Happy New Year

2013 saw both a new Pynchon book and, in an easy way to trivialize a new Pynchon book, a new baby for Norm! Congratulations, brother!

Time to get over to this blog to type ramblings about authors is hard enough for me to make, and I have zero babies. But, in keeping with the general vibe of posts over here, I'm back with another random Dollar Bookstore discovery.

I finished the latest book I wrote about over here, Richard Flanagan's Wanting. I found it good, but certainly not as outstanding as I had hoped, but that's my fault.

Saying something truthful, like "Well, it's not as a good as Gould's Book of Fish," is like complaining Pudd'nhead Wilson isn't as good as Huck Finn--how could it be? In both cases, one is good book by a genius, and the other is a masterpiece.

But, since Flanagan doesn't get the recognition he deserves, sometimes his books end up on the margins, and for me in downtown Long Beach, those margins are manifested in the physical world by our Dollar Bookstore.

So the other day I found another new book to get to once my Christmas reading has finished:

The premise is that a stripper wakes up one morning to see her face all over the news as a newly wanted terrorist. After reading Wanting, I am curious to see how Flanagan deals with a more modern narrative. The first and last chapters of Gould's... notwithstanding, I've only seen his prose in specific historical time periods, and this idea seems like it could have some legs.

Also, having read Wanting, I know where to set my expectations so I won't face disappointment.

Thanksgiving Discovery

I know how swamped you've been, Norm...or at least I can imagine. Toddler, baby on the way, pregnant wife, very important jury service wrapped up...and then there's the j-o-b. On top of all that, there's books and reading.

Bleeding Edge I imagine is occupying whatever reading time you have for yourself, and then afterwards if you're still inclined is that skinny Mishima book, The Sailor Who Fell From Grace with the Sea.

So, here I am with some days off, and I took a sojourn from my housework and went down to my friendly Dollar Bookstore. I was perusing the disheveled shelves and saw a book by an author whose last name I recognized, Flanagan. A quick glance showed that it wasn't the author I thought, it was someone named Bob Flanagan. Hah, I thought, wouldn't it be cool if there were a Richard Flanagan book in here...that's why, after all, I was even looking though the "F" section.

Since the "F" section is pretty ragged, and around the edges last names starting E and G are easily seen, it's easy to imagine that within the section itself, nothing is really alphabetized. As I started to leave the aisle, my eyes caught another Flanagan name. It even looked like a Richard...could it be the same?

I grabbed the copy from the shelf and snatched it up, and before I even read the title of the book I noticed underneath the author's name it said, "Author of Gould's Book of Fish." Sold. I carried it around until I left and bought it.

I didn't bother to read the back to find out what it was about. Wanting is the title, and the lady with the rose on the cover only registered in my brain long after I was home and deciding to check out the meat of the story.

Here's a rundown, and Norm, since you know how Flanagan structures his stories, you can imagine how this one can turn out: In real life a guy named Sir John Franklin took his wife and left for Tasmania where, after a while, his wife fell in love with an aboriginal girl. Later, in real life, Sir John and his entire crew went missing on a trip to the North Pole--cannibalism was suspected.

Those are the real events that Flanagan uses to frame this book...

...And now I have to force myself to focus on other shit and not read it until later. It is just over 250 pages, though...

Another book to add to your already-too-long list, brother.

Not Really About Pynchon, But...

Here's one of a few pictures I'm trying to do something with:

III and IV, being blinded by the sun...

Just in Time...

It was a Tuesday. In September, but not a bright autumn day back in '01. The namesake for this blog was dropping a new novel upon his readers on September 17th, and for once I got to be excited for a book release.

Excitement over book releases are rarer these days---and then I remember all of the teeny-bopper unconsummated-love horror-pop genre fiction and I say, "Oh yeah...some folks really care about that stuff..."

So, I guess, if you like serious books about heady things, or like authors that are celebrated by heads and scholars alike, then when one of those authors delivers something new, you get excited.

I had plenty to do on that particular Tuesday, and checked to see when the book store closed---their website said 11 pm. It turns out that that was only for Friday and Saturday, and if I wanted to get there on this Tuesday in September, I had to make it by 10. When I realized this, it was, like, 9:38.

Where's the car parked? Do you really want to go right now? Can you even make it? Do they have a copy?

This is all pretty stupid, I was telling myself, but Corrie reminded me, "Hey--it's about the adventure, right? Screaming across town late at night might just be worth it..."

So, scream across town I did. I called as I huffed it out to the car to have them hold me a copy, then drove basically along the beach the entire length of our city to get to the one corporate bookstore I know about around town. Sitting at the last few stoplights, cursing and sweating, yelling at the lights and the randomly placed slow drivers, I was constantly aware of the car's clock, four minutes fast, mind you, but reading 10:01.

I tore ass into the parking lot, nearly skidded into a spot, 10:02 on the clock, I ran up to the door. The lights inside illuminated the fact that the door hadn't yet been locked, and the transient examining the bargain books by the door let me know they were still open. I smiled to myself, loosened up a bit, and let myself in.

I went right to the counter--I wasn't going to be wasting any of these workers' nights--and visually located the copy with the name "PATRICK" written on a piece of paper and rubber-banded together with it.

It was on a discount, too. Pretty sweet... My receipt says 9:58. Just made it, baby!

I texted you, Norm, as I got back to the car:

I'm just past 200 pages, which is almost halfway through it, and, damn, there is so much to say about it...

While my post isn't about a Tuesday in September back in '01, that hangs over this story like the proverbial ominous storm cloud. There is a disaster being brought upon the world by a type of evil that is manifested in greed and power struggles...nobody is quite sure what this disaster might prove to be, but of course we know.

You get the idea, reading it, that Pynchon began writing the book in his head, or maybe just working it out in his head, as a way of catharsis maybe right after the towers fell. It's like Against the Day meets Doc Spotello's investigation agency--by which I mean that you get the perspective of a transition era (in AtD it's the 19th-20th centuries) snuggled into a mysterious dilemma. It's also like Vineland in that it offers perspective on an era (the late '90s), but from less of a vantage point (right before 9/11, where in Vineland it's the '80s perspective on the '60s). But, like Mason & Dixon, since you know historically what the outcome will be, you get to supply your own perspective as well.

And, of course, he knows New York very well.

AND, the hero, or protagonist, like in The Crying of Lot 49, is a lady, a divorced Jewish mom, which is pretty cool. We should be able to amend our conversation about Pynchonian ladies all (mostly) being whores.

Masterpiece in the Mail

I haven't sent this yet, Norm, but I will be sending it soon. I know you have too much to do and read, but I found this book serendipitously enough, and was able to support the independent Phoenix Books in San Luis Obispo by purchasing it.

I only wanted to post about it after I mailed it, but that didn't work out. Yo:

I'd dragged Corrie into Phoenix Books on Monterrey without any idea about buying anything. Sometimes, things tell me they want to be purchased. Nearly done with the visit, I glanced down at the table with the newest stuff in, the stuff that had yet to be filed away. If you're looking for old Pynchon or old Denis Johnson, that's where'd you look since it wouldn't last long (unless it's Vineland).

Staring up at me was this copy of The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea, a tightly wound look at the homicidal tension that Mishima feels is at the base of the Japanese psyche. One of the three main characters, a thirteen year old boy, is named Noboru, which is the same name of the antagonist from Murakami's Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

The book revolves around a wealthy widow, her son, a sailor with whom she has an affair. I don;t want to ruin too much, but it is very taut and has some gruesome scenes, and Mishima's theory about the fundamental violence at the base of the Japanese is executed well here. Also, as a writer myself, I really do enjoy Mishima's ability to seamlessly shift between points-of-view in scene, and be able to keep each character's secret thoughts authentic and distinct.

Do you remember Corrie's cousin, Josh? His wife, Elizabeth, had a copy of this book at their house in Beacon, and I saw it and told I was reading the exact book, pulling out my copy to show her. She had many Yukio Mishima books, and said that this one, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea, was her favorite. It is quite excellent, if slight.

Ushikawa?

It's the funky looking, off-putting, chain smoking character that Murakami named "Bull-river," Ushikawa.

I got to page 426 in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and by 427 when the description comes in I remember thinking, This has to be Ushikawa, and then on 428 he introduces himself: "'The name is Ushikawa. That's ushi for "bull" and kawa for "river". Easy enough to remember, don't you think?'"

I mention it because, depending on how far along you've gotten in 1Q84, you'll have run into Ushikawa again.

This also highlights a few random thoughts I was having.

Like with Against the Day and Pynchon, this was another time of reading a later work before an earlier work. With Pynchon, I didn't know that Bodine was one of the recurring names of a set of characters.

With having read 1Q84 before The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which itself was written maybe a dozen years prior, this Ushikawa made his first impression on me in the newer story. Had I read Wind-Up... first, I believe that I surely would have recognized him in 1Q84 before his name came up, as did other Ruke-man fans.

Another thought I was having was the pace at which I'm making it through Wind-Up Bird...

I started it back in December when I was busing it to tutor sessions on the PV peninsula. It's not like the book is difficult and reading it is a slog (see Gravity's Rainbow and Mason & Dixon), and, for the record, nothing by the Ruke-man that I've found could ever really be considered a "slog."

Something about it though...it never gripped me, or at least hadn't as of the 420 pages. Maybe it is starting to now, at least, with  the random 3rd person breaks about the boy and the "newspaper articles" filling in some holes. (The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace also has a multi-pronged narrative approach with transcripts and articles and such...)

And it's not like I haven't had time to read. If that had been the case, like I imagine it is with my blog-mate, I could understand the lag better. When the Bleeding Edge comes out in September, what with my schedule being what it'll be, that could easily be the case at that time. But, while I've been reading this book by Murakami I've also read: Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman; half of a Tesla bio by Margaret Cheney; And Still We Rise by Miles Corwin; As They See 'Em by Bruce Weber; The Dinosaur Heresies by Dr. Bob Bakker; and The Tao of Baseball by a Canuck writer and thinker who goes by Go. The Goldman and Weber books were both gifts from Uncle Dan and Auntie Peg; and along with the Corwin book and Bakker book, everything is non-fiction, which is easier for me to breeze through on my LA Metro rides than even something as smooth as Murakami.

So...what...

Seeing Ushikawa in multiple spots is the same for me as seeing the Traverses in multiple spots, or even my own character Cooper. I have a character named Cooper who has bit roles in both my short The New American Patriot as well as in the current novel I'm working right now.

So, I was excited anyway. I've been busy with a different writing project lately; I'll go into it in detail a little later...

See you at the Birthday Party!

PIPD2013

Today marks Pynchon's birthday, and so (apparently) it's celebrated by Pynchonophiles as Pynchon In Public Day.

Scribble a muted horn on something; talk at a random stranger about the climbing a hemp plant like Jack on a beanstalk; imagine yourself crammed into a V2 or on an airship or throwing pies from a hot air balloon over the Alps.

Celebrate the Oeuvre!