Sorry, I had to get that out. This is the 2nd book that I’ve read this year. TWO, DOS, NUMÉRO DEUX. 1/3 YASSSSSSS!!!! I DID IT. I AIN’T NO QUITTER!!!
Sorry, I had to get that out. This is the 2nd book that I’ve read this year. TWO, DOS, NUMÉRO DEUX. 1/3 of the year down and TWEE. This is reprehensible. I am a sea anemone but not as cute. I am shamed.
BUT I DID IT! I finished what amounts to ¾ of a George RR Martin book with a lot less characters! Yay on me!
This was one book that I was indecisive on. Should I read it? I mean it won a Nobel prize, but then again, hype. My friends are talking it up, but I hated The Secret History. I don’t know� nail biting really (a testament to my awesome social life). Then, there it was, on the $1 table at the local library sale. This whopping hardcover in the age of kindles. Ok. Fate has spoken.
Then it sat in my bag for months. I wouldn’t take it out, I would carry it but never start it. Almost my albatross� not that I was reading anything else, but basically, not that I was reading. (frowny face)
I was skeptical, I still felt the agony of TSH� the trauma and dashed hopes but I plundered on� and it took a good 40 pages for me to say.. ‘oh, this is kinda neat�. Neat meaning that someone would actually choose to (view spoiler)[bomb the Metropolitan Museum of Art (hide spoiler)]. Who does that? Why didn’t they go into that? My god! Now I had to read on.
Ok, I liked Theo. I know he was a whiny asshat (with reason)Anthony . I get that. I can see the privilege being a sore spot. I can see someone slapping the back of his head with a ‘get over it, kid� but I can see the other side. The trauma, the agoraphobia, the tinnitus, the flashbacks that you don’t really hear about but can obviously witness. This is what I liked about Tartt’s writing this time. She made you look for it. Each character is so perfectly molded and so layered that you can re-read passages and psycho-analyze it and it turns out different each time. At least for me.
I love Boris. I really do. I found myself reading his dialogue in choppy Russian accents (which I would NEVER do aloud) and loving him even more. He is so.. I guess Theo called him fearless� he will throw himself into any situation and not care of the outcome. It is what it is. That, my friends, is a talent. I can personally say that I map out everything that I do in fear of retribution, perception, judgment, blah blah blah. What it must be like to be fearless. I imagine your life is not very long.
“Well—I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between ‘good� and ‘bad� as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can’t exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you—wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking ‘what if,� ‘what if.� ‘Life is cruel.� ‘I wish I had died instead of.� Well—think about this. What if all your actions and choices, good or bad, make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre-set? No no—hang on—this is a question worth struggling with. What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?�
Here is where we get into what Theo is saying in the last 20 pages ( Sarah!! Peeking!!!). That old knowledge that we don’t want to acknowledge. Life sucks. It really does. It’s not fair, we learn this fairly early and then we swallow it and we find shiny things to occupy ourselves so we don’t have to think about the shit we’re going through. Ooh, I’m an orphan, can I please get an American Girl doll? It’s about surviving and if we have to survive something, then it mostly like sucks.
Pippa is beautiful. I think that the relationship between Theo and Pippa is so tragic. Screw Catherine and Heathcliff. They have NO IDEA. Imagine surviving such a trauma.. imagine being linked by that and all that it represents. I see how Theo feels Pippa is his salvation, his one true. I see how Pippa can’t let herself do that because of the instability that all that entails. I love that Theo can’t see that until much later, at least he had that light to hold on to. I love that she’s not like Kitsey� although I think I get where Kitsey is coming from. I’m not saying there isn’t hardships with privilege. (minor eye rolling)
“His reassuring hand on my shoulder, a strong, comforting pressure, like an anchor letting me know that everything was okay. I hadn’t felt a touch like that since my mother died—friendly, steadying in the midst of confusing events—and, like a stray dog hungry for affection, I felt some profound shift in allegiance, blood-deep, a sudden, humiliating, eyewatering conviction of this place is good, this person is safe, I can trust him, nobody will hurt me here.�
So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m NOT going to use the ‘Winners never Quit� � line but if you gave up on this, you might want to try again. The writing is elegant, the characters are stunning and the tale will stick with you. My daughter is in NYC this weekend and one of the plan events was a tour called ‘Strange and beautiful things� and I thought how awesome is that? They were going to tour Chelsea and a folk museum, and go to the Strand� it sounded so lovely. Only 3 people signed up for it so it was canceled. Life sucks.
