The Terminator: A novel.

This was it. My favourite childhood book. I was 13 or thereabouts when I somehow convinced mum to buy me this. Let me tell you, IT IS RIVETING! There is not a single wasted sentence. I think it’s around page 54 when the character called Ginger, Sarah Connor’s roommate, is getting busy with her man friend. He begins his descent, she turns up the volume on her sony Walkman (sports model) and I was so pleased to figure out that the volume of music in her ears is actually a metaphor for the volume of pleasure building in her…boom! The door bursts open and The Terminator storms in on his relentless search for Sarah Connor and blows both their brains out. It really is wonderful stuff. A great option for reluctant teenage readers who perhaps just need some action packed encouragement.

6 thoughts on “The Terminator: A novel.”

  1. Oh yeah, and that killing machine on the cover ended up being our governor! Gotta track me down a copy too!

    1. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. Let me know if I was correct on the page number in the write up. Might have been page 60 something now that I think about it.

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