"Bicycle Diaries" by David Byrne

For those of you not familiar with his multifarious and astounding body of work, David Byrne is a 21st century Renaissance man. Even before reading this book (which is the very first book of his I have read), I have long considered David Byrne to be probably the coolest guy around today (in that hipster, geeky definition of "cool"). Byrne is the former lead-man for the Talking Heads, who were easily one of the most progressive, fun/serious, and awesome musical acts of their time (consider the album "Naked"... amazing... simply amazing). But his talents and interests extend so far beyond the reach of the Talking Heads that I even hesitate to begin there. So let's just get to the book, since that's what this dog and pony show is really about anyhow (cover pictured above, with Byrne in his classic ironic pose).

"Bicycle Diaries" is Byrne's most recent book (published in 2009), of which he has written six. Essentially, this non-fiction book is a personal and meandering exploration of cities and thought from the vantage point of a bicycle seat. I have to admit that at first I was a tad vexed by the seeming lack of direction in this book; but I quickly realized that the book doesn't need a direction. Surprise, surprise!! It's a little like riding a bike! As an avid bicyclist myself, I fully understand that one of the most liberating and fun aspects of bicycling is the exploration and rambling inherent in this mode of travel. When you are on a bike, you can cruise at your own pace, let the mind wander, and soak up the world around you. "Bicycle Diaries" manifests this attitude in book form. The product is delightful.

At about 300 pages, this beautifully hardbound book is chocked full of random photos and drawings, maps and replicas, and small printing details (like a flip-book feature that results in a biker riding his way across the bottom right of the pages) that really make the final product an endearing and "heirloom" type of book. You can tell that Byrne is a keen visual artist when you navigate the thoughtfully laid out pages and binding. Though this hardbound first edition it was a bit expensive (at about $30), I really enjoyed the elegant composition of the book as a whole.

Inside, the reader discovers the varied exploits of our eccentric navigator. Byrne takes us around the world relating to us his sometimes impressive, sometimes weird, sometimes esoteric, and always thought-provoking experiences. The book is divided into chapters dedicated to a particular world city: Buenos Aires, Manila, Berlin, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Istanbul, Sydney, and, of course, New York (his home city). As he navigates the city on bike, meets up with artist friends, and contemplates the ramifications of modern society, we get a revealing perspective on an individual who has a remarkable (and, I think, accurate) take on the world around us. It's tough to pin down any themes through the book (because ideas are fleeting and somewhat schizophrenic), but I really enjoyed hearing the author's take on city design and planning, transportation alternatives, art, music, language, local culture, the effects of immigration/emigration and assimilation, traditions, politics, war, philosophy, and anything else under the sun. Usually I would probably complain about a book that fails to take on any one idea fully (with the exception of maybe bike transportation and it's ramifications in the modern world). But I think that Byrne effectively and reasonably limited the intended scope of his book such that the reader is not disappointed when he abruptly ends his spiel on, say, subways and begins ruminating upon his latest public art installation or Wittgenstein.

As long as you don't expect any real answers from this book, you stand to get a lot out of it. Byrne is, if anything, an extremely progressive thinker and tinkerer. He is so open minded and his ideas seem to operate in possibilities rather than limitations. Simultaneously, he is ostensibly a critical human being and a cynic. In short, he is a dynamic guy who is so much a reflection of his time and place that it is almost scary. Strike that; he is a bit scary. But I like scary.

I would highly suggest this book for a travel read (I really wish I had this book while hitch-hiking in Patagonia). It is engaging, but it is easy enough to drop off and pick right back up where you left off at a later point in time. I look forward to reading another David Byrne book in the near future, most likely "Arboretum".

And, of course, what would my blog be without the bread-and-butter?? Here come the quotes!! Here come the quotes!!

