My Eyes Hurt
On an apparently long hiatus as I try to get through Cheever’s insanely long collection of short stories. It’s been over a month, maybe five since I started this fucking thing. Shooting for mid-Oct to have some more reviews up, if I don’t tear my eyes out from having to read 500 pages of 4 pt font first.
Speaking of squinting, a few of us were at a large party a few years ago. We were in a college town at the time, and this party was good - spilled out all over the lawn and maybe even a quarter of the block. Later in the night, and into the keg, a buddy of mine who was visiting from out of town struck up a conversation with this real dog. I mean, an appearance-challenged person, for you PC types. We thought it was hilarious at first, but then it started to look like he was actually going to go home with her. We made an effort to detour him, but he was having none of any talk of leaving. Well, we had our own things going on so maybe the effort wasn’t all it could be, but we did try.
So he goes home with her, wakes up in the morning, looks over at hear and says, “Uuuuuhhhhhhhhhggggg nooooooo” and covers his eyes.
She wakes up and looks over at him and says, “What’s wrong?”
He says, “My eyes hurt.”
To top his morning off he had lost my number and was in a strange town so he had to wander the downtown area trying to find a visible place where I could find him and pick him up. She tagged along with him, following him everywhere.
I found him on a small hill at the busiest intersection on campus, his head held down, and his new lover at his side. He ran to the car, hopped in, and said “Get the fuck out of here!”
But I had only come across him because I was heading to the record store, which was ten feet away. Sadly, she didn’t follow him into the record store. If she had, this story might have been good. As it is, that’s all I’ve got right now.
Filed Under UncategorizedAmong The Missing
I saw something new by this guy on the bargain shelf at the bookstore two weeks ago, and had to think for a minute before I placed the name. Oh yeah, that is the guy who wrote that ok collection of short stories a while ago, I said to myself.
So, now you know how interesting my inner dialogue is, for one, and you know that this author keeps winding up on the clearance shelf, for two. But don’t get an opinion just yet. I didn’t buy his new book because although I own his previous story collection, I only remember one story from it. But it’s a really good story; so again, don’t give up on Dan Chaon yet. But feel free to give up on my grammar at any time.
Apparently this collection of short stories was published in 2001, but it didn’t show up on the bargain rack until 2005 or 6. This is when I would have noticed it. Authors have to hit clearance prices to show up on my radar. So, I decided to pick this one up because it has a super fancy ass shiny golden seal on the front that says “National Book Award Finalist”, as if that means dick. But, props to the marketing wizards, because I bought it. Nobody can resist shiny shit.
I’m also a sucker for short story collections. After you get past the cover and the first inside 4 pages trying to tell you what a damned genius this guy is and how good the book is, you’ll find some good stories, surprisingly enough. The standout of this collection is Safety Man, which is also the first story of the collection. So, it could be all downhill from there, I don’t remember. Anyway, Safety Man is about a widow who has a blow up doll/test dummy who rides shotgun with her as a criminal deterrent through the big city. She gets an unnatural attachment to it, presumably because her husband is dead. It actually makes for a great read, and though I wouldn’t call it genius, it is damned close.
Unfortunately I can’t remember the rest of the book, and it’s not even due to the one-hitter I had earlier. That just made me hungry, and also made me re-watch season 2 of Frisky Dingo. Which is time well spent. This book may also be time well spent, but I can’t remember. Did I already say that?
3 shots out of 5…that one story is pretty fuckin’ good.
perfect chicken
Parragon Press has spared no expense with this book; it is hardcover and has a multicolor jacket with the word “chicken” presented in some shiny reddish hue that really looks high class and makes the “chicken” stand out above the deceptively unappealing dish featured on the cover. You wouldn’t know it at first, but the disgusting looking dish on the front is on purpose; it is to make you curious - and also to prepare you for the devious plot within. Once you have begun this book, there is no turning back. That is what this cover says.