“That life - whatever else it is - is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch.�
"There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea."
You th"There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea."
You think about signs. How it is so easy to miss them, misinterpret them, ignore them, spit in their face. Is it about rebellion? Is it trying to defy the inevitable? If you ignore the whole nations, anguish, tossing part of the bible quote and focus on the selfish, defeatist, lovelorn Yunior and his tales of woe that is This is How You Lose Her, you know that he definitely spat.
“I’m not a bad guy.�
You know that this is probably the one statement that you don’t want to hear from someone you are sleeping with. It’s a garish neon blinking VACANCY sign. It’s doomed. This is how This is How You Lose Her starts and you roll your eyes and wait for the proof. Yunior is a major sucio. It’s right there, in like the 4th sentence of the first story. You cannot deny this, if you knew this man you would hate him on principle.
� Fuck You for cheating on me. Fuck you for reducing it to the word cheating. As if this were a card game, and you sneaked a look at my hand. Who came up with the term cheating, anyway? A cheater, I imagine. Someone who thought liar was too harsh. Someone who thought devastator was too emotional. The same person who thought, oops, he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Fuck you. This isn’t about slipping yourself an extra twenty dollars of Monopoly money. These are our lives. You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned.�
Fuck Yeah.
Yet you continue to read these stories of Yunior and his exploits and his constant yearning for that one true love. While fucking 3 to 4 woman on the side during each of his relationships. You actually relish in his demise. What makes you continue reading? Is it the second person narrative that you love so much, the inclusion, the self helpy feeling that it brings? Hell Yes, you crave the attention, you want to be part of the cool crowd. You continue.
“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.�
Neruda was a cheater. Uh Huh. This haunts you. You’ve swooned over his words and now they are tinged. It’s not hard to ignore when he gets all “I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.� on you, and you know that you are being judgmental and that you should be Freetobeyouandme about it but you feel betrayed.
Then something happens. The Cheater’s Guide to Love. You’ve spent all of the book muttering ‘fuck you, you dirty swine� and then the call of the dysfunctional man pulls you in. Why are you feeling bad for Yunior? You liked watching karma kick his ass. Now you feel pity. Which, in itself, is a triumph. Who wants to be pitied? Only the pitiful. You get what you deserve. But now, now you watch the demise, physical, emotional, psychological and you want to say it’s okay. You will find love. You will get better and then you read the last paragraph:
“It’s a start—you say to the room. That’s about it. In the months that follow you bend to the work, because it feels like hope, like grace—and because you know in your lying cheater’s heart that sometimes a start is all we ever get.�
And you know.. that cheater or not, you will at some point realize that yes, a start is all we ever get. And you weep. ...more
Gray skies are gonna clear up, Put on a happy face
As a self-proclaimed Pollyanna, I will be the first to admit that I would want to punch you in the f Gray skies are gonna clear up, Put on a happy face
As a self-proclaimed Pollyanna, I will be the first to admit that I would want to punch you in the face if you said this to me. What the hell is wrong with a little rain? Huh? You can't be happy if it rains? Fuck you.
You can have your gangnum style and complain about never ever ever ever getting back together again and umm... okay, that's my extent of youth culture... you guys like furbies again, right?
Happy face is old school teen angst. There are no vampires or faeries or dystopian threats... hell... HIGH SCHOOL is a dystopian threat. It is the absolute clear definition of dystopia: "an imaginary place where people lead dehumanized and often fearful lives." Can't get much realer than this.
Brush off the clouds and cheer up, Put on a happy face.
Seriously. Fuck you.
Happy face is special in that it gives you the out. It tells you how to beat this. It's all right there in front of you. Believe it or not, the song has it right....
Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy, It's not your style; You'll look so good that you'll be glad Ya' decide to smile!
....
See? I just told you. DO NOT BE YOURSELF. You will be ridiculed, you will get beat up, you will be lonely and want to die.
You see, I was this thing. I was a miserable a-loaded-gun-won't-set-you-free-so-you-say sixteen year old who wore my Undead t-shirt proudly and played my 1987 UK second issue 3-track 12" vinyl single, also including How Soon Is Now? & Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want, Billie Whitelaw image picture sleeve with light blue die cut and I was totally into IT. Where did it get me? Being spit on at Pep Rallys, my friend... do not follow my example.