"Maybe absolute justice, like absolute anything, rarely exists except in mathematics" - David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, pg 71

"One theory regarding language is that it is primarily a useful tool born out of the need for control.... What's amazing is that if we accept this idea, then what may have begun as an instrument of social and economic control has now been internalized by us as a mark of being civilized. As if being controlled were, by inference, seen as a good thing, and to proudly wear the badge of this agent of control - to be able to read and write - makes us better, superior, more advanced.... We've come to love the chains that bind us, that control us, for we believe that they are us." - David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, pg 161-2 (btw, I don't really agree with this, but it is thought provoking)

"The myth of neutrality is an effective blanket for a host of biases." - David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, pg 213

"I'm not sure I know anyone, anyone at all, who is completely sane. Sure, I know plenty of people who play the sanity game with skill and daring. Their masks of having it together are well secured, and they don't spit out profanities or stare googly-eyed into space." - David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, pg 235

"The limits of my language are the limits of my mind. All I know is what I have words for." - Wittgenstein

"Now, with the atomic bomb especially, as White points out, that protective aspect of what a city is has been turned upside down." - David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, pg 260

"If democracy is to prevail, public good must prevail over private interests." - Enrique Peñalosa, former mayor of Bogotá, Colombia

"The poor transvestites are always getting shoved from one neglected zone to another." - David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, pg 291

"Blindness" by José Saramago

I like José Saramago.

For a Nobel Prize winner (1998), he kind of fades into the periphery of the literary field of vision. For what he lacks in public image, he surely makes up for in voice and confidence. "Blindness" is the third Saramago book I have read in some six or seven years, and I feel like I gained a lot of perspective on his allure. His style is powerful, he's patient, he's rhythmic, he evokes emotion in a prose devoid of it, and he convinces the reader that, as a writer, he's a nothing short of a pro.

I would have to characterize the literary "ism" José Saramago assumes through his work as "rational-humanistic neo-naturalism". (Ha! I made that up, of course) What I mean by that (if anything) is that a reader of "Blindness" gets the perspective of a sensitive but quotidian person that is faced with a brutal, bitter-sweet existence. The characters feel like real people that face unspeakably tragic circumstances (life). The characters are essentially human in the sense that they persevere and are resilient, but the contemporary world they find themselves in is sick and flat and somewhat pathetic. In this bleak world of of our collective making, individuals inject a trace of beauty and emotion, and that is our worth.

I initially saw the plot of this book as a bit hokey, since it revolves around a single plot device. Essentially, "Blindness" is the story of an unnamed city (or maybe country or even maybe the whole world; we don't know) that is struck by a sudden pandemic of "white blindness". Well, as you may have guessed, this means that the population suddenly loses their vision to a flood of white light. And as you may have also guessed, one character alone retains her vision and is tasked with "leading the blind". That is about as far as the assumptions will take you in this book.

Through a cadenced and flowing prose, Saramago follows a group of everyday people as they are struck by the blindness, as they are taken to an army quarantine and left to fend for themselves in a "Lord of the Flies" type of environment, and as they escape back into a post apocalyptic world of lost, wandering, filthy, and horrified blind people. The modern infrastructure and civilization devolves into a sh*t covered cement landscape of disease and hunger. Destination-less denizens wander in search of food, shelter, and lost pasts. With the lone seer as their guide and protector, a small group of unnamed main characters (they were the first to go blind and the government tried to isolate those infected with the "bacteria") cope with the partial existence they are left with. The story is part horror, part apocalypse, part realisism, and all allegory. I hope this sets the tone for you well enough to have piqued your interest. Trust me, there are some memorable scenes.

I saw so much of so many other literary works in this book, too. Primarily, the book is at once evocative of Hemingway, Kafka, and (Cormac) McCarthy. It is efficient and powerful, conversational (in a literary prose sense), and is such a pleasure to read. Like "The Road" by McCarthy (see below post), the book observes the human spirit in the face of utter destruction. Like Kafka (anything really, but specifically "The Castle"), the sentence and paragraph structures run on and on and on like the momentum of a giant lead ball. Like Hemingway, we feel the passion of existence in hearty verse. And I even felt like "Blindness" in some way mirrored another book of Saramago's, "The Cave". Similarly, a band of individuals is faced with a world of modern dread, and they even both discover the heart of evil in an underground room (neat, huh!). Even with the constant comparisons I was coming up with in my head, the book consistently stands on its own and is a worthy story.

Themes in this book are not limited to the following: parables and maxims ("sententious" is a word I learned in this book), civilization, chaos, communism, the power of language, morality, filth/waste, wandering, the fragility of our world(s), reliance, shame (well, emotion in general), coping, and philosophy. Though this all may sound rather drab, remember: art is sometimes just a really beautiful reflection of our true existence. Actually, that's even more drab...