Parragon, on the inside cover, teases us, eases us, into the novel by describing chicken as “a marvelous ingredient that can be added to pantry staples to make a really impressive dish in almost no time.” This is the soft sell, where they suck you in with rose tinted glasses and promises of burritos and kebabs. But, immediately afterwards, they follow that up with a dark, nearly menacing list of what pantry staples you must have on hand; it is certainly a nightmare for anybody who owns a kitchen. To wit:
“Keep a few packages of long-grain, basmati, and Aborio rice, a selection of dried pasta and noodles, and a range of herbs and spices on hand, and ALL YOU WILL NEED is a few fresh vegetables and some fresh chicken, or frozen chicken thoroughly defrosted, to enable you to create a dish to suit your mood. Other useful ingredients include nuts, coconut milk, canned tomatoes, and perhaps a fresh chile plant - decorative and versatile!”
Basically, they eased you in, only to hit you with the horror twist that you probably have never heard of half of these fucking ingredients you need, PLUS you’ll need to learn how to garden to grow chile plants…and, best of all, you’ll have to search for the recipe that suits your mood! How deviously devilish!
I like how the novel progresses, it was a pleasant enough story through the first few chapters: Appetizers & Salads, and on to Lunch & Light Meals. But it is after these few chapters that things begin to take a dark turn, moving into hearty dishes, noodles, rice, and ultimately, the Index. This story gave me chills from the first mention of hot and violent sounding thai-style chicken chunks, to hainan chicken rice, which spices the plot up with “smashing ginger root” and mentions chili and soy - I was practically shitting my pants with fear!
So, do not miss this book - you can find it at Jo Ann’s Crafts store in the bargain bin for 5 dollars. It is full of surprises and stomach turning tales. On top of that, when have you ever had the daring to pick up, let alone read, a book that didn’t use a single capitalized character in its entirety? That, fine readers, is the epitome of brashness and uniqueness that the literature world needs injected into its anus, like a turkey baster of defiance, saying “I don’t need your rules!”
N/A shots out of 5 - it’s off the scale.
And just for you Phill, I might review Metro Girl by Janet Evanovich next.
Cities of the Red Night
I hate to follow a one shot book with another one, but might as well get Burroughs’ Red Night out of the way. While Burroughs is notoriously difficult to follow as it is, right on the back of the book it says “it is difficult to summarize the novel.” You know what that spells? Toilet paper.
The rest of the review on the back goes on to talk about some virus, but all I remember from reading it is a lot of oddball sex and trying to follow if they were 300 years in the future or on some pirate ship. Which isn’t as awesome as it sounds. It’s interesting to learn there was some kind of plot involved, because between so and so sucking someone off and being completely lost for the entire read, I had no idea.
Go buy Junky by Burroughs and consider your book collection complete as far as this heroin riddled jackass goes. Because that book is excellent, and was the base for Drugstore Cowboy, which is a cult classic heroin film. To this day, I won’t put a hat on a bed after watching that movie. If you’re interested in Naked Lunch, the movie actually does Burroughs justice and is only 2 hours of weird pesticide sniffing. Watch that instead of spending a week trying to decipher his heroin trips.
One lousy shot out of 5
Filed Under Half Assed ReviewsBlack Spring
Going old, old school here, but I read it about 2 months ago. I’m a fan of Miller; he’s a wordy bitch but he makes it worth reading by throwing in some brilliant shit at the end. Usually about how Europe is cooler than the U.S., and women are devious, and he should drink more. All worthy things to mention. Miller did expatriate himself from the U.S. to the smelly, rude French. But I think back in his time they might have been tolerable. Or at least their women liked Americans and were loose, which is better than tolerable. Oh how the French have fallen.
