The Many Faces of the Book Scarf

You may remember that I blogged about what not to buy a book lover for Christmas. Although I pride myself on my keen sense of foreshadowing, I never even guessed that this post would result in the best Christmas gift of 2007.

Oh yes. I got a book scarf. In a black bag. Because, you know, death is ahead.

Hm.

Of course, my dear Uncle Chiron didn't expect me to actually wear it. Nevertheless, I am always up for a challenge. Why not? I thought, the wheels in my dingy little brain turning. Perhaps I can learn to love the book scarf and turn it into something that even a fashionista might wear.

With this, I bring you:

THE MANY FACES OF THE BOOK SCARF

I call this first one "Beleaguered Starlet." There she is, ladies and gentlemen, plagued by the paparazzi. Unable to escape, she tries her best at venturing forth incognito. Unfortunately, it is to no avail. At night, she drowns her sorrows in quaaludes and vodka.

Next stop: rehab

This next one is "The J-Lo." Don't let the small ass and pale skin fool you, people: I'm a dead ringer for J-Lo. To quote the diva from the Bronx, "It take hard work to cash checks," and those are words that I live by.

Staying grounded as the amounts roll in

I call this next one "Sultan of Fab." Do sultans even wear turbans? Who does? The only guy who comes to mind is Punjab from Annie, and that's definitely not the look I'm going for here. There is no arguing, however, that this look screams fabulous, so that's what I'm calling it.

Fabulous it is

Finally, we have The Bandit, which might be the most useful out of all of these looks. Here, the book scarf comes in handy for those times in which you need to, say, rob a Barnes and Noble or something. Notice my life-like weapon.

Don't shoot, coppers! It's fake!

And so, you see, the book scarf can be a fashionable thing enjoyed by young and old alike. If it weren't for my dear uncle, I'd never have known the wonders that the book scarf holds.

Thanks, Uncle Chiron.

Dumb People + Haunted House = Predictability

Hell House
Richard Matheson

I know I've said this before, but if I knew of a house with a reputation for killing those who venture there, I wouldn’t visit it. Sure, I’d be curious. I’d probably drive up, maybe even stand on the porch. But go in? And, worse, stay overnight?

Of course, if everyone were like me, there’d be no Hell House. I was curious to read another work of Richard Matheson’s; after having just “Long Distance Call,” a truly creepy story of his, I remembered that I needed to experience more of his work. Hell House is in the same vein as Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, and there isn’t much difference between the two: basically, a group of people, each seeking either to prove or disprove the supernatural, spend some time in a house with a reputation for dangerous spirits.

Obviously, just as in Jackson’s work, Hell House has much to offer its tenants. Unlike Jackson, however, Matheson really ups the ante by revealing some really freaky shit about the house’s former inhabitants. In its heyday, Hell House was the scene of rampant debauchery that eventually ended in the most obscene and gruesome corruption. Now, it is a monument to evil, and the spirits trapped there act accordingly.

Unfortunately, I am so desensitized by today’s glut of All Things Shocking, Appalling, and Outrageous that Matheson’s attempt to horrify falls a little flat. Even the scene with the crucifix, arguably the most offensive incident in the book, did little more than make me wonder about the logistics of the scene.

Well, golly, how’d he manage THAT??

However, my desensitization is not Matheson’s fault, and I can’t knock the novel for that. I can, on the other hand, complain about the shitty explanation given to explain the haunting behind Hell House. I just found some of it a little silly, especially the part about the really evil guy not liking the fact that he was short.

Hm.

Wait -- what??

In a nutshell: Meh

Bibliolatry Scale: 3 out of 6 stars

Life: a small series of botched actions

The Book of Dave
Will Self

In the future, religious extremists rule. They are not, however, Christian or Muslim, but Davist.

Davists are pretty crazy. They don't blow things up, but they don't have to -- they're the only ones around. They have a monopoly on fanaticism, and if you disagree, you'll be broken on the Wheel. Davists believe, among other things, that moms and dads should be separated and that their children must divide their time equally among them. Under no circumstances should a child live with both parents. That’s just crazy, for Dave has forbidden it.

Who’s Dave, you ask? Not a fisherman or carpenter, not a mystic or son of God. No, Dave is a cabbie. A bitter, misogynistic, racist cabbie.

As The Book of Dave begins, we are taken 500 years into the future, to the Kingdom of Ingerland. This country is currently ruled by the PCO, formerly the Public Carriage Office, London's transit authority. So basically the country is ruled by Septa. No wonder they're in a world of shit.

a modern art masterpiece

In the future, instead of following the Bible or the Koran, people follow The Book of Dave. This tome was discovered after the MadeinChina, the creation that occurred after a flood destroyed the world as we currently know it.

