A Momentary Taste of Being

From very early on in the novel: "Somewhere along the line I knew there'd be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me." Kerouac argued that his novel was not an encouragement to much of what followed him, but rather a quest, a quest for a kind of religious salvation.

from Book of Sketches Jack Kerouac   Ah Neal--the shaggy whiteface cows are arranged in stooped   dejected feed, necks   bent, upon the earth   that has a several mood under several   skies & openings--Ah   the sad dry Land ground   that's open between grasses whip't bald by the endless Winds--   the clouds are bunched up on the Divide of the horizon, are shining   upon they city--the little fences are lonely-- The commentary made in a journal entry on an earlier passage works as well for this: There is about this a poetic naivete that is endearing because it is undemanding. The lines break where the lines break without much thought of rule or order or consequence or meaning or rhythm or any of the other guiding lights of well-considered poetry--and yet because it lacks these almost by design, it has an kind of swinging, free and open rhythm--a movement all its own and not replicable without trying and trying ...

Saying so long to Irene with a sigh of relief and a prayer for those in the path--especially family members and Jane A poem

Ready Player One is light science fiction romp through the pop culture--movies, games, and music of the 1980's.  It seems that in the post energy crisis world, the only way to get away from the poverty and nastiness that is living in the "stacks"  (think trailer park piled vertically) is to slip into the OASIS--an immersive virtual reality experience that is the place most kids get their education.  Our hero, 18 at the start of the story is about to graduate virutal high school and spends most of his life wrapped up in the realities created by the OASIS mastermind. But the mastermind has died and he has left behind a fortune to go to the lucky gamer who can find the "easter egg" embedded in his most elaborate game.  The world is full of skilled gamers, all of whom work toward the prize.  And among these gamers are a group of corporate stooges who want to seize the OASIS and start charging a monthly fee for its use--a fee most present users can't afford to...

Hammered is the third in the Iron Druid series, and as with others in the series presents a lively fast-paced story featuring everyone's favorite druid, his disciple, a vampire, a wereworld, and the Russian Thunder-god.  Yep--Russian thunder God, along with the Finnish national hero and several others. The story this time around.  Well, there was this werewolf and this vampire see and they had a thing about the Norse Thunder god and wanted to get back at him for having been wronged so very many years ago so they got together with this druid who rode on the back of the squirrel that runs up and down the world tree. . . No, you just have to read it.  A light, bright, quick afternoon indulgence. ****

A Week in Boston--and it appears I am in luck.  The Isabel Stewart Gardner museum has extended hours on the third Thursday of each Month, so I may be able to get there this trip.  We're heading out for the Boston Museum of Fine Arts after work this evening.

I must start by admitting a terrible prejudice.  I came to this book half in dread--part of which was caused by the cover--which, as you can see bears the mark of a period romance.  And I suppose that there is that element of the book as we shall discover.  But a further, and far more terrible strike against it (in my fevered imagination) is its publisher Bethany House--renowned as a Christian press and purveyor of the most vapid and terrible fiction imaginable--all in the name of Christian art. Well, yes, I did read one bad book from Bethany House before I picked up this one.  And yes, it was so terrible that I picked this one up three times before I committed to it.  But the subject matter of this one was so compelling, so utterly interesting and involving, that I was compelled to pick it up.  No matter how terrible, no matter how fierce-bad, I had to read it because it is about one of those fascinating figure in history--half hidden and fully revealed...

This month's free book promises to be quite interesting: Spiral Jetta: A Road Trip through the Land Art of the America West Eric Hogan I stopped at one tourist attraction, Hole n” the Rock, about fifteen miles south of Moab. Though its curious punctuation might suggest that it boasts both a hole and a rock, the site is actually a hole in a rock, excavated by its owner in the 1940s and 1950s. Albert Christensen—painter, sculptor, taxidermist—sandblasted and carved his way into the rock, eventually building a five-thousand-square-foot home for himself, his wife Gladys, her doll collection, and his taxidermy menagerie. It took him twelve years, from 1945 to 1957, to move about fifty thousand cubic feet of sandstone for their cozy lair. The result is an appealing—albeit dark—suite of rooms that stay cool during the summer and warm during the winter. Albert also found the time to carve the smiling face of fdr into the side of their home (visible in the photo, outlined in white benea...

at Shirt of Flame, I came across this woman who deserves to be remembered and imitated: Irene Sendler

From earliest youth I have loved the work of Salvidor Dali.  Here is a film started in 1946 and finished . . . later. The continual chain of transformation is just gorgeous. What a fascinating specimen of mind gives rise to so interesting a series of transformations.

Stolen, not borrowed, because it struck me as powerful, meaningful, and useful. God does not die on the day when we cease to believe in a personal deity, but we die on the day when our lives cease to be illumined by the steady radiance, renewed daily, of a wonder, the source of which is beyond all reason. -  Dag  Ha mmarskjöld , born on this date in 1905 Books inq. 