In any event, this book was a good read, and I look forward to seeing the movie version with Jodie Foster (that's right! from "Contact"!). When I see it I will let you know, but until then:

"Just as the habit does not make the monk, the scepter does not make the king" - pg 209

"Just like everything else in life, let time take its course and it will find a solution." - pg 241

"But none of us, lamps, dogs, or humans, knows at the outset, why we have come into this world." - pg 274

"A glass of water is a marvelous thing." - pg 276

"Keep what is of no use at the moment, and later you will find what you need." - pg 288

"Infinite Jest" by David Foster Wallace

Unfortunately, I have not been able to finish any books recently, because I have been busy with some... stuff. But, fear not! I will pull one out of the "archives" (as they say). I wrote this one on November 5th, 2008. I consider this book one of the most satisfying I have ever read. Bow your heads in reverence:
"Infinite Jest" by David Foster Wallace

Wallace definitely put together something unique here. As a whole, this book pretty much stands alone (at least I have difficulty finding good analogues and comparisons to the entire work). It just has so much in it. The book is HUGE, meandering, funny, complex, entertaining, misleading, explorative, scattered and stunted, self-conscious, fucked-up, and wholly captivating. It's commendable for an author to construct such a voluminous and exhausting book (1,100 pages including 100 pages of notes) that is thoroughly and consistently engaging. I was anticipating a frustrating and tedious amount of work to get through it, but I gotta say I enjoyed it at all times. Finished it in less than 4 weeks, which for me, is incredible.

It's really tough to decide where to start discussing the book. I guess, for me, it's important to begin by saying this is a truly contemporary work that sponged up and excreted our American culture in truly awesome literary fashion. In the way Joyce captured turn-of-the-century Dublin, Wallace is purely turn of the 21st century American. Eschatology, depravity, politics, language, consumerism, entertainment, drug culture, advertising and marketing, gratification, isolation, depression, artificiality, pop culture, disassociation: this book is American.

In a really dark and ironic way, this book is hilarious, too. I think the enduring image I will not be allowed to let go of is when Hal walks into the house where his alcoholic/depressed dad just committed suicide by microwaving his own head until it exploded and he thinks, "Gee! Something really smells good!". I laughed out loud. This book is funny in the way that our people deal with our culture today: in a sort of disassociated, flippant, pragmatic and ridicule-filled reaction to a severely fucked-up world. I guess that's humanity, though. You find a way to cope.

One aspect of the book I found to be of particular interest was the idea of the Entertainment: the video cartridge so terribly entertaining that it incapacitates its viewer until they die. That was an awesome literary creation. Wallace used it really well, too. It was vague and dark and interest piquing, and it was the touchstone for a lot of discrete characters and plot lines. I found myself hoping for this topic to re-arise throughout the book, just waiting for another hint or explanation of what it was, how it worked, etc. (ironic and purposeful, I'm sure).

Here's the thing about this book: I feel that this oh-so-short blog posting is insufficient. It does the work no justice. I would be more than happy to discuss the book with you, as I believe the only way to truly communicate my impression of it is through a long, involved, and sometimes firey conversation. It's that good.

The only thing is, I'm not sure how much I would encourage others to read it (maybe Nate?).

"House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewski

I have to admit that the first time I cracked open House of Leaves, I was sitting on the toilet at a friends house. Honestly, I just can't go #2 without reading something. Well, it only took the requisite 5.5 minutes for me to realize that this book was different than most. I was shocked by the seemingly erratic text, blank pages, footnotes upon footnotes upon footnotes, spiraling patterns, and sporadically colored fonts. “What the eff is this thing?” I scoffed.

Obviously, I didn't figure it out in my 5.5 minutes of peace. The one thing I was absolutely convinced of, though, was that no matter what the book was, none of my friends would ever tackle that chaotic, bizarre, and (no doubt) indecipherable tome. When I exited the bathroom, I immediately walked over to my friend Paco and promptly explained to him that I was completely sure that, in no-matter-how-many years, none of our friends would ever read that book. None of them, ever.

Thank you Chad for revealing both my naïveté and the awesomeness of this book. First off, three of my friends had already read the damn thing (Lacey, Nate, and Chad). Secondly, they all have (now demonstrated) good taste in literature. House of Leaves is an underestimated jewel of a book.