The opening chapter of The Book of Dave introduces us to this future world, and to be fair, it’s a difficult chapter. The language is unfamiliar and the reader must frequently consult the glossary of terms at the end of the book. Their customs and creatures (the villagers breed a kind of weird, talking pig that helps to raise their children and is later slaughtered for its meat and oil) are also unfamiliar, which isn't too surprising since this society only rudimentally compares to our own. However, just as we begin to adjust to this bizarre world, we are returned to our own, where things seem much more understandable.

In our time, we meet Dave Rudman, the aforementioned cabbie who is filled with hatred after his wife leaves him and takes his son, Carl. The loss of his son puts Dave in a tailspin: his anger turns to depression, which soon turns to psychosis. Soon, he begins to type his knowledge of the city and his beliefs on how it should be run – and buries it in his son’s backyard, so that he might receive it when the time is right. Hey, he’s crazy. It probably made sense at the time.

Unfortunately, Carl never finds Dave’s book – the people of Ing do, 500 years in the future. Unfortunately, they take Dave’s bile as canon, and his book becomes the foundation for their way of life, influencing their harsh treatment of women and bizarre way of raising children. Even more bizarre is that their entire lifeview is built on Dave’s book – they believe the universe is viewed out of Dave’s windshield and that they are all his fares, which Dave sees in his rearview mirror.

The Book of Dave is not an easy read, but it is an intelligent one that prompts a lot of philosophical questions. Why do we view some things as sacred and not others? Can we be truly assured of the origin of our "divine" texts? For his part, Will Self has to be a genius. He creates a future world complete with its own religion, language, and cosmology just as he skewers the hypocritical world of today.

In fact, my only cavil with Self isn't with the book at all -- it's with his picture that graces the back cover, posted here. This has to be the most stereotypical author photo ever. Here sits our superintelligent author, pipe in hand, seriously glum expression on his face as though to say: My great intelligence, coupled with the general idiocy of the masses, wearies me. I need a smoke.

Now, check out these other photos of Self. How much better are these? He looks fun. He looks human. I’d much rather see these on the cover. This one is rather endearing. This one is odd, but intriguing. This one makes him seem confused, a beleagured genius. Highly likable. And finally, this one is authorly, but not overdone. Hence, it's the pipe that ruins it for me. HENCEFORTH, LET NO AUTHOR BE PHOTOGRAPHED WITH A PIPE. I have decreed it so.

Clearly, I am an expert in these matters. For this reason, I hereby dub myself the Official Approver of Author Photos. If you are an author and would like me to decide upon the picture that will grace the cover of your latest work, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will make sure you don’t look pompous. Don't be afraid; my rates are rather reasonable.*

In a nutshell: A challenging read, but one that is thought-provoking and brilliant. Makes you wonder who really wrote the texts that we revere as sacred. Ooh! I'm going to write my own. The Book of Bibliolatry. Can't wait for the future!

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars



*Only if you're rich

Bibliolatrist & the Kurgan 4EVA

The Long Walk
Stephen King

Okay, let me get something out of the way. I do a lot of cardio. A LOT of cardio. I walk, run, whatever, at least five times a week. And I can say unequivocally, without a doubt, that I would be the first mothereffer issued a ticket if I were a contestant in Stephen King’s The Long Walk.

Here’s how it works. Every year, 100 “lucky” young boys are chosen to participate in the government-sponsored “long walk.” The rules are simple: walk at a pace of at least 4 mph or you get a warning. Three warnings and you get a ticket. It’s pretty simple. Oh, except a ticket means you get killed.

Four mph??? Without stopping? Not even to pee? Not even to sleep? Four mph is pretty damn fast. I’d like to hear an expert’s opinion on this, because I'm calling shenanigans. I don’t think it’s possible. The long walk goes on for days. I mean, I suppose with the power of the mind and all that, but still. I’d be dead in an hour. Okay maybe two hours, but beyond that I’m a dead man. Woman. Whatever.

I find it simply unbelievable that one can keep that pace going for days. DAYS. Regardless of the possibilities of such a feat, by the end of the walk only one will remain.

There can be only one!

Okay so this is off topic, but how hot is the Kurgan? Many people I know swing more towards MacLeod, but I’m 100% about the Kurgan. He’s so dreamy. Those pins. That bald pate.

hubba hubba

So anyway. As I was saying, at the end of the walk only one person remains. And, yeah, that person gets a pretty cool prize, I guess, but really. Is it worth it?

The Long Walk follows its protagonist, Maine's own Ray Garrity. We watch as the walk briskly begins, and we eagerly anticipate the first ticket. Who will it be? Who can hold out the longest? Who will remain standing?

