Kip and the Prism return to their army's flagship, where an enraged Andross berates the Prism for marrying Karris and a host of other offenses, claiming to have begun the process of unseating him. Kip, meanwhile, recognizes this as the scene in the card, and Andross as a red wight. In a sudden, fierce confrontation, Kip briefly stabs Andross with his dagger, before a brawl develops. The Prism briefly considers killing Kip in order to retrieve the knife before Andross can, but instead stabs himself with it before diving off the ship. Kip jumps after him.
The strangeness of the story comes from its transgression. It inverts all our cultural expectations. Here is a man in 2020 writing about the knife-fight-cum-romp of his parents, the fist fight between father and son for honour and domination, a literal pissing contest, theft as virtue and getting caught as sin, endless wanking in a bathtub in regional Australia and the glamorous never-showering-alone lifestyle of a global superstar. There is no apologia. There is a wink to every line, a grin in every pause. But nor is this a gonzo romp or a Tucker Max adolescent fantasy. McConaughey is a real man with real aspirations. His memoir reads like he\u2019s telling you \u2014 just you \u2014 a rollicking story at a bar, pausing to reflect seriously on things that are serious: on meeting the love of his life, the complexity of marriage, the ineffable joy of fatherhood.1
Around and around they went, until finally, Mom\u2019s frustration turned to fatigue. Now covered in ketchup, she dropped the knife on the floor, stood straight, and began to wipe her tears and catch her breath.
The power of the audiobook may be partly to blame: like podcasts they trick you into false intimacy with the host. He\u2019s only speaking to you over a beer or a campfire, the medium tricks your monkey brain into thinking. 2b1af7f3a8