The first thing any reader of House of Leaves would have to notice is the bizarre layout. This book is an example of (what I subsequently learned to be called) ergodic literature. That is, the author experiments with and

utilizes

bizarre and innovative

layouts

and

structures .

House of Leaves exercises the 'fourth dimension' of literature. That is, style, format, color, orientation, shapes, schemas, and the visual composition of the text all contribute to the work in their unusual ways. Though off-putting and seemingly random at first, you quickly come to realize when reading this book that the author not only purposefully sculpted every bizarre turn, but also did so with an unanticipated and fantastic acumen. The layout of the text parallels and enhances the actions, themes, ideas, environments, pathos, and states of mind that are being communicated in House of Leaves. The author masterfully manipulates the text into complex patterns to match his equally complex world. As the author writes on page 71, “Incoherent – yes. Without meaning – I'm afraid not.”

And as the reader discovers, this book has so much more to offer than just a new, kooky way to lay out text. The layout is just the visual manifestation of this book's consciousness. First off, the author employs complex and inventive layered points of view. From first person, to second person, to third person, to editorial, to meta-editorial, to documentarial, and to innumerable other perspectives, this story is told from all angles. It is a cool twist on telling a story. Also, the writing styles in this book are as multifarious as you would find in Ulysses or the Bible. Danielewski samples from and parodies everything: journaling, documentary, horror story, mystery, personal correspondence, academia, psychological studies, movie scripts, endless lists, religious epistles, mystic ramblings, philosophical ponderings, historical snippets, and on and on. Reading this book is refreshingly interactive because you are constantly switching gears, turning the book upside down, skipping sections, and flipping back and forth between appendices and exhibits. To be sure, the text requires a fairly disciplined focused, but rewards you with an engaging, dynamic rhythm.

One thing that needs to be said is that, regardless of how complicated this book seems at times, the whole thing comes together so beautifully and is designed with such attentiveness that the end result is surprisingly digestible for the reader. Where I would be more reticent to suggest, say, Infinite Jest or Gravity's Rainbow to most people, House of Leaves proves itself to have that desirable balance between substance/power and accessibility. Though certainly not for the uncommitted, House of Leaves appears a lot more intimidating than it turns out to be. This is a good thing, I think.

Meanwhile, this book takes the reader on an in-depth and in-yo-face exploration of mental illness, suicide, drug addiction, paranoia, abuse, pain, obsession, love, familial disfunction, cult followings, the inevitable end, and the basic fear that lives deep in all of us. We get to peek into the dark recesses of the mind with a critical (and kind of funny) magnifying glass.

A major concept in House of Leaves is that of the Labyrinth. Both in narrative and layout, the reader follows a maze, complete with dead ends and a sense of disorientation, through the lives of the characters. Searching deeper, exploring further into the labyrinth, the maze, the house, and the characters pushes the searcher deeper into one's self, closer to themselves, finding unexplored parts of their minds and being. The characters themselves react to this introspective journey in a variety of ways (mostly, not so well...). Some characters psychiatrically devolve, some turn to existential crutches, some are scarred, some kill, and some die. In any event, this journey to the center of the Labyrinth is a critical event in life. I suppose the reader is supposed to transpose this explorative/revelatory theme upon themselves, but what will you discover?

I will say just one last thing and then let you be on your way. One method that Danielewski employs really well in House of Leaves is to blur the line between reality and imagination. Throughout the book, it is suggested to the reader that aspects of the story are based on real-world facts. I realize that I haven't at all explained the plot of the book in this review, but trust me, it would be futile at this point. Suffice it to say that Danielewski toys with the concept of fact/fiction, real/unreal. Like the movie Adaptation, the War of the Worlds broadcast, or the Blair Witch Project, the reader walks away from House of Leaves with this eerie sense of possibility. Maybe the House really exists? Maybe Zampano really wrote that manuscript? Maybe this text is a crazy amalgam of fact and fiction, and maybe I am a part of it's evolution? Let's hope note!!!