So, I decided to stick out my noble chin... I decided to wipe off that 'full of doubt' look. I decided to... no offense to the hair colored challenged... go blonde. Literally. I got rid of the Siouxsie Sioux hair color and cut my bangs and found the bleach beat my hair into submission. I even went further.. I found saddle shoes and letterman sweaters and poodle skirts and listened to rockabilly and man DID I EVER SMILE. I slapped on that happy grin! And spread sunshine all over the place, goddammit. And guess what?
People actually bought it. They totally liked the new me. It depressed the hell out of me. Didn't they understand the mockery?
And then... I bought into it. I said, hell... if this is what it takes, then this is what I will be. And I bounced and I giggled and I hello kittied my way through my senior year.
So, I can relate with Happy Face. He gets it. If you are pathetic in your old life, then create a new one. Yes, eventually this will lead to some sort of dissociative identity disorder and you may need sleep hygiene therapy, but maybe by then you will be out of high school and finding a new "society characterized by human misery, as squalor, oppression, disease, and overcrowding."
We can only hope.
And if you're feeling cross and bitterish Don't sit and whine Think of banana split and licorice And you'll feel fine
I remember the first time I read Self-Help and when I picked up Lust and Other Stories. There was this intimidation, this contempt, this other sadness I remember the first time I read Self-Help and when I picked up Lust and Other Stories. There was this intimidation, this contempt, this other sadness. I wanted to be this good. I wanted to crawl, to burrow into the reader and make myself known.
Dammit.
Gaitskill's collection creeps in like that... at first I was kind of bored. I wasn't impressed with the beginning stories.. it was what I had been experiencing this entire year with the books that I've chosen to read. Meh. But, with Mirror Ball I began to feel that clenching, that annoying jealousy. With an opening line "He took her soul--though, being a secular-minded person, he didn't think of it that way." I was right back at that growling, mewling MINE stage.
Seriously, this sucks.
I am not a good person, I want to applaud these women, I want to feel some sisterly bonding with them, but I know that if I had the chance, I would so pull their hair and scratch at their eyes.
I am the effaced soul on the musician's floor, I am the agonized face, I am the monsters, the demons, the Alzheimer's, the malaria ridden day laborer, the stupid trysts.
What is love? The song suggests that ‘oh baby don’t hurt me� so does that mean is love about pain? I think that this is probably not the impression yo What is love? The song suggests that ‘oh baby don’t hurt me� so does that mean is love about pain? I think that this is probably not the impression you want to give� unless you are into that sort of thing, which most women 15-65 seem to be if is so popular.
Love is�
Well, when I was young, I used to think that this represented love.
[image]
I’m not sure that that is so healthy either, but I had a ton of them.. they were my ‘go to� I guess�
When I google ‘Love is� I get this comic strip� which I know that I’ve run into before but always brushed off for hokeyness. Now, are we so disillusioned by love that we need to reconstruct love into something like this?
[image]
Daniel Handler (a.k.a Lemony Snicket, but don’t think of him as Lemony when you read this because it will throw you off kilter) has written a love story. It has 17 parts to it all described with adverbs. You can love immediately, obviously, arguably, particularly, briefly, soundly, frigidly, collectively, symbolically, clearly, naturally, wrongly, truly, not particularly, often, barely and judgmentally. I could have done with maybe 13 or 14 but the reason this didn’t rate higher for me was that by 15 I was ready to be done with love. I didn’t care about love being often, bare or judgmental.
The stories seem like separate entities until you start to notice characters drifting in and out and then you try to place them in the timeline, which is also something I don’t recommend doing because it will give you a headache. Just go with it. Take the ranting, the stream of consciousness, half-truths, and off the wall declarations. Take them and digest them and maybe follow it up with a Tanqueray and tonic because after some of these, you may need it.