And while the action of The Long Walk is gripping, it's the psychological aspect that really makes one think. Why did these young men agree to participate in this competition? What about any individual who volunteers to fight such dire odds? And, in the case of the long walkers, is the prize really worth it? Just how powerful is the mind? Can it propel a person to keep going, walking mile after mile for days on end, all the while knowing death is just a stumble away?

In a nutshell: A fast, engaging read that won't blow your socks off but will leave you racing to the end.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

If I could start again, a million miles away

Saturday
Ian McEwan

Oh, shit. I've gone ahead and ruined a good book.

My biggest gripe with Saturday lies not with McEwan or his work, but rather with myself. It was my fault, you see, for reading Saturday immediately after reading Atonement, a novel which blew me away and knocked me senseless. In short, I was setting myself up for failure, for Saturday is no Atonement.

But that’s not to say Saturday isn’t good in its own right, and if I hadn’t still been under the spell of what many consider to be McEwan’s greatest novel I probably would have enjoyed Saturday more. At any rate, reading Saturday did clinch my view of McEwan as a great contemporary writer, and I again reaffirm my need to make my way through more of his work, pronto. Well, perhaps spaced out a little more; I rushed through Lessing, and now I kinda hate her.

Slow down, homie! No need to rush things!

Saturday is a day in the life of Henry Perowne, a gifted neurosurgeon who wakes early in the morning just in time to witness what may be an omen of momentous import – or what may mean nothing at all. He continues his Saturday as he has countless others, only differing by his involvement in a minor car accident. As many know, however, minor incidents can have major effects, and that’s exactly what happens in here.

I won’t give anything away, although you can pretty much tell where the novel’s headed from pretty early on. Nevertheless Saturday is still an interesting rumination on the unexpected turns one’s life can take, and it adds a new perspective on the debate over whether free will or destiny controls our lives. For the record, I'm betting that McEwan's a free will kinda man. I, however, enjoy the notion of destiny, even though I don't truly believe in such a thing.

In a nutshell: Not better than Atonement, but still interesting. If you’re already a fan of his, you’ll enjoy Saturday; if not, start somewhere else.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

crap

I've just realized that I've lost the little box thinger that shows the book blogs I enjoy. If you are reading this and have linked to me, or know that I used to link to you, please comment below so that I can work on restoring my blog links. Lord knows where they went off too. Of course, if you don't link to me and would like to, comment here and I'll return the favor. Book blog links should be restored soon...ish.

grumble, grumble

What is it about this time of year that just PISSES ME OFF??

I think it's the people. Sometimes, I just HATE people. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe it's all the emphasis on finding that perfect gift, which I can never seem to do. Maybe it's that sense of good cheer I'm supposed to be feeling at this time of year. Maybe it's the carbs.

Nah, it's probably the people.

Hell, even I'M annoying me. That can't be good.

As a result of this funk, I haven't felt like posting. I've written several reviews in the little copybook I compose in, but I haven't had the energy to type them. I am entirely unable to be at all witty right now.

I do, however, have the energy to read, which I've been doing as usual. After I begin my holiday break (which, thankfully, commences later this week), I'm sure I'll have plenty of alone time that will allow me to lose the annoyance that clings to me like stink on shit.

The following reviews will be up at some point in the near future:

Saturday, by Ian McEwan
Hell House, by Richard Matheson
Poetry 180, and its follow up, both edited by Billy Collins
Fragile Things, by Neil Gaiman, which I should have finished by now but is annoying me, just as everything right now is annoying me.
The Grandmothers, by Doris Lessing (who has also begun to annoy me, which is why I haven't finished this book, either)
American Supernatural Tales, edited by S.T. Joshi

I'm also currently reading the following, so those reviews will be up in the slightly less-near future:

The Book of Dave, by Will Self
The Long Walk, by Stephen King
The Fall of the House of Bush, by Craig Unger

And I have a long list of other books just waiting right behind. So fear not -- I'm not dead, just disgruntled.

Bee Balms & Bibliolatry

Bee Balms & Burgundy
Nelson Pahl

From the outside, it appears Nick May has it all: he’s successful (and, even better, self-employed) and dating a beautiful woman with whom he shares a tumultuous relationship. Unfortunately, said bombshell is a raging bitch. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have it all.

Fortunately, Nick knows enough to dump this shrew, and his method of doing so is quite ingenious: he kicks her out of his apartment before flying home to see his mother. Now that’s a smart move. While visiting his mother, Nick reconnects with Mia, his next-door neighbor and old friend. And he couldn't have come at a better time, for just as he is struggling with recent life changes, so too is Mia coping with some problems of her own.

Mia copes in part through her garden, taking comfort in the beauty that surrounds her. Her favorite flower, the Bee Balm, is one that I've never heard of before, which isn't surprising because I'm known for killing plants, not helping them thrive. Hey -- at least I can finally cook, and as anyone who knows me can attest, this is a giant leap in the evolution of Bibliolatrist.

If I didn't have a black thumb, I could probably grow this

As a participant in Pahl's virtual book tour, I had the pleasure of asking him a few questions. His responses are below, followed by a link to his website in case you'd like to learn more about the author and his work.


1. Do you believe that everyone has a soulmate, or is finding love just a matter of being in the right place at the right time?

I believe in soulmates. I just believe that we all have about 10,000 potential soulmates roaming this huge planet, and if we're lucky (or sometimes bright enough), we run across him or her. But, I don't know about that idea of "the one." Yet, even having only 10,000 potential soulmates on a planet of six billion people is pretty romantic.


2. What was the most difficult aspect of writing Bee Balms & Burgundy?

The revealing of my specific love nature. I don't have a camera in other people's bedrooms, hence I only know intimacy according to my experiences. Therefore, it's impossible not to reveal your love nature if you showcase intimate scenes within your story. That can be a little strange when your sister in-law reads the book then stares at you throughout Thanksgiving dinner, you know? She just didn't know "those things" about you.


3. What drew you to the romantic genre? Are you a romantic at heart?

Uh, I just had a story, you know? I didn't plan on the genre. In fact, I don't know if I'll ever write in this specific genre again. I know my second title isn't a love story, per se. And I know my next three titles won't be. Am I a romantic? I guess if Nicky is a romantic in the book then I, too, am a "romantic." I see myself as more of a sensualist in that regard; for me, romance and sensuality are entwined. A hug is romantic, and it's a must for any proud sensualist, whereas some romantics can live a thousand miles from their partner and still feel "romantic" about them.


4. If you were to write another novel in a different genre, what genre would you choose? Why?

I've just published my second title. It's in a new genre that's billed as "romance noir." It has a love story undercurrent, but it's also a tragedy through and through. It's dark, haunting, graphic to some degree. Again, I didn't choose the genre; it chose me. I lost a loved one, I had a ton of emotions raging through me, and I started, flushed out, and edited my second title in less than five weeks. Sometimes that's how it happens. Fourteen months for Bee Balms & Burgundy. Five weeks for Two for Tuesday. This is an odd profession.


5. Which author has had the greatest influence on your outlook as a writer?

No contemporary authors, really. I read mainstream people like Vince Flynn, John Grisham, Nevada Barr, Nora Roberts, whomever. But none have had any influence on my career in the least. People like Emerson, Thoreau, Fuller, a poet by the name of Sara Teasdale, these are people that make me want to write. But no "author" has had any influence on me. "Writers" influence me. (LOL.) Sorry to sound so pretentious.


6. I know this question is a bit commonplace, but it's one that genuinely interests me: when you compose, do you do so using pen and paper or a computer? Do you notice a difference in your writing depending on the medium being used?

I use a computer. I note things using pen and paper, all the time, but I "write" using my computers. I get ideas while with a friend, visiting my brother, biking, even while making love. So, I reach for the pen and paper and grab that thought before any part of it can elude me. But it all goes straight to my computer when I'm near it, immediately. I guess I don't really see a difference between mediums. It all takes place amid the story itself, the whole mental process of writing, so real life setting and/or tools become rather irrelevant in those terms.


7. If you could only pick only one "desert island book" (excluding your own books, that is), which book would you choose, and why?

Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway. So subtle yet so sublime.


8. In Bee Balms & Burgundy, Mia finds solace in nature, specifically in her garden. Do you also take solace in nature? What specifically gives you comfort?

Absolutely. I'm a sucker for the mountains and forests. In fact, I'm currently in the process of choosing a new residence in a more appealing natural setting. I love the connection of nature to spirit. I'm a guy with earth and water signs up and down his chart that desperately needs nature on a day-to-day basis. (That's why I despise the cold, dark, dead Midwest winters.)


9. How does writing affect your life? How has it changed it?

There's a necessary creative outlet that wasn't really there before. I find that because of such, I don't seem to have the same issues many of my friends and family do. I guess I'm saying that I have a purging mechanism. If a loved one dies, I pour it into a book. If I'm politically dissatisfied--which I always am--then I pour it into a book. Even if I'm horny and single, I can pour that into a book.


10. What are you listening to right now? Is there a certain music that aids the writing process, or do you prefer to compose in silence?

I have several friends in the indie label music industry. I also have a couple of business ventures in the realm. So, I'm always listening to ambient music, world music, contemporary jazz, or an audiobook. At present, I'm listening to a Twin Cities ambient group called Amazonas and their CD "A New Day." (Makes me wish I was back in Santa Fe, sitting on top of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.)


Thanks, Nelson!