No, I'm not starting my caroling in July; however, it seemed appropriate for the news I'm about to share:  recently I received word that a collaborative novel we had been shopping around for some time has sold and should be published about the middle of next year.  Needless to say, I am utterly delighted having long relegated this novel to the ranks of those that would be published upon the advent of my next, more successful endeavor!

Literary criticism is the sincerest form of fiction.  It wasn't actually this book that inspired the thought, but it helped to carry the thought to its fruition--I was reading a book on Ulysses by one of the great Joyce scholars and thought what an elaborate array of fictive devises had been invented to explain what essentially needs no explanation.  Literary criticism was the predecessor (and now shares the domain with) fan fiction. I'll elaborate more on that point at another time--but for now let's consider Wendell Berry's book on William Carlos Williams.  What I profoundly admired in this book was not so much the image of Williams or of Williams's poetry that comes forth (upon reading the book I did not/do not feel inspired to run out and try to push myself--once again--through the book-length maundering Paterson ) but some of the observations about literature, life, and writing that occur along the way.  For example from The Poetry of William Carlos Willia...

Jim Thompson is king of the boozy, bleak, late noir.  I thought I had read this one before, but nothing about it seemed familiar even while all of the tropes of the noir genre and particularly of the provocative pulp noir raised their unholy heads in the course of the story.  Lou Ford is a deputy sheriff with a secret--a bunch of secrets.  And he spends the book accumulating more--a lot more.  He is the essence of the smiling sociopath blithely plotting his way to freedom even though he knows, as one of the characters says, "It's always lightest just before the dark."  His smiling persona has leaks--people see past the mask frequently.  As brilliant as he thinks he is, he can't keep what he does hidden and the story reaches exactly the type of noir climax you would expect. Taut, terse, in parts brilliant--written in a cool, clear voice that at once plays on one's nerves and shows the bumpkin leading the yokels.  In short, a powerful noir work fro...

Another frothy, light excursion into Celtic (and other mythology).  Interesting takes on appearances of the Blessed Virgin--a fight with Nazi-witches and with Bacchants--and if you aren't familiar with the latter, let me tell you--not a group to tangle with.  Our intrepid hero battles to keep Tempe, Mesa, and Phoenix a Fae-free zone as well as to preserve the indigenous supernatural life against attempted invasions from outside. A lark and a fast read.  So nice that now I find myself waiting for the third-- Hammered in which our hero battles Thor.  (Practically the only thing nearly everyone in any patheon agrees upon is that Thor is definitely the worst of the worst.) Recommended--****

Little posting--vacationing in one of the loveliest areas of the Eastern Seaboard--the Shendandoah valley about 15 miles from Harper's Ferry.  But two books reviewed--perhaps in a moment.

The University of Chicago Press is publishing more e-books--this time a group of mysteries about which I had been wondering just recently.  You can get Robert van Gulik's The Chinese Maze Murders for free. To call van Gulik's mysteries concerning the apparently real Judge Dee magisterial is a gross understatement.  They are unmatched for their sheer interest and oddity in the annals of crime. I am, however, puzzled by the match in cost between the paperback edition and the e-book.  I do understand that there is a price point below which e-books are not viable--but there must be a substantial cost differential between supplying the ephemeral e-book and supplying the permanent paper, ink, and glue book.  This saving should, in part be passed on to the consumer.  However, I also recognize that here are hidden costs, especially with DRM deliveries.  What I would love to see is cost analysis of the two.

Meet Atticus O'Sullivan, the last druid--no, real druid.  The pull-power from the earth and work magical things kind of druid.  Atticus lives in the town of Tempe Arizona--a place he has chosen because there is no easy way for member of the Fae to find him.  And that is just fine with Atticus because his relations with the Fae are, shall we say, tenuous. Atticus runs a new-age book shop and herb/tea story in town.  He has fixed the place up with all the latest accessories in cold iron (to keep away the unwanted fae and most other magical charms).  But Atticus has a pretty huge problem.  Despite his close relationship with The Morrigan (Choser of the Dead in Battle) he has managed to earn the emnity of a few of the powerful members of the Tuatha de Danaan--the Celtic Pantheon.  Chief among these are Aengus Og, the Celtic God of Love.  (Once you meet him, you'll have no doubt about why the Irish have always gotten along as well as they have.) Ob...

Well, I'm pleased to report that I finally pushed my way through my first (and very likely last) P. G. Wodehouse novel.  I've read selected shorts here and there and always wanted to attempt a novel.  Now, with the backing and help of my book group, I've done so--a milestone accomplishment. However, I fear the task was accomplished with dismal results.  My report will not tickle the ears of many, because I found Wodehouse the literary equivalent of the Three Stooges when I was hoping for the Marx Brothers.  Reading through this story of mixed up identities at the house of the fearsome Aunts, I was constantly amused and frequently dismayed.  Dismayed, because it seemed that every line strained so hard to amuse, tried so hard to be funny, worked feverishly to entertain, with the net result that the entertainment value, for me, was diminished.  And perhaps the most telling point of all--Jeeves and his actions occupies all of about twenty pages in the entire ...

Smugopedia--Pretend you Know Better The intro blurb is worth the price of admission.