THE COOL KID'S GUIDE TO READING: The battle lines are drawn, and spoken

You feel a different way when you read the word beguile than when you read the word dupe.

It's because your brain cells react to sound quicker than meaning. Not too much quicker, since those mite fiends are arriba arriba, andale andale fast. But quicker enough to feel.

Max Barry uses that fact in "Lexicon," a novel about a war fought not with bombs or guns, but with words.

And if stop you hesitated even an instant when you just unexpectedly encountered the word stop, you have an idea how the weapons in the book work.

A secret organization (secret, but run out of a big building in a big city with a street-accessible entrance) trains its fighters to use certain words in a certain order to gain mind-control over certain people and then have them ...

Do. Your. Bidding.

I normally don't review books in this column. I prefer to write about the column itself. Or about myself -- with the occasional mention of Mrs. Cool Kid. You know, to keep peace on the prairie.

I'm making an exception here because you, sir and/or/if ma'am, are exceptional. Besides, how often do you run across a novel where language is used as a wedgie?

I miss wedgies. The two things I miss most about childhood are wedgies and the belief in quicksand.

"Lexicon" has more twists and turns than the neighborhoods around Rivoli. It's even more thrilling than this sentence. But not, natch, as thrilling as this one: OH GOD, FRANKENSTEIN'S COBALT ROTTWEILER JUST GOT HIMSELF A PAYDAY LOAN!

But I'm not giving you anymore plot. Or pachinkos. Or pudding. I don't want to ruin the novel's surprises, and -- let's face it -- you didn't eat your meat.

ADDENDUM

Actually, I don't have anything else. I just like the way addendum sounds.

To contact writer Randy Waters, call 744-4240 or email rwaters@macon.com.

This story was originally published March 19, 2016 at 8:39 PM with the headline "THE COOL KID'S GUIDE TO READING: The battle lines are drawn, and spoken ."