“They say when you’re really in love, the world becomes gossamer and gorgeous, but in my experience---the world gets grimy, and the love object is in stark relief from the surroundings. This is love, a pretty thing on an ugly street, and why wouldn’t you pick it up if it appeared in a cab?�
“A butter bird is, butter shaped into the shape of a decorative bird, but the point is, why is there cruelty? Why do people ask other people to do impossible things? Why behave this way? Why is there mean, when there are better things than mean, love particularly?�
“This is love, to sit with someone you’ve known forever in a place you’ve been meaning to go, and watching as their life happens to them until you stand up and it’s time to go. You don’t care about yours. Why should it change, the love you feel, no matter how death goes?�
“This is love, the plain truth once you get inside. Like a peacock, we all show off with the plumage. Come in and watch us make it! But then it’s just the same story, sugar and spice all spun up. We’re all mostly salt water. Love is candy from a stranger, but it’s candy you’ve had before and it probably won’t kill you.�
“Love is keeping that symbolic focus, each kiss crucial, each step a landmark. I could have read down a list of every important landmark in America and told you what they all stood for symbolically, what it meant if they were to be destroyed.�
“You love once and then maybe not again. Not on a day like this. The rain, the rain, the rain. You can’t even hear it outside the window but still it’s a sad thing. Rain, the grade school teachers say, makes the trees and flowers grow, but we’re not trees and flowers, and so many grade school teachers are single.�
So, this is love� and if I had to choose, I would say I like loving soundly, wrongly, and obviously best. And I love .
Whoa whoa whoa, oooh oooh Whoa whoa whoa, oooh oooh Oh baby, don't hurt me Don't hurt me no more (oooh, oooh)
Lorrie Moore, Susan Minot, Raymond -freaking-Carver, Hemingway� these were my afternoon delights. (I’m a nerd, I know.)
The Fieldnor Press sent me this collection from E. Thomas Finan. Free book!!! My pupils dilated, my heart sped up, I needed my fix. What I’m not sure of is� am I supposed to write a positive review now? Did they just buy my vote? Will the author yell at me if I don’t like it? Oh, the angst.
The Other Side is a collection of 7 stories where the characters are experiencing some sort of awakening. Or not. There are metamorphoses, sometimes.
I think the big hit in the collection is Lucy di Sartoria. I think that this is my least favorite. It deals with infidelity and image and I felt the characters were hollow. Maybe that’s what Finan was going for, but I don’t work that way. I need to have some sort of empathy in order to block out all the crap around me, otherwise the sounds of video games and fighting children and doors banging infiltrates and the book goes down, maybe for days. You really only have one shot with me for a short story to really be successful. I have to be able to ignore all things domestic and lose myself in the plot for however long a short story takes me. That’s part of the appeal, right? In this story, I really didn’t care that Lucy was bored and lonely. To me, she was a vapid model who married to help solidify her place in society. So what if she had some sort of epiphany and sought out whatever� It didn’t take. Sorry.
The other stories were a bit more successful. I really enjoyed Motley Black. The character reminded me of a friend with his clever, caustic view of the world. His bus ride from Los Angeles to Key West, his only friends being Robert Burton’s The Anatomy of Melancholy and Foley, the obnoxious bus buddy who won’t leave him alone. This one made me smirk and nod my head in understanding.
Billy Stevens is 28, The Tie that binds and 'Dunes of White Elephants (yep, I got the reference) were fleshed out but somewhat formulaic and again detached. Stories of paths not taken, regret, yadda yadda yadda. No, that’s mean. They were good, but they didn’t stick with me.
I enjoyed An Aria of Windrows because it felt like sentences you would scratch out on napkins or the back of receipts and then compile later to meld with one theme. It could be pretentious at times but it was still a nice read. Probably my favorite of the bunch. I liked this paragraph a lot.
"How much goes into making something. Each potato chip’s a grand symphony of life. How much has woven together to get that potato chip to your hand. One might say it’s the work of a universe’s lifetime. The dirt, the nutrients, the seeding, the generations of men behind that one hand that operated the combine..the hand that sticks itself into the plastic glove at the actory..the hand at the factory for the plastic glove..behind the delivery truck..the wheels forging hot..so much, so much.. The list’s as long as it is hackneyed. Everything’s like that.�
I have to say that usually the quality of the writing is not something that I pick at. If a story draws me in, I could care less if it was grammatically correct (since I rarely am.) It just needs to flow. In some of these stories, I would be jarred out of the plot by an awkward sentence like a repeating of a word or a particularly odd phrasing. It may just be me. How my internal voice works. I don’t know.
