.: Ken Wohlrob's Toilet :.

Obama the Antichrist?

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 00:55:00 +0000

Well, that's what the dickheads at Cloud Ten Pictures want the unstable followers of Tim LaHaye's Left Behind series and End-of-Days theories to think.

The news media has quickly pounced on the idea of Barack Obama being the next FDR (Franklin Delano Roosevelt for my non-American friends). I decided to look up some of the articles on the topic and typed "obama fdr" into Google. Once the search results loaded up, I saw a sponsored headline that stated "Obama the Antichrist?" (as you can see from the close-up of the screen shot). This was followed by the text "No. But maybe closer than you think." You can view the full screen shot by clicking on the image to the left.

After clicking on the headline link, I was taken to the official page for the direct-to-video feature, Left Behind: World at War, starring Kirk Cameron and Louis Gossett Jr. Wait, I stand corrected, it was "premiered," to use that term loosely, in churches before its direct to video release.

What's interesting was that after the dust-up over McCain's "The One" campaign ad, a storm of theories erupted amongst the End-of-Dazers claiming that Obama shared a lot of similarities to the antichrist in LaHaye's left behind series. So much so, that LaHaye issued a press release denying that Obama could possibly be the antichrist.

"'I can see by the language he uses why people think he could be the antichrist,' adds LaHaye, 'but from my reading of scripture, he doesn't meet the criteria. There is no indication in the Bible that the antichrist will be an American.'"

Right, the antichrist can't possibly be an American. The bible says so (even if America wasn't around when it was written). So he'll probably be Norwegian. They love black metal.

In spite of that public denial, it seems like producers of the film want to capitalize on the absurd belief that Obama might be the antichrist. You have to give Cloud Ten and the Left Behind creators (including LaHaye who approves all this nonsense) some credit. They know their paranoid, hypochondriac audience very well. They don't usually vote Democrat. And a black president who speaks with a vocabulary greater than their own must seem like the antichrist to white folks living in rural and suburban areas. Don't believe me? Google "barack obama, antichrist, left behind". You'll see some really scary shit then. Hooray for America.

Vinyl Find: The Birthday Party and Lydia Lunch Split EP

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 00:52:00 +0000

Kim's Video in the East Village has really beefed up their vinyl inventory as of late and I've found three or four good finds in the past several weeks. The latest score was this fantastic split EP from the Birthday Party and Lydia Lunch, circa 1982. Side A, featuring The Birthday Party, is absolutely amazing. You couldn't ask for a better title -- "Drunk on the Pope's Blood." And it lives up to its subtitle "16 minutes of sheer hell!" You can literally feel the sweat from the walls of The Venue in London where Side A was originally recorded. The Birthday Party are on fire during the four songs, with Nick Cave in his younger, more visceral style that alternated between gut-wrenching screams and poetic shouting. After hearing the great renditions of "Zoo Music Girl" and "King Ink," as well as the over-the-top cover of The Stooges "Loose," it makes me really regret never being able to see The Birthday Party live.

All Hail the Encyclopedia of Punk

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 12:38:00 +0000

It was with great pride that I was able to witness fellow Blacksmith for Literary Progress Brian Cogan host a reading and Q&A in honor of the release of his new book, The Encyclopedia of Punk

A big crowd of people showed up at the Barnes & Noble in Park Slope, where Brian fielded questions, read a few select chunks of the book, and signed copies.

The Encyclopedia of Punk has been a labor of love for Brian, who released the first version of the book as an academic title a year or two ago. This new version is stunning, with due credit going to designer Phil Yarnall who did an amazing job on the layout. It is also quite comprehensive, covering all the usual suspects, but also digging very deep into obscure bands and scenes that most of us had forgotten about. On the way home, I ticked off about twenty more bands that I had yet to discover.

If you have any interest at all in punk's impact on the world, do go pick it up. You won't be disappointed.

Here are a few shots for your ocular amusement.

Hey Kids, It's Generic Action Figure!

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 13:19:00 +0000

Only in America would they sell a generic action figure. Just another anonymous guy with an M-16 ready to die for something. But why give him a name? He'll be dead soon enough. They could've included the anonymous tombstone with "John Doe" inscribed on it. Dalton Trumbo would've loved this.

Of course, you do have to feel bad for the kid whose parents bought this as a birthday present. Kind of hard to roll up on your friends while they're playing with Transformers or G.I. Joes and you break out... ACTION FIGURE! Sing along now kids:

ACTION FIGURE!
He's a gun for hire that you won't mind offing after the job is done in order to tie up loose ends.
ACTION FIGURE!
He's a poor man's Bourne, a white trash Bond
ACTION FIGURE!
He'll fight against rebels, insurgents, stable governments, peace-loving citizens. Doesn't matter.
ACTION FIGURE!
No one knows which side he's on.
Warning, contains lead paint.

Although to be honest, the uniform does sort of look like something Rush would wear during the 2112 era.

Book of the Week: The Summer Book by Tove Jansson

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 17:28:00 +0000

You have to applaud simplicity in writing. It is the hardest thing for a writer to achieve. That sense of keeping the book ‘small’ for lack of a better term, honing the story down to the barest strokes on the canvas. I always thought Hemingway did it beautifully with The Old Man and the Sea. Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson is another great ‘small’ book that draws you in with its perfectly simple prose and contstruction.

In many ways, Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book is closer to the latter. It is a series of vignettes, rather than flowing narrative. It almost reads like a short story collection with all of the vignettes focusing on young Sophia and her grandmother, de facto stand-ins for the writer herself. At the time of writing, Jansson was a in her sixties, a grandmother, but also had recently lost her own mother (which happens to Sophia at the start of the book). It is this great understanding of both characters that allows her to imbue them with such life. Sophia is a precocious child, prone to fits and bouts of crying, and yet, can switch to being serene and adult. The Grandmother on the other hand is loving and accommodating, constantly nurturing Sophia in her adventures, but then swings into bouts of adolescent anger and bad behavior. The wonderful scene where she breaks into a neighbor’s house is a great example.

“In the middle of the gravel was a large sign with black letters that said PRIVATE PROPERTY—NO TRESPASSING.

‘We’ll go ashore,’ Grandmother said. She was very angry. Sophia looked frightened. ‘There’s a big difference,’ her grandmother explained. ‘No well-bred person goes ashore on someone else’s island when there’s no one home. But if they put up a sign, then you do it anyway, because it’s a slap in the face.’

‘Naturally,’ Sophia said, increasing her knowledge of life considerably.’

‘What we are now doing,’ Grandmother said, ‘is a demonstration. We are showing our disapproval. Do you understand?’

‘A demonstration,’ her grandchild repeated, adding, loyally, ‘This will never make a good harbor.’”

The interaction between the two is often hilarious and at other times really touching. They constantly swap roles, as in that scene from “The Neighbors,” where the grandmother can’t help but behave childishly while Sophia grows instantly into an adult. Writing from her advanced age, Jansson is able to look back at the two sides of herself and imbue a sort of rough love between them.

What truly grabs you about The Summer Book, strong characters aside, is its sense of place. It is a book of and about Scandinavian life on a tiny island in the Finnish archipelago. In her introduction, Kathryn Davis describes the book’s “unusual point of view, which hovers above and around the island and seems not so much to move from grandmother to granddaughter as to share them.” It’s imbued with the air, soil, and water of the small archipelago island where the stories are set. It has that contemplation and patience that one finds in Swedes, Norwegians, and Fins. Jansson gives you that sense of awe when viewing the landscape. You can feel yourself amongst the marshes, bilberry bushes, Rosa Rugosa, polished stones on the beaches, wet grass, and dense forests. You can feel yourself floating around in the small boats and feel the wind and rain on your face. You can see the long slow sunsets that last until after 10 pm. In many ways, the characters are small compared to the natural surroundings they walk through. It is a very Scandinavian appreciation of nature and while reading it you get a sense of walking through one of Carl Larsson’s watercolors.

While not all of the vignettes in The Summer Book are solid, “Berenice” and “Dead Calm” fall a little flat, the rest more than make make up for the duds. Some are quite funny, such as “The Neighbor,” “Of Angelworms and Others,” and “The Cat.” Others have a wonderful sense of sadness such as “Midsummer” or the closing “August.”

“Every year, the bright Scandinavian summer nights fade away without anyone’s noticing. One evening in August you have an errand outdoors, and all of a sudden it’s pitch-black. A great warm, dark silence surrounds the house. It is still summer, but the summer is no longer alive.”

As you keep reading the vignettes in The Summer Book, you always feel yourself there, walking along with Sophia and her grandmother, or floating in the boat, soaking up the atmosphere of the tiny little island in the Finnish Archipelago. It has that same quality that all great paintings from Scandinavian painters have, whether it be Munch or Larsson or Zorn, to instantly give you a sense of that northern lit sky and the serenity of the landscape beneath it.

If you use any of the book sharing sites, here a links to the novel for each:
Good Reads | Library Thing | Shelfari

Book Release Shout Outs: Alex Austin and Ben Tanzer

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 20:16:00 +0000

Here's a quick "heads up" about two new books you should check out.

First up is good friend Ben Tanzer's new short story collection Repetition Patterns. In a very cool move, the collection is being released as an e-book only download by The Chicago Center for Literature and Photography (CCLaP), with a pay-what-you-want pricing setup (just like Radiohead did with In Rainbows). It is great to see someone testing out the pay-what-you-want scheme with publishing. But lest I get too caught up on the distribution side, do check out Repetition Patterns for the stories. Having read with Ben and really enjoyed his first novel, Lucky Man, I can tell you he's a hell of a storyteller.

Also just released is the brand new novel from fellow ex-New Jersian Alex Austin, titled The Red Album of Asbury Park. I was lucky enough to read a few chapters from The Red Album... prior to its publication and Alex nails that down-and-out sadness of the Jersey Shore perfectly. It has the characters -- the gangsters and musicians and lowlifes and surfers and the beaten and broken. But it also has a good story; a tale of murder and ambition set in a 1960s Asbury Park that's lost its luster. Gritty stuff and well worth $15 cover price.

There's Probably No God London Bus Adverts

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 12:02:00 +0000

In response to a slew of adverts in London promoting pro-Christian views and services, The British Humanist Campaign offered citizens the chance to sponsor an Atheist advertising campaign on buses. The slogan would be "There's probably no God, so stop worrying and enjoy your life." Kind of uplifting actually.

The idea was originally proposed on The Guardian's web site, in response to a slew of ads in London which featured a URL to a website telling non-Christians they would spend "all eternity in torment in hell", burning in "a lake of fire". Don't see what's so bad about that, kind of like a Johnny Cash song.

Readers were asked to donate small amounts of cash to raise the £5,500 needed to kick off the campaign. In addition, Professor Richard Dawkins, author of The God Delusion, agreed to match all donations up to a maximum of £5,500 (for a grand total of £11,000).

I have to admit, I enjoy this in the same way that I enjoy seeing Darwin fish on the backs of cars here in the U.S. If you've never seen one, it's very similar to the typical Jesus fish attached to the cars of pro-Christian owners, only this one has sprouted feet. I will admit the slogan is a little wishy washy for my taste , but at its core the advertising is merely trying to counterbalance the usual Christian tactic of guilting people into believing. After all, religious advertising is not directed at happy people who are centered in their lives, it goes right after those who are down and out. The lonely, the addicted, the poor, and the elderly. Which puts Christian advertising on the same level as infomercials. Cheesy and yet sadly, very effective.

John Hood joins the Huffington Post

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 03:40:00 +0000

I couldn't be happier for old friend (and ex-Bully contributor) John Hood. In addition to the slew of columns and credits he already has tucked away beneath his ever-present fedora, he just started blogging on politics in Miami (and Florida) for The Huffington Post. Read on and show your support.

Local convenience store defies Apple Inc.

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 03:44:00 +0000

It seems the owners of the Big Apple Smith convenience store in the Carroll Gardens section of Brooklyn weren't too worried about Steve Jobs and Apple coming after them for copyright infringement.

Hell, looks like they lifted the logo right off an old Mac.

"Whattaya got lawyers tough guy? Yeah c'mon bring your lawyers you bald, four-eyed, black turtleneck wearing son of a bitch! I'll shove that cease-and-desist right up your..."

Book of the Week: The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg by Mark Twain

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 01:48:00 +0000

Some books have a way of coming back. They are not of their time necessarily. But at their core is the human comedy which never grows stale or loses its relevance. Shakespeare's MacBeth is such a work. After all, the hunger for power and the willingness to murder in order to obtain it are universal in the human experience. The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg retains its luster for very similar reasons.

I've often believed there are two Mark Twains. I won't argue that one of them is Samuel Clemens. But the Twain who wrote Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn was not the same man who had been hardened by financial troubles and the death of several family members later in life. That Twain was a bitter, cynical bloke who had a bone to pick with the world. And damn me if you will, but I love that Twain much better.

Maybe it's because my favorite works by Twain are not the perfectly rendered classics he penned at the height of his career. I read both Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn as part of my school curriculum. I found them interesting and well written. I do consider them to be classics. But in some ways, I never quite connected with those novels. Much like The Adventures of Augie March or Anna Karenina, I respected the writer and the works, but neither sunk into my soul.

My connection with Twain started with Pudd'nhead Wilson. Twain's satirical take on racial problems in America possesses a great sense of wit, but also a razor-sharp dissection of what makes humans tick. It is not a beautiful portrait of America. Nor is The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg. Once again, this was not a content man, but one who had literally fled the country to escape his creditors. Twain actually scrawled out ...Hadleyburg on hotel stationary from his various stops in Europe.

The visceral anger that Twain felt towards his homeland and his hatred for human greed in general bleeds off the pages of ...Hadleyburg. That, however, is what makes it such a joy to read. Much like Pudd'nhead Wilson, this novella comes across more as a punk anthem, a short series of jabs at our guts, rather than an epic tale. And in spite of its imperfections (the lack of subtlety, the forgone conclusion that the citizens of Hadleyburg will get theirs), you enjoy every bit of the town's downward spiral. It is a wonderful adult fable that benefits from Twain's sense of humor, especially in the town hall scene once the supposed upstanding nineteen are revealed as charlatans.

In fact, if you've been paying attention to the massive global economic crisis, ...Hadleyburg is the perfect companion to our current state of the world. After all, rampant greed was the cause of our financial system's downfall. Twain's tale of a supposedly incorruptible town, whose reputation made them the envy of citizens far and wide, and their ultimate downfall due to the simple sin of greed, still plays exceptionally well. Having experienced the harsh reality of being in debt, Twain was given a first hand lesson in the effects of greed.

One could never argue that ...Hadleyburg is a classic work of American fiction. That is often reserved for Twain's earlier novels. But you can argue that it retains its own enduring allure, if for no other reason than its belief that, at our core, we are all capable of being tempted and corrupted.

Of course, I would be a bastard for not complementing Melville House Classics for publishing "The Art of the Novella" series which keeps works such as The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg, Melville's Benito Cereno, and Dostoevsky's The Eternal Husband in print as stand-alone entities (rather than being lumped into anthologies). They are publishing the novellas in a style worthy of Blue Note Records, with similar cover treatments, and a sense of dedication that usually is only found at smaller presses. Cheers to them.

If you use any of the book sharing sites, here a links to the novel for each:
Good Reads | Library Thing | Shelfari

McCain/Palin "Back the Mavericks" Campaign poster

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 14:26:00 +0000

The McCain/Palin campaign just released their brand new poster. I think they're really on the mark with this one.

Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine Reading Recap

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 00:53:00 +0000

It was a real honor to get to read with Ben Tanzer this past Sunday at Freebird Books, my de facto home base here in Brooklyn. The reading was an east coast celebration in honor of the release of Ben's new book, Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine (the original release party was held in Chicago).

A good group of friends made it down to hear Ben read from the new book and myself kick a brand new story, "Job in Williamsburg," as well as an excerpt from "Taking the Happy Bus on Home," the last story in The Love Book. People responded quite nicely to Ben's reading, digging on the fantastic sense of humor from the book.

As always, Peter from Freebird Books took great care of us and I can never walk out of the joint without discovering some great new find. In this instance, it was the Mavis Gallant short story collection released by Bloomsbury Classics (imported from the UK). If you're in Brooklyn, do stop by Freebird and support the cause.

But here are a few shots for your ocular amusement.

A Reading This Sunday, 9/28

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 12:12:00 +0000

I'll be joining Chicago's own Ben Tanzer at Freebird Books in Brooklyn this Sunday to celebrate the release of his new novel, "Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine." We're going to kick out the stories and have a few drinks with all our good friends who can make it to the reading. Show time is 7pm.

Another great review for The Love Book

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Ben Tanzer and the nice folks at This Blog Will Change Your Life recently posted some nice praise for The Love Book. And I quoteth:

"...while love may be the operative word here, we're not sure anyone would call them love stories, per se. Now that said, are these stories all about how love gets warped, lost, manipulated, sublimated, twisted, fetishized, tainted and occasionally celebrated? Yes, and more. And so do we think you should you read this collection? Yes, again, for sure, so, go ahead, please read The Love Book, it just might change your life."

And a gratuitous reminder, you can come on down to Freebird Books in Brooklyn, NY on Sunday, September 28 to see Ben and myself kick out the stories to celebrate the release of his new book, Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine.

"'And now,' cried Max, 'let the wild rumpus start!'"

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 11:56:00 +0000

A great article on Maurice Sendak in the New York Times. My favorite quote (commenting on Sendak's penchant for being a curmudgeon):

When Mr. Sendak received the 1996 National Medal of Arts, President Bill Clinton told him about one of his own childhood fantasies that involved wearing a long coat with brass buttons when he grew up.

“But Mr. President, you’re only going to be president for a year more,” Mr. Sendak said, “you still have time to be a doorman.”

There are two books from my childhood that turned me into the freak I am today. One is Daulaires' Book of Norse Myths (thankfully reissued by NYRB books). The othere was Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are. Both feature (still) stunning artwork that is unique, distinct, and even though made for a children's audience, not safe nor sappy. So many deranged flights of fantasy were driven by these books (and later Marvel Comics and Horror films), that I can peg my penchant for enjoying the macabre and weird to the work of Sendak and the Daulaires. The spark of my creative bent lies within the three textless, full-page spreads of Where The Wild Things Are as Max and the ghastly creatures go frolicking through the forest. There is no better summation of the experience of being a child and being able to dream up any world you can imagine.

Bad Book Marketing: Who is God, Really?

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 02:43:00 +0000

I caught this advertisement for The Shack by William P. Young on the N Train coming back from Queens. Maybe it was the liquor, but I almost fell on the floor laughing. I'm not sure what is funnier:

1. The headline, "Who is God, Really?" - based on the cover, I'm assuming he's Santa Claus (or perhaps Jason Voorhees).

2. The endorsements from Jeff Foxworthy and Kathie Lee Gifford. After all, when I want to know who God is (really), I'd turn to the guy who recycles the "You might be a redneck" routine and the woman who makes Rachel Ray seem sane.

3. Or that the book is actually called "The Shack." I think I know who God is. He runs an S&M getaway in Vermont.

Book of the Week: Lucky Man by Ben Tanzer

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 11:45:00 +0000

Full disclosure: I know Ben Tanzer (although we’ve yet to meet in person) and will actually be reading with him at Freebird Books in Brooklyn, NY on September 28.

Some books have a way of winning you over. I remember the first time I picked up John Fante’s Wait Until Spring, Bandini. It was not Ask the Dust. When the former was written, the author had not developed into the great teacher of Bukowski that can be found in the latter. And yet, as I delved deeper and deeper into Wait Until Spring, Bandini, my perception of the novel changed. While the book is not a definitive example of Fante’s greatness as a writer (Ask the Dust is his most memorable book for a reason), it has great heart, it has soul. The scene of Bandini’s mother and father laying in bed together in the first chapter just about made me weep. It was a beautiful piece of writing. I was won over.

Ben Tanzer’s Lucky Man also won me over. Perhaps because the book starts so unsuspectingly, providing no grand opening or sudden launch into the action. It starts with a conversation — between the four main characters and the reader who serves as an impromptu listener of their life stories. But I think there is a simpler answer. There isn’t an ounce of pretense in Tanzer’s writing, something lacking among a lot of my peers. You never get the sense that Tanzer is trying too hard to convince you of his writing skill. His dialogue fits his characters. The situations always feel real. All of this helps the reader settle in and go along with what at first seems like a standard coming-of-age story.

Once the book gets moving however, the story takes flight (as do the characters). Lucky Man reads like a 220-page long prose poem, told by the four main characters who speak directly to the reader in present tense. One often feels like they’re reading transcripts of reality show confessionals strung together. This is even taken to an absurd pretense when one of the characters has an unfortunate incident. But it is also the four perspectives of Sammy, Louie, Jake and Gabe that deliver a great sense of seeing the world of Lucky Man from all sides, or rather all camera angles. Along the way, there is a lot of humor and a ton of sadness. But Tanzer never uses the breakups, suicides, adultery, car crashes, drug abuse, or sudden death as cheap thrills. This is life in all its grimness.

Ultimately, the title is a grand joke. And that is what really won me over in the end. Lucky Man can be dark. And anyone who has read my work knows I have a penchant for the dark and strange and cynical. But the last page of Lucky Man nicely turns a dark, cynical outlook into a great punch line.

If you use any of the book sharing sites, here a links to the novel for each:
Good Reads | Library Thing | Shelfari

Vinyl Find: I Had A Dream Joe 12" Single by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 16:58:00 +0000

One of the joys of picking up a USB turntable is being able to instantly plug-in and listen to vinyl recordings. Which has got me back on the kick of picking up old singles and albums again. I found this gem -- a 12" maxi-single for Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds' "I Had A Dream Joe" -- at Kim's Video down in the East Village. I almost opted for the 7" version, which only had two tracks with a live version of "The Good Son" on the B-side. But I'm glad I picked this one up instead which includes live versions of "The Mercy Seat," "The Ship Song," and a fantastic rendition of "The Carny."

Mark your calendars... a new reading.

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 12:17:00 +0000

On Sunday, September 28 @ 7 p.m., I'll be joining Chicago's own Ben Tanzer for a special reading at Freebird Books in Brooklyn to celebrate the release of his new book, Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine.

So really it's just a Mormon plot to recruit teenage girls?

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 11:44:00 +0000

I was wondering what the hysteria surrounding Stephanie Meyer's Breaking Dawn was all about. Now I know thanks to the New York Times.

In Memorium: Alexander Solzhenitsyn

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 11:37:00 +0000

A.I. was one of my favorite writers and my view of the human race was never quite the same after One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, Cancer Ward, The First Circle, and The Gulag Archipelago.

Video link

Book of the Week: Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 02:34:00 +0000

It is really hard to write good literary satire. Simple fact is that often satire goes too far over to the side of parody. When it crosses that line, it becomes bad mimicry rather than true satire. Think what This Is Spinal Tap would have been like if Michael McKean, Christopher Guest, and Harry Shearer just did an impression of the guys from Saxon – it would be funny for five minutes (if you actually knew who Saxon was) but ultimately the joke would get old. Over-parody leads to a stale joke and then you have an author who is just winking at his readers. After all, is Rich Little really that funny?

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch could’ve descended into a really bad parody, especially considering that co-authors Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett originally intended it as a send-up of Richard Crompton’s William books (ask your friends from the UK). The initial title they had conceived was William the Antichrist. But Gaiman and Pratchett took the joke farther out -- much farther out -- satirizing everything from the Bible to The Omen to modern English society. The cast of characters includes a sect of extremely loquacious nuns secretly in the employ of hell (The Chattering Order of Saint Beryl), Pollution as the replacement for a now retired Pestilence (thanks to the invention of Penicillin), a bibliophile Angel (known as Aziraphale) who is not so sure he wants heaven to win, a Demon who is more concerned with his antique Bentley than stealing souls, the slacker descendents of Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder, and even Agnes Nutter who lives up to her name. This makes for a concoction that is rife with sharp, pinpointed jokes that still hold up and still retain their bite.

Simply put, it is amazing satire. It the equivalent to reading a Monty Python film and comes as close to matching the sheer genius The Life of Brian as one could get in a novel. In an opening sequence, we’re introduced to Crowley, a demon who has come to enjoy his life on earth and is not particularly enthralled with the idea of Armageddon. The only thing that irks him more is having to show up for the daily counting of the deeds with two other demons at a dreary cemetery at midnight. Never mind the traffic getting out of London, the real frustration for Crowley arises when he cannot explain to his fellow hellspawn that blocking all portable phone systems in central London will do more good for Satan than tempting a politician or a priest.

“But you couldn’t tell that to demons like Hastur and Ligur. Fourteenth-century minds, the lot of them. Spending years picking away at one soul. Admittedly it was craftsmanship, but you had to think differently these days. Not big, but wide. With five billion people in the world you couldn’t pick the buggers off one by one any more; you had to spread your effort. But demons like Ligur and Hastur wouldn’t understand. They’d never thought up Welsh-language television for example. Or value-added tax. Or Manchester.”

Manchester is of course Crowley’s proudest achievement as a demon. Or there is the slight episode where the mighty Kraken rises from the sea once more, directly under a whaling ship.

“There is a tiny metal thing above it. The kraken stirs. And ten billion sushi dinners cry out for vengeance.”