The news on this one isn’t good. Compared to Tropic of Cancer, this book is a waste. I own but have not read Tropic of Capricorn yet, but I can only assume it will be better. Something tells me that I should have bought and read Quiet Days in Clichy instead, because the movie they made of it had a bunch of 70’s dudes walking around Clichy, France, and fucking everything in sight and living on nothing. Now that’s what I want to hear about. Even though that was a reality back then and not so much now. By the way, don’t bother with the fucking movie. It has some great scenery, but also has some totally jackass cast. It also doesn’t have much point, which is probably true to the book, but it doesn’t make for much watching material, where it might make for good reading material. Unless you’re into softcore porn with occasionally hairy women, then by all means knock yourself out.
I did manage to find the hardbound on Ebay for cheap. It’s probably cheap because this is a shitty book of his, and he should be ashamed, except he’s dead, so he probably isn’t. And he probably didn’t give a shit while alive, because people will buy it as the 3rd installment after Cancer, which was actually good. Pass.
1 shot out of 5
101 Reykjavik
Hallgimur Helgason has written the quintessential Gen X book - step aside Douglas Coupland. Based, and written in 1996, it has all kinds of pop references to help push along the thoughts and actions of Hallgrimur’s protagonist, who is in his late 20’s living with his lesbian mother. His protagonist doesn’t give a shit about anything or anybody, and as the book gets going, you’d expect him to change that outlook while everything changes around him. What you expect and what you get are two different things. That is the appeal. I can certainly identify.
But, seriously, his protagonist doesn’t give a fuck; he knocks a girl up and dodges her at every turn, only wants to watch porn and drink and do drugs, (spoiler) fucks his mother’s lesbian lover - who he also knocks up, and does basically crazy shit like most of the people I knew did. But it is ultimately all of his over-the-top exploits, which include fucking a whore and trying to get A.I.D.S., that really send the book home. Hallgrimur does try some kind of witch doctor shit at the end, which is odd and really can be skipped, unless Icelanders are really into that shit and it’s breakout cultural news. However, don’t avoid reading this book because of any minor detraction I find; the wit in use to help propel the story is fucking magnificent, even in 2008. Shit, I wish I’d thought of a lot of the things the author did.
I did talk to the author on email, but all he did was ask me where I lived because he was probably hitting on me. Because I probably sound hot and well spoken on sober email and my name is one of those unisex names, like Pat, except it’s not Pat. So, I wrote these long ass emails, and he asked me where I lived, so that he could, presumably, try to fuck me. I say “presumably,” because I really have no idea why he asked. But anyway, the short result of the emails was that none of his other works have been translated into English, and he does a have a new book coming out, but does not know if that will be translated as Reykjavik was. Bummer, assuming his other books are good, which I asked him if they are, but he did not answer for some reason. Maybe he doesn’t know either.
Getting back to the book, he describes Iceland as a place I’d like to visit, but only if I could live in Reykjavik and experience the small world feel that the locals have, going to their bars, and living in some kind of north pole misery. Sure, that has its appeal, if it’s temporary. Plus I’ve never had sex with an Icelandic girl; maybe they’re all like Bjork and look like cute little wood elves and know magic. Maybe that’s what the witch doctor shit was at the end of this book…Iceland is where all the Leprechauns live in secret. There’s plenty of room for that fetish in the world.
Apparently they made a movie of this shit, but the reviews don’t describe it as following the book much at all, so watch at your own risk. I haven’t; I don’t want to ruin it.
4 shots out of 5
Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim
More of Sedaris‘ personal comedy, with an undressed Barbie doll on the cover for some reason. I’ve read all of Sedaris’ books; they all are hilarious and poignant. He knows how to pin down a situation and extract every ounce of subtle humor and human interaction from it very concisely. A lot of the stories in this qualify for the same, especially the story about his family’s beach house, of which I forget the name and cannot easily find by checking the table of contents. That’s the problem with clever story titles, thanks a lot author, I can’t find the fucking story I wanted to say something about. So, I guess I’ll have to say there’s lots of good ones, but especially one, but I don’t know the name of it through no fault of my own, except that I am lazy. Which is not a fault, it’s a virtue.
You know who else wrote about families with beach houses? John Cheever. I’m reading his short story compilation now, and they all seem to be about suburbanite/wealthy drunk families and their problems. Which is fucking fantastic; Bukowski had the dives, and there’s Cheever to take the other side - those with money who were just as fucked up and drunk. It’s refreshing to read about the drunk wealthy, who are never down and out, but definitely have their own very interesting issues. Instead of worrying about their next paycheck or whore, they’re worried about bashing their own brother’s head in with a rock in the Hamptons.
But I digress.
Sedaris covers his families’ follies with a wit that, admittedly, as a writer, I envy. It’s like this guy has that memory syndrome that makes you remember every day lived and every conversation. Except he’s making it up, but it’s difficult to tell. Because he’s a good writer. Crazy how that works. Unless he really has that syndrome, then he’s just a tracer, like a 5th grader, which makes him a cheater.
A friend also read this book and didn’t think it was all that, so I have to go with the median and give it a 3 out of 5 shots. I laughed a lot. He does have a brand new one out, and I’m too lazy/drunk to walk to the book case to get the title, but it has a skeleton smoking a cigarette on the front, so I’m looking forward to that one. Because skeletons smoking are pretty much the coolest thing ever. I want to get one as a conversation piece for my foyer. And we’ll all stand around, smoking, laughing at the skeleton, not even realizing our own _____.
See, I made an ad lib there. You have about fifty million choices of words to fill in, all of which would fit.
3 out of 5 shots
Perks of Being a Wallflower
This book is being hailed as the new Catcher in the Rye. Is it the Catcher in the Rye for the latest generation? I don’t know, but in that song American Pie when he says “drinking whiskey and rye”, I’m assuming he means some kind of alcohol. It sounds unrefined, like grain alcohol. We used to take Everclear, which is grain alcohol with an ironic name, and pour it into hotel sinks (with Kool Aid) during carnivals and load up on that shit before going out. Most of the time we got in fights or arrested, or even brought girls back to the room. Once I brought one back to the room who was probably 16; thankfully that is legal overseas. Plus, I was young too…anyway - we rolled around smelling of sweat, not the good kind, on a hotel bed with two other passed out drunks. It’s a rosy memory now, mostly because I can’t smell that goddamn sweat, but I guess the point is maybe trying rye out isn’t such a good idea after all.
Oh yeah, I’m reviewing a book, sorry.
Wallflower is about Charlie, a fucked up loner type kid with mental issues, but the book manages to present his thoughts so that they are agreeable, and maybe a lot of his thoughts are a lot of teen thoughts. Being inside Charlie’s head was sometimes familiar, sometimes uncomfortable, and even sometimes beautifully simple. That’s what interested me so much and kept me reading. And sometimes reminiscing…or regretting, depending upon the reminiscent event. For instance, I once had a drunken encounter with a girl named Gretchen in an alley. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but at school the next monday I got a sober look at her, and man, was that ever a mistake. But she was immortalized as Regretchen, which I’m sure helped her popularity out a lot, so it all worked out in the end. In Wallflower there are similar incidents, but Charlie sees them happen, then Chbobsky throws in something that sounds like wisdom. Exactly like what I just explained, except we just made up a great nickname then repeated our mistakes over and over, which is the opposite of wisdom. So, my short summary is that this book is wise.
This book seems to be a part of a trend lately where authors write from the perspective of a simpleton, but the simpleton sees the world in a way that should make the reader go “ah, to be able to look at things that way, how enlightening!” Except the world is not that simple, so these books are lies. But they are pretty, pretty lies. This book is a gumbo of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, Steve Martin’s The Pleasure of my Company, and the aforementioned Catcher in the Rye. The mash-up works surprisingly well for a filthy coming-of-age lie.
4 out of 5 shots
Filed Under Half Assed Reviews