known this since I was twelve. Jesus, seriously, this could have been made much easier on all of us by having his self-insert be FBI instead of CIA, that would have, you know, actually maybe made things interesting, except that Martin Lindros is as interesting as a piece of saran wrap.
We also have a Bureaucratic Enemy, Roberta Alonzo-Ortiz, the National Security Advisor. "And these days, she was running the show."
Oh, what's this here? What's this? What?
No shit, dickless.
(He can't complain, because "DCI" is no longer an actual position, there's "DNI" (Director of National Intelligence), who actually does run this town, and the "D/CIA", who is the Director of the CIA, and is who EVL is clearly talking about. Dickless.)
In conclusion:
I'm going to get some more wassail, because that big steaming turd of failure mercifully marked the end. Time to drink until I can't feel feelings anymore.
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 4
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 5
A Composition in Heliotrope: 5
Physics? What Physics?: 2
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 29
Because The Plot Says So: 7
How Are You This Racist?!: 19
'80s Ninja Choreography: 1
LET'S GET STARTED!
Oh boy, time to be further introduced to our shit-nobody-cares-about villain, Stepan Spalko.
Humanistas, Ltd., an international human-rights organization known the world over for its worldwide humanitarian and relief work, was headquartered on the deep green western slope of Gellért Hill in Budapest. From this magnificent vantage point, Stepan Spalko, peering through the huge angled plate-glass windows, imagined the Danube and the entire city genuflecting at his feet....I'm not feeling generous (my wassail buzz is not making me THAT forgiving), so:
A Composition in Heliotrope: 6
Suck it, Trebek.
Oh, and immediately after, we get this little gem: "He had come around from behind his huge desk to sit on an upholstered chair facing the very dark-skinned Kenyan president."
Emphasis mine. Like. WOW! AMAZING! WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO ADD THAT ADJECTIVE??
Oh, wait, we all know why.
How Are You This Racist?!: 14
And of course since he's the president he has to be a direct descendant of Jomo Kenyatta. We are provided with more superfluous information about him because EVL is trying really really hard to show that he did some research, but bro, him being a Kikuyu, which is the largest-- oh, COME ON!
"The president's name was Jomo and he was a Kikuyu, the largest ethnic tribe of Kenya,"
Tribe. Tribe. T R I B E.
Not only did he copypasta the first clause of a wikipedia article into his book - nice research skills, buddy! - he sure did just have to call an entire ethnic group a "tribe".
How Are You This Racist?!: 15
All white people are now from the Tribe of Caucasia. I HAVE SPOKEN.
I'm going to add a point here for the redundancy of "ossified into stone" in a description.
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 5
As opposed to what? Raspberry Jell-O?
And...oh, no. Oh, good god. Guys, hold on to your butts. The racism count's only going up from here.
He held in his lap a long, polished box of deepgrained bubinga wood. Almost shyly, he presented the box to Spalko. "With the heartfelt blessings of the Kenyan people, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. President. You are too kind," Spalko said graciously.
"The kindness is surely yours, sir." Jomo watched with keen interest as Spalko opened the box. Inside was a flat-bladed knife and a stone, more or less oval in shape, with a flattish bottom and top.
"My God, this isn't a githathi stone, is it?"
"It is, indeed, sir," Jomo said with obvious delight. "It is from my birth village, from the kiama to which I still belong."
Spalko knew Jomo was referring to the council of elders. The githathi was of great value to tribal members. When a dispute arose within the council that could not otherwise be settled, an oath was taken on this stone. Spalko gripped the knife's handle, which was carved from carnelian. It, too, had a ritualistic purpose. In cases of life or death disputes, the blade of this knife was first heated, then laid onto the tongues of the disputants. The extent of the tongues' subsequent blistering determined their guilt or innocence.
Mkay, mkay, mkay. With the three minutes of Googling I've done to make sure he's not pulling this entirely out of his well-lubricated asshole (I hope it's well-lubricated, because there are so many Ass Pulls in this book, if it's not I seriously wonder how he's not dead of a ruptured colon), I've found records of the githathi, sure.
From an issue of the Journal of the Royal African Society, from 19-fucking-11. Second-to-last result on the first page? This fucking book.
So, let's see. Accounting for the giving of an important ceremonial artifact to the oh-so-generous white man, the description of the Barbaric African Rituals, and the PRESIDENT OF FUCKING KENYA "ALMOST SHYLY" PRESENTING AN IMPORTANT CEREMONIAL ARTIFACT FROM HIS HOME VILLAGE TO THE MIGHTY WHITEY?!
How Are You This Racist?!: 18
Fuck off.
And to make it even better:
"I wonder, though, Mr. President," Spalko said with the hint of an impish tone, "whether the githathi comes from your kiama or your njama."
Jomo laughed, a rumble deep in his throat that made his small ears quiver. It was so rare he had cause to laugh these days. He could not remember the last time. "So you have heard of our secret councils, have you, sir? I would say your knowledge of our customs and lore is formidable, indeed."
Yeah. Let's up that again.
How Are You This Racist?!: 19
Because ooooh, the white man knows so muuuuch about the secret African rituals! Fuck off.
The wassail's making me feisty, it seems.
Guys, I'm literally one page into this chapter. Just so you're all aware.
More posturing because oh how humanitarian is our villain, what a diabolical man, ooh, doing so much for the AIDS epidemic, but it turns out that little present is just the Kenyan president buttering him up, because they need more pharmaceuticals to fight the disease.
Fucking go to ThreeBees, they're less sinister than this guy, and that's saying something. (Protip: Not usually a good idea to make me think of better books that I'd rather be reading than this one. Maybe I'll have some nice le Carré as a palate-cleanser later.) Anyway, since apparently Humanistas is the only fucking charity in the world, the president of AN ENTIRE COUNTRY is browbeaten by this douchecanoe into giving him three days' unrestricted access to Kenyan airspace.
Yes, you read that right. No customs, no immigration, no inspections - and he's asking this as a personal favor! Jesus, this guy could be smuggling drugs or guns, engaging in human trafficking, plotting a terrorist coup...no way is this going to happen. No way would this ever happen in real life. That's literally asking a country to give up its territorial sovereignty to you, a private citizen who isn't even from that country! Who is literally holding the health and well-being of its people hostage!
Of course it happens.
Because The Plot Says So: 6
Christ on skates, I hate this book.
Next, we're introduced to Ethan Hearn, who is "a highly successful fundraiser" and "well connected among the rich and elite of Europe". Also, he's "articulate, personable, and empathetic - in short, a born humanitarian".
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 4
Cool story bro.
Besides which, he genuinely liked Hearn. He reminded him of himself when he was young, before the incident that had burned off half the skin of his face.
Anyway, Hearn's given the tour so that we're given the tour. There are laboratories, and an accounting department, and a fucking motor pool "full of private jets, transport planes, ships, and helicopters". So, neat.
STATE TRANSITION! And then we meet the Director of Central Intelligence. His name is Kurt. He is called the DCI, or the Old Man. If I remember rightly, he never gets an actual full name. He's putting together a wargaming model of a Revolutionary War soldier (you can't try and convince me he's not painting Warhammer, dammit), and getting annoyed at his wife for telling him to answer the phone.
The phone continued to ring in its mechanical, monotonous fashion and the DCI gritted his teeth, as if the sound was abrasive. What marvelous deeds had been accomplished in the days when he and Alex had been young! The mission inside Russia when they had almost landed in the Lubyanka, running the Berlin Wall, extracting secrets from the Staasi, vetting the defector from the KGB in the Vienna safe house, discovering that he was a double. The killing of Bernd, their longtime contact, the compassion with which they had told his wife that they would take care of Bernd's son Dieter, take him back to America, put him through college. They had done precisely that and had been rewarded for their generosity. Dieter had never returned to his mother. Instead, he had joined the Agency, had for many years been the director of the Science & Technology Directorate until the fatal motorcycle accident.Funny...he never mentioned you.
Dammit, I'm just so salty about all of this. You know who's a character who actually has history with Alex? Dimitri Krupkin. You know who we never see? Yeah...I thought so.
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 29
That's for Kruppie, you bastard.
His fist "hammered the tin soldier into a cripple" because, symbolism, you see, and he finally picks up the fucking phone. About time, Kurt, Jesus.
There's an update from Pisshead - I mean, Lindros - and Lindros informs him that Bourne-Sue is on the loose, five days before the terrorism summit. Tick. Tick. Tick. And apparently, the CIA has jurisdiction on this case, because they muscled out state and local law enforcement, and the FBI.
THE CIA HAS NO LAW ENFORCEMENT CAPABILITIES AND NO DOMESTIC JURISDICTION, DICKLESS!!!
Because The Plot Says So: 7
I've known this since I was twelve. Jesus, seriously, this could have been made much easier on all of us by having his self-insert be FBI instead of CIA, that would have, you know, actually maybe made things interesting, except that Martin Lindros is as interesting as a piece of saran wrap.
We also have a Bureaucratic Enemy, Roberta Alonzo-Ortiz, the National Security Advisor. "And these days, she was running the show."
Oh, what's this here? What's this? What?
No shit, dickless.
(He can't complain, because "DCI" is no longer an actual position, there's "DNI" (Director of National Intelligence), who actually does run this town, and the "D/CIA", who is the Director of the CIA, and is who EVL is clearly talking about. Dickless.)
In conclusion:
I'm going to get some more wassail, because that big steaming turd of failure mercifully marked the end. Time to drink until I can't feel feelings anymore.
EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 4
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 5
A Composition in Heliotrope: 5
Physics? What Physics?: 2
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 29
Because The Plot Says So: 7
How Are You This Racist?!: 19
'80s Ninja Choreography: 1