Chapters such as that keep Good Omens chugging along at great pace. What is most obvious is that Pratchett and Gaiman had an absolute hoot writing the book. The interplay is fantastic, a grand piling on of ideas, where ultimately it doesn’t matter who originally conceived of which bits (much like the Pythons).

If you could level any criticism at the book it is that the ending is so bloody nice. The writers literally pull the final punch and leave the reader with a very saccharine outcome after pages and pages of skewering most of modern society (from the 17th century onward). You come to this very perfectly resolved, somewhat hopeful ending, feeling as the writers feared appearing a little too cynical. Picture The Empire Strikes Back if Luke just suddenly strikes down Darth Vader rather than losing his hand (and discovering the true identity of his father).

This is mostly due to the original concept of William the Antichrist -- or rather the character of Adam. While the character is an interesting parody of Damian from The Omen, he tends to drag the action down, giving the book a YA bent that it doesn’t need. After all, the cast of memorable characters is overloaded as it is and the book is simply much funnier when Adam is not around to slow up the pace. One could argue this was a necessary device, a way to cut the more biting parts of the book in order to have some contrast. But in the end, you can’t help but feel that the character could’ve been reduced to a minor one with the emphasis kept on Crowley and Aziraphale’s attempts to thwart their respective sides during the ensuing Armageddon.

It is however somewhat of a nitpick because that flaw is greatly diminished by the overall wit and surgical skewering of all things the Apocalypse in Good Omens. About the only thing funnier is The Left Behind series, but those books are not intentionally humorous.

If you use any of the book sharing sites, here a links to the novel for each:
Good Reads | Library Thing | Shelfari

Tim Hall is Full of It

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 10:35:00 +0000

A new video promo for good friend Tim Hall's upcoming book Full Of It: The Birth, Death, and Life of an Underground Newspaper. You can pre-order a copy here.

"Taking the Happy Bus On Home" goes reality

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 15:19:00 +0000

My short story "Taking the Happy Bus on Home" is starting to look more and more like a nonfiction piece.

When I wrote the story "Taking the Happy Bus on Home" for The Love Book, I was for the most part commenting on how people spend their lives (or rather not live them to the fullest). But I couldn't help setting the story in a slight-future where the average human life span has increased thanks to medical science. The conundrum as I saw it was not that medical science delays the aging process -- it doesn't no matter how many botox injections you pump into an actresses forehead or pacemakers you put in a stockbroker's heart -- but rather puts off death. The body continues to deteriorate and medical science keeps propping it up. I was being sarcastic with the idea of "supercentenarians" -- an entire retirement community that had to be bused, carted, and carried around. But this article in today's New York Times asks the same questions I did in "Taking the Happy Bus on Home."

What's really hilarious is that my sarcastic take on the issue could never match the absurdity of the Times piece

Book of the Week: I Spit On Your Graves by Boris Vian

noreply@blogger.com (kwohlrob) — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 12:07:00 +0000

When Jean d’ Halluin first published I Spit On Your Graves in 1946, he was looking for a bestseller to kickstart his new imprint, Editions du Scorpion. Written by an African-American writer named Vernon Sullivan, the book was a visceral, often misogynistic, and (once it gets rolling) violent pulp novel offering a gritty commentary on racial injustice in the United States.

The plot centered on Lee Anderson, a light skinned black man seeking revenge for the murder of his brother at the hands of whites. Anderson, takes his revenge by infiltrating southern society as a white man (he has light skin and blond hair), bedding every white woman he can, and ultimately selecting two of those women to murder as payback for his brother’s death. Despite being considered too controversial and subversive for U.S. publishers, the French public devoured the novel. By 1947, it outsold work by Sartre and Camus, giving d’ Halluin the bestseller he craved.

That alone would’ve made for interesting literary history. But there was more to the story…

Vernon Sullivan never tried to have the book published in the United States.

Vernon Sullivan did not exist. I Spit On Your Graves was in fact written by a Frenchman. A white Frenchman. Said Frenchman had never actually visited the United States.

Then there was the law suit filed against the author by Cartel d’action sociale et morale, the same right wing organization that tried to censor the work of Henry Miller.

Last but not least, there was the grisly murder committed by a Parisian man who strangled his mistress. The authorities discovered a copy of I Spit On Your Graves at the scene of the crime with a part where Lee Anderson dispatches one of his victims circled.

Hence its bestseller status. Who didn’t want to read the “murder book,” as the introduction Marc Lapprand calls it?

And then of course, there was the bigger question: what if the book was not about racial injustice at all?

On the surface, I Spit On Your Graves is a pulpy, not expertly written tale of murder and sex. And upon first reading, I Spit On Your Graves comes across as that – a cheap pulp mystery, lacking only the cover illustration of a woman screaming, hands raised against her face, as an unseen stalker comes at her with a knife.

It is overflowing with graphic sex (for it’s time) where Lee takes the female characters in every scenario imaginable (barring midgets and donkeys). At first one would take it as a sub-par Tropic of Cancer, except that the reader’s knowledge of Lee’s racial identity gives the book a taboo that is non-existent in Miller’s novels. Lee gets his hands on every white woman he possibly can, and they are all to willing to be taken, even if they don’t admit it at first (as is the case with Lou Asquith). As Lee relates early on in the story, “I had all the girls, one after the other, but it was a bit too easy, it turned my stomach.” It comes off like a line from a 70s Blaxploitation film. And in many ways, I Spit On Your Graves reads like a Blaxploitation script. However, as the book goes on Lee flips from bragging of his conquests to being disgusted at how far he has sunk to achieve his revenge. He becomes increasingly sickened by his seduction of the Asquith girls and this drives him further towards the violent outcome.

And that is where the book starts to turn from pure pulp sadism and gratuitous sex into a more layered, psychological exploration. We know Lee is seeking revenge. We know he is going to kill. It is only a matter of time and the reader is forced to travel down the road, dragged further and further into Lee’s madness, strapped in, unable to change the course.

Keep in mind, Vian was no pulp writer. He was a contemporary of Sartre and Camus, who wrote the incredibly well received Froth on the Daydream (also translated as Foam of the Daze). He was also a translator, poet, music, critic, and jazz musician who was close with Duke Ellington and Miles Davis.

In many ways, it is similar to Brett Easton Ellis’ American Psycho, forcing you to see the world of the book through the eyes of a very twisted and violent narrator. We immediately find ourselves repulsed by the narrator’s narcissism, their ruthlessness, and most importantly their penchant for extremely grisly acts. And yet, it is this grotesque, amped, psychotic, bloodthirsty humanity that captivates us.

I’m not the first person to make such a comparison between these two books. However, there is a major difference between them. Whereas Ellis was satirizing society, specifically the Reagan-worshipping stockbrokers of the 80s, Vian was going deeper – he was satirizing publishing and ultimately, the reader.

After all, sex and murder were rampant in novels published circa 1946. Both are still widely used as devices and plot points today. In fact, one could argue that both are necessary lynchpins of all modern literature. Sex and death is what it’s all about.

The book is so overly violent and misogynist because Vian is parodying pulp writing, a form very prevalent in post-war France when he wrote I Spit On Your Graves. Like Swift’s A Modest Proposal, it takes the argument to its fullest extreme, giving readers the ultimate in literary-noir: a story so extremely violent and disgusting to modern thinking that the reader can’t put it down.

Much has been said about the social commentary perceived within I Spit On Your Graves. Of this one can look literally. Lee, a black man who’s brother was murdered by whites, seeks revenge by wreaking havoc on white society. In the end however, without giving anything away, there is no justice for Lee. So it is easy to see I Spit On Your Graves as a biting commentary on racial injustice in America during the 20th Century.

But in many ways, Vian is still having his fun with us. After all, he’s not trying to convince us that Lee is an unfortunate character of racial injustice that we should pity. He’s getting us to hate Lee Anderson in spite of his quest for justice. After all, Vian’s audience was white, educated, French society. And it is Lee’s racial identity, his status as ‘black’ that made (and still makes the book) so controversial. If Lee was a white man bedding a bunch of women and then murdering two of them, it would be a Harry Crews novel. Vian however spins the tables, serving up a tale of a violent, lustful black man out for revenge, one that horrifies and yet draws us in, convincing a repulsed and outraged public to keep on reading. Ultimately the joke is on us. We are thinking of racial injustice, clinging to the social message seemingly contained within the book, and yet it is the titillating bits – the sex and death – that keep us reading. Swift would’ve been proud.

If you use any of the book sharing sites, here a links to the novel for each:
Good Reads | Library Thing | Shelfari