Quotes:

“ This not only applies to the house but to the film itself. From the outset of The Navidson Record, we are involved in a labyrinth, meandering from one celluloid cell to the next, trying to peek around the next edit in hopes of finding a solution, a centre, a sense of whole, only to discover another sequence, leading in a completely different direction, a continually devolving discourse, promising the possibility of discovery while all along dissolving into chaotic ambiguities too blurry to ever completely comprehend.” - 114

“I have no idea whether it's on purpose or not. Sometimes I'm certain it is. Other times I'm sure it's just one big f*cking train wreck.” - 149

“This is not for you.” - the first page of the introduction

"The Road" by Cormac McCarthy

Aha! Now I understand why everyone makes such a big deal of Cormac McCarthy! Is is because he is, in fact, a big deal. When I read "All the Pretty Horses" last year, I was a bit underwhelmed. Though I enjoyed it, I had my qualms with the book and grew slightly skeptical of Cormac McCarthy's reputation as a badass. It would be an understatement to say that, with "The Road", McCarthy flipped my wig.

From the very first page, "The Road" rendered me helpless and gasping under its surprising power. This book is something special. It's superbly thought out, painfully controlled, emotionally exhausting, it challenges, it stuns with beauty, and you will never have read anything like it. The book has a sense of eternity to it; it makes you feel as if it has always been out there, and you knew it, and by reading it you are just now fully realizing it. Possibly because the story is so fundamental, so archetypal, and simultaneously so shocking and out-there that, though you suspected it, you are still flabbergasted by its absurd voltage.

Okeedoke. That's enough of that. Let's venture some specifics:


"The Road" is the story of a father and son journeying across a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape with an uncertain destination. Whatever horrific catastrophe that scorched the Earth and all its cities occurred some many years ago, and now, the burnt, sterile land grows cold under the thick layer of ubiquitous smog. The only survivors wander the land starving and scared, save for the roaming gangs of desperate cannibals. We watch as the unnamed father and son live out their hopeless lives and endure twisted incident after twisted incident. In the face of horror, their human spirit pushes them on. This is the story of their wandering.

An analogy -
Cormac McCarthy : authors :: the guy with a natural skill for smartly fitting a huge quantity of luggage into a small trunk : luggage packers
On both the macro and the micro levels, Cormac McCarthy is an author with the oft-underestimated skill of efficiency. He's not like yours truly who fritters away the readers time with obfuscating pleonasm. Oh, no! He's actually good. On the macro scale, the (relatively short) book as a whole works on a number of different levels: we have a travel tale, an apocalypse story, a book of existential philosophy, sci-fi, a grail myth, a warning, a discussion of man's moral foundations, post-modernism, and a unique twist on the meaning of love. On the micro level, I cannot think of another author short of Hemingway that so capably and elegantly wrings so much out of every single sentence. There isn't a wasted word in the book. With a deceptively detached and slow cadence, every phrase is masterfully manipulated for maximum impact. Like a surgeon who uses tiny, specific tools to work miracles.

I think this book would rightfully fall into the "Horror" section of a book store. Above all else that impressed me about this book, never in my life have I ever read a book that gave me the heebiejeebies like "The Road". Terrifying imagery, ungodly incidents, a sense of worldly dread, and the darkest possible perspective on our collective fate (save the ending) all combine in this work of pure horror. I made the mistake of starting this book at 12:30 am, and did not calm myself to sleep until the sun came up... and I'm not easily scared. There are scenes from "The Road" I will never forget.

And, like most of my favorite books, "The Road" is capable of juxtaposing a sense of startling beauty against the darkness. Above all, the relationship between the boy and the father is particularly awesome. Their love is founded on simple interdependence, the fusion of their two worlds into a single shared experience, and absolute trust. The interplay between their characters is truly touching. In the face of total loss and complete devastation, they persist together. Also, through the murk of desolation and wrath, "The Road" shines a beacon. There is something vaguely alluded to about the boy and what he represents that sparks possibility in the mind of the reader. I believe McCarthy purposefully left this aspect of the book open and inconclusive, but there is certainly something with potential in this boy that has yet to manifest. And finally, there exists a nuanced beauty in the simple grace with which the author describes his fallen world. Mesmerizing.

All in all, this was one of the most inventive, impressive, and moving books I have had the pleasure to read in quite some time. From the very beginning, I felt compelled by this book. A twisted, smart ride along the edges of humanity.

Now that I have made you salivate like the dogs you are, I will reward you with the meat: my selection of quotes from Cormac McCarthy's "The Road".

"The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void." pg 8

"Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland. The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night." 28

"Where you've nothing else construct ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them." 74

"Where men cant live gods fare no better. You'll see. It's better to be alone." 172

"Perhaps in the world's destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence." 274

Scared yet? You should be.

A thousand splendid words on "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini

With the publication of his first and only other novel, "The Kite Runner", Khaled Hosseini penetrated the literary scene only 6 years ago. As it rose to the top of the best seller lists, "The Kite Runner" brought Hosseini fame and recognition to American readers. When his highly anticipated follow up book "A Thousand Splendid Suns" was released in 2007, he was confirmed as a significant and unique voice in contemporary fiction. Though I have seen the film adaptation of "The Kite Runner", I haven't read it. I liked the movie though, and when I found "A Thousand Splendid Suns" on sale for $5 at the splendid St. Louis Book Fair, I said 'what the hey?'. Read on:


I suppose the first thing that must be said is that Khaled Hosseini is Afghani. He hales from Afghanistan (go ahead. don't be embarrassed. go look it up and find out where it is. I'll wait...). You might have heard a little something in the news about a war in some obscure country in the middle of Asia. Ring a bell? Well, that's Afghanistan. Trust me, I am no Afghanologist myself. I think most Americans could give a rat's ass about the poor place, and its just so confusing. Well, it turns out that some interesting, sad, and unbelievable things have happened there over the last 50 years. Both of Hosseini's books are based on Afghani people weathering the strange and dramatic twists of their country's history, and this proves to be fairly educational to the reader.

Afghanistan is one of those pitiable victims of the Age of Superpowers. As it is located at the crux of the world, the place has ebbed and flowed on the whim of conquerors for millennia. It's not really a new thing, but the political unrest that has plagued the nation since the Soviets invaded during the Cold War has proved extraordinarily damaging. Afghanistan's people, economy, agriculture, culture, and history have all suffered tremendously as the country has been abandoned and conquered by horrific forces these past decades. Though I can't say I understood or remembered all of the factoids about the country's history that Hosseini dumps into this novel, I can say that the historical knowledge and context that he gives us enhances the appeal of this book greatly. It was a critical aspect to the book, in my opinion.

"A Thousand Splendid Suns" is the intertwined tales of two Afghani women that follow different paths in life, both equally brutal. As the Communists leave the country and the power vacuum is filled with increasingly archaic and draconian rulers, their lives and their country spiral down in a double helix of horror. Oppressive phallocentrism, fascist dogma, misogyny, injustice, and a sense of international invisibility plague the lives of these people. Through the characters' sad lives and their crystal clear understanding of their world, this book criticizes all the tragedy that results from their history. The book is a clear statement on women's rights, fanatical religion, the farce of politics, poverty, the significance of history/art, and love.

The story line in this book is riveting, fast moving, and is ready made for a movie. Much like "The Kite Runner," there is a clear intention from the beginning that this is movie material. And I guess that is where my first criticism will take root. As much as I enjoyed it and found insight and beauty in this book, it is clearly a bestselling, page-turning, Hollywood wet dream. At times, I felt like I was reading "The DaVinci Code" or something (sorry Hosseini, I know that was harsh). It doesn't necessarily discredit the book, but it does make the story line more predictable and lessens the literary seriousness of work. Ah, well.

All in all, the book was a gripping, fast, emotional, and compelling read, and I would certainly suggest it to a select portion of my friends and family. If anything, take the 3 hours needed to read it just to find out a little more about the tortured but dignified people of Afghanistan. The book really did help me understand and empathize with their history, and I figure, if my country is bombing a place, I should at least try to learn something about it. Right?

Quote time!!
"Learn this now and learn it well, my daughter: Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman. Always."

"One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls." -from an ancient poem about Kabul

"The only enemy an Afghan cannot defeat is himself."

"An American Dream" by Norman Mailer

I had bought this book sometime ago, put it on my shelf, and forget about it immediately. I had never read a Norman Mailer book before, and though the name was well known to me, I was completely unfamiliar with both his life and his works. As an introduction to the legendary career of one of American history's truly epic characters, "An American Dream" was a real kick in the pants. Having possessed no context for the tone of the book, I was a little shocked. This book is offensive! And, if you are familiar at all with my tastes in art, you would know I appreciate offensive.

If you didn't know, now you know: Norman Mailer is one of the bad dudes of the 20th century. After finishing his book, I had to go Wikipedia him. The dude lived one helluva life. Raised in Brooklyn, Mailer attended Harvard University, fought in WWII in the Philippines, co-founded the Village Voice, won the Pulitzer Prize twice and the National Book Award, stabbed one of his 6 wives with a penknife in the middle of a party, and helped parole a convicted killer who, 6 weeks later, killed another victim. He fought many demons in his day, and it is often said that the main character in "An American Dream", Stephen Rojack, is somewhat autobiographical. That is not a good thing for Norman Mailer, I must say.

"An American Dream" is all about one guy: Stephen Rojack. A denizen of dismal New York City, Rojack is a decorated WWII vet, an ex-congressman, a university professor, a TV personality, and an all around successful society type. When he married the wicked, influential, and matronly Deborah, he married the only daughter of the billionaire boss-man Oswald Barney Kelly. When he killed Deborah by strangling her and then dumping her body out of a highrise, he married the filthy, haunted fate of a sick man.

The story opens with the story of how Rojack, during a German battle in WWII, maniacally and robotically stormed a defended hill and blew up 4 enemy gunmen, thereby defending his troop and conquering the day. The significance of that experience resonates throughout the rest of the story. We find connected thoughts and emotions, and small rememberences of the day he first killed. It may even be suggested that this experience dramatically effects Rojack's morality and sense of superstition. I say this because everything that happens subsequently is a delerious nightmare.

This book is dark. Really dark for its publication in 1965. This book is dedicated to chronicling about 2 days in the recent life of Stephen Rojack, and the man is truly a monster. A raging alcoholic, a liar, a killer, a psychotic, and a nymphomaniac, the man is governed by forces he cannot come to grips with. He is a puppet, and a wacked-out puppet at that. He is extraordinarily superstitous and places his fate in ritual, he lives out the moral battle between God and Satan, he is capricious and controlled by his vascillating moods, and he always makes the wrong choice. The man's breath reeks of cigarettes, gin, and hate. I was often reminded of pulp fiction writing in this book. Rojack and the other characters have this sharp, disturbed, obscuring animation to them, and the rainy, grimy city sets the perfect stage for a noir ambience. The zietgiests of the time manifest in a reversed ethos of greed, perversity, disease, and evil. And it's clear in this book that the richer and more powerful man, the more violent the fight for their morality.

Several works came to mind while reading "An American Dream". First of all, I can't help but think Bret Easton Ellis had this book in mind when he wrote "American Psycho". Beyond the title, Ellis's book mimicks many similar themes: violence, death, compulsion, indulgence, grim powers operating under the surface, the state of our culture, and pandemic phsychosis. The level of sickness and the personal narrative perspective also connect the two works. Also, I thought of Jack Kerouac and Cormac MacCarthy towards the end.

The title of this book suggests a couple of things. First off, the whole book has a very palpable dream-like quality. It's hazy, amnesiac, evocative, and lethargic. Nightmarish. Also, it suggests that, if the "successful" characters in the book have acheived the "American Dream", then how effed up is that? And, just as a juxtaposition to the entire work, "An American Dream" just drips with satire. A good working title, in my opinion.

One thing is for sure: Norman Mailer is a writer of immense talent. At 265 pages, this book just zooms along with a virtuoso's elegance. There are passages in this book that just sweep you up and zone you out. With thriftiness and savagery, Mailer delivers a brutal round-house punch to the cranium with a velvet gloved fist. Enchanting and haunting simultaneously.

I have to be honest, though. As I closed the book upon finishing it and set it on the table, I realized I was missing something. This happens to every reader out there from time to time, I think. Your conception of the book just feels unfinished, even though the book itself is through. Well, sure, I thought this book was satisfying in many ways, but due to the stratospheric heights on which this book operates, it's tough to keep your feet on the ground towards the end. (Take this as a challenge, and not a negative review).

Read it, but use discretion.

Quote: "Then I was caught. For I wanted to escape from that intelligence which let me know of murders in one direction and conceive of visits to Cherry from the other, I wanted to be free of magic, the tongue of the Devil, the dread of the Lord, I wanted to be some sort of rational man again, nailed tight to details, promiscuous, reasonable, blind to the reach of the seas. But I could not move." pg 255