Overall, I think this is a good example of a debut. Will he be a ‘new voice in American letters� like the back blurb says? Perhaps. ...more
You know what. I don’t really have much to say about this. Except the whole hype thing and that for the first time EVER I was reading this at the same
You know what. I don’t really have much to say about this. Except the whole hype thing and that for the first time EVER I was reading this at the same time like 4 of my friends were reading it and hell, I’ve been in book clubs where that doesn’t happen. Score another one for hype.
This book made me sad. Not because I was really invested in the characters, no... it was a purely self-centered sadness. I’m not alone in thinking that we (born 1960-1975) are a disillusioned generation right? That we had all these high hopes/inspiration/dreams at one point and then either drugs/greed/suicide got in the way? Yes, some of us pulled out, went, and made something of themselves and Yay! Seriously, I’m ecstatic for them.
But, aren’t most of us pretty much disgruntled, disillusioned, mopey? (Again, maybe it’s me.) Yes, we make the best of it. We are snarky and we still play our Dead Kennedys and are Fugazi and even though we’re not what we had hoped to be, we get by, (right?)
This book made me sad because these people who were excited by Clinton taking office and who liked analog sounds� they did make something out of that disillusionment and in turn, found some sort of peace. I guess that’s fiction for you.
I’m also sad because my favorite chapter was the one about Rob. The one who didn’t make it. I’m going to psychoanalyze the hell out of that one for the next few weeks.
And the PowerPoint chapter. I absolutely loved that chapter. Call me hokey, it’s okay. I would love to read PowerPoint journals all day long. And…I love Lincoln.
[image]
How could you not?
I am surprised that this won a Pulitzer though� What does that mean? Whatever... it reminded me of a time when I felt the whole world was mine and 40 was a long way off and that's why I'm giving it 4 stars.
I'm done! I'M DONE! I'm done. Done. I'm done.I'mdone. I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoI'm done! I'M DONE! I'm done. Done. I'm done.I'mdone. I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone DONEI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone(not really, but I can't read the last 10 pages, it's too much, it's killing me. I'm sorry, I'm a fake, a hack, a poseur, but I tried. I just don't get it. I don't seeit.I'mdoneI'mdone I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone (really... I picture Lily Briscoe as asian reporter trisha takanawa, I'm that base, that dumb, that... not like all of you who love this book)I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone (I really really wanted to like it, does that account for anything? I know, I don't like Coetzee and Anderson and Diaz, maybe I don't belong with you all, which of these things is not like the others? ME.) I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone DONE!!I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone (So... they got to the fucking lighthouse. So, the son hates the dad and loves the mom, so the mom is --again,sorry-- annoying, so the dad is a spoiled brat so the other kids really don't get that much air time unless they die or live to actually MAKE it to the lighthouse (poor Cam) so these people are dull! ((sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry))'mdoneI'mdonevI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone.(I have to admit, that I enjoyed reading all of your raving reviews much more than reading this book..thank you for that. It was much better.)I'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdonevI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdoneI'mdone
I'm like that sad clown with the red balloon at the end of a pretentious french film cliche.
At some time between 35 and 40 I started on this downward (?) spiral of crime shows. I was never one to really watch them and couldn’t understand the At some time between 35 and 40 I started on this downward (?) spiral of crime shows. I was never one to really watch them and couldn’t understand the appeal, but after my fourth child I caught a Law and Order marathon and was hooked. It moved on from thereâ€� as did the spin offs and then came CSI and all its iterations and then Criminal Minds and oh hell, Dexterâ€� love that guyâ€�. It got to the point that my children would get that Dr. Phil look and ask me why I watched these shows. I really don’t know. But, it’s not like there isn’t an audienceâ€� BIO is totally feeding my addiction with I dated a Psychoâ€� and ‘M´Ç²Ô²õ³Ù°ù±ð²õ²õ±ð²õâ€� and “Bad Husbandsâ€� and ‘Casanova Killersâ€�... Christ.. stop me now.
It is not something I’m particularly proud of.
True Crime books were never a big draw though. I often wondered why� maybe my escapism was limited to the cathode colored pictures and not the images that I could conjure in my own twisted mind. I guess I didn’t want to go there. I’ve read In Cold Blood, I’ve read Helter Skelter� I GUESS I want to read a lot more than I thought.. I have quite a few 'I want to read'books from this list on GR�.
Maybe I’m (d)evolving.
My Dark Places is rubbernecking at its best. I mean the first line: “Some kids found her.� Is that how he thinks when people ask about his mom? First blush? ‘Some kids found her.� I totally get that. I love it. Ellroy was 10 when his mom was murdered. He was in his 40s when he began to deal with it. I get that too. I think that you grow up with one set of memories of your parents and when you become a parent you start to see that memories are easily manipulated. Not that Ellroy has kids..no, he just got sober and thought ‘what the fuck, time to deal.� Or at least that’s what I assume happened.
� I lived in two worlds. Compulsive fantasies ruled my inner world. The outside world intruded all too often. I never learned to hoard my thoughts and hold them for private moments. My two worlds clashed continually. I wanted to crash the outside world. I wanted to wow the outside world with my sense of drama. I knew that access to my thoughts would make people love me. It was a common teenage conceit. I wanted to take my thoughts public. I possessed exhibitionist flair---but lacked stage presence and control of my effects. I came off as a desperate clown.�
Ellroy is one fucked up muthafuckah. But, man is he elegant. He gives us ‘just the facts, ma’am� and then switches to hardcore ‘this is your life, Leroy Ellroy� back again to objective timelines� but the whole time you can feel him start to unravel.. start to see that what he thought was real was just the ‘inner world� that molded him. His first love was Elizabeth Short. He played serial killer and savior within the same fantasy. He biked to famous kill spots around Hollywood. He went through a Nazi fascist phase, he chewed on prophylhexedrine cotton wads, lived in parks and ran from voices only he could hear. AGAIN. FUCKED UP. Yes, it’s tragic. But, he comes off as stronger for it and damn�, I love me a good dysfunctional man.
What I loved most were the interludes between each section. These little notes to his mother. These are what would keep me coming back. Making me believe there is something worth saving.
� A cheap Saturday night took you down. You died stupidly and harshly and without the means to hold your own life dear. Your run to safety was a brief reprieve. You brought me into hiding as your good-luck charm. I failed you as a talisman—so I stand now as your witness. Your death defines my life. I want to find the love we never had and explicate it in your name. I want to take your secrets public. I want to burn down the distance between us. I want to give you breath."
About and around 19 years ago, I used to go to TT’s in Cambridge, MA on Mondays for . Maurice used to read during open mike and About and around 19 years ago, I used to go to TT’s in Cambridge, MA on Mondays for . Maurice used to read during open mike and would perform and after awhile you’d get to know all the ‘regulars�---There was the really cute quiet guy who totally copped the beatnik look and would madly scribble in his notebook while others performed--only to shatter on stage. I’m talking complete, make-yourself-hoarse kind of raging, spitting his words out, knocking down chairs� Quite a freakin� sight actually. Then there was the gypsy woman who would light candles on stage and sit in lotus position and recite poems for the dead. Then there were the lumberjack brothers. (Stay with me, I’ll get to the point) They showed up each Monday, ordered whatever was on tap, and sit back to watch the show. These guys weren’t what you’d imagine coming to Stone Soup, but they were cool. They’d talk to Maurice and were encouraging. They always had their t-shirts and flannel tucked into their jeans� yeah, our own little family. Well, one night the brothers got on stage and delivered this song-poem� I wish I had it…One brother would be the human beat box, the other chanted the words� I can only remember the chorus�.
So, yeah� that’s what I found myself repeating while I read this book. (See? Point.) I barely registered the Columbine Shooting. I did see Elephant and Bowling for Columbine so, there’s that� I remember the CNN footage of kids streaming out of the building with their hands on their heads, the boy that pushed himself out the window. Those images are branded and pretty much sum it up for me. This book, well, I can’t express� no, I probably can� I think I just want to stop analyzing my emotions throughout this book.
Cullen’s writing is to the point, graphic when necessary, journalistic most of the time. Makes sense�.Yet, he can draw out the story and plant the pictures in your head with amazing grace. You get it. You get that you’ll never ever get it.
The Hare Psychopathy Checklist:
Factor1: Personality "Aggressive narcissism" Glibness/superficial charm Grandiose sense of self-worth Pathological lying Cunning/manipulative Lack of remorse or guilt Shallow affect Callous/lack of empathy Failure to accept responsibility for own actions
Factor2: Case history "Socially deviant lifestyle". Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom Parasitic lifestyle Poor behavioral control Promiscuous sexual behavior Lack of realistic long-term goals Impulsivity Irresponsibility Juvenile delinquency Early behavior problems Revocation of conditional release Traits not correlated with either factor Many short-term marital relationships Criminal versatility
Jesus-freaking-Christ.
The list is frightening. As a mom, even more soâ€� I can’t even imagine. Should I?? I don’t know, but I know that my heart breaks for those families. One of them quoted Shakespeare in one of the Basement Tapes (oh yeah, I googled the shit out of Columbine after reading this--°ù³Ü²ú²ú±ð°ù²Ô±ð³¦°ìâ€�..) “Good wombs have borne bad sonsâ€�--I can’tâ€�. even go there.
So, I take the analytical approach. I’m uncomfortable around all the religious fervor brought on by this. I’m not saying it’s wrong or right or anything. I’m just saying that the images and words surrounding ‘God’s will� made me squirm. Especially this line, spoken by a pastor:
He shared a vision his youth pastor had received while ministering to the Bernalls: “I saw Cassie, and I saw Jesus, hand in hand. Andy they had just gotten married. They had just celebrated their marriage ceremony. And Cassie kind of winked over at me, like, “I’d like to talk, but I’m so much in love.� Her greatest prayer was to find the right guy. Don’t you think she did?
Okay. I’m not sure that would be of comfort to me. And I’m saying that this is a subjective example of the religion kickback, this is all me---being kind of weirded out by that paragraph. Cullen does this well� plays on this. He can be snarky and he can deliver the facts...letting your own momentum carry you away. It’s creepy.
Some statistics:
83% blame the parents of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold (still) 100% of school shooters have been male (at the time the study was completed) 93% planned their attack 98% had suffered a lost or failure they perceived as serious 81% of the shooters had confided their intentions. More than half told at least two people.
I can’t recall ever being afraid of a school shooting. We didn’t have metal detectors and there were loudly announced death threats almost daily.. This just wasn’t on my radar. But, to study these two kids and the psychopath checklist and realize that so many of what was released by the media about these guys (they were loners, they were Goths, they were targeting the jocks, they had a trench coat mafia) was false� I could probably name at least two people that would qualify. Again, creepy.
In his journal, one of the guys said � I want to leave a lasting impression on this world.� Done. But, I’m not sure in what way. I guess perplexed is another emotion that I can add to the list. ...more
Tell me to do it muffin ass �. to rest the lust of a loaftomb! �. Barnamum Pierogi lug!
Meet Lionel Essrog. Viable Guessfrog, Lionel Deathclam, Liabl Tell me to do it muffin ass �. to rest the lust of a loaftomb! �. Barnamum Pierogi lug!
Meet Lionel Essrog. Viable Guessfrog, Lionel Deathclam, Liable Guesscog, Ironic Pissclam. Lionel is a Minna Man. A full fledged Hardly Boy� A freakshow� A member of Motherless Brooklyn.
I love Lionel. Not in my special groupie way. Hold your hats here; I might be growing as a person. Nah. I just really love Lionel’s brain. Peirogi kumquat sushiphone! Domestic marshmallow ghost! Insatiable Mallomar!
Did I mention Lionel has Tourette’s? I’ve only met one person with Tourette’s and he wasn’t as lyrical as Lionel. He was a neurology resident. He used to yip and scurry down the hall of the hospital. You always knew when he was on the floor. One time I was in the room with him and he squirted some of that hand soap onto his palm and mid squirt his Tourette’s kicked in and some of the foamy soap ended up in a nurse’s hair ala Something about Mary and we didn’t tell her. (We don’t like nurses very much.) Anyway, that’s my Tourette’s story� on to Lionel and the Minna Men.
Motherless Brooklyn wasn’t one of those books that I couldn’t put down, but it was one that will stick with me. Not just because it gave me such lines as Trend the decreased! Mend the retreats! or spread by means it finds, fed in springs by mimes, bled by mangy spies or an insight to what living with Tourette’s might be like but because it’s so human. It’s gritty and what I imagine Brooklyn to be like. I don’t picture quaint neighborhoods, I see steel and dirt and warehouses and underpasses and guys hanging out on stoops with greased back hair and� (I’m not saying this is accurate, I’m saying this is what I see and this is what Lethem gifts me with.) The Minna Men, 4 bedraggled orphans who are taken under by Frank Minna, a two bit hustlin�, Philip Marlowe wannabe. There’s Tony, the quintessential mobster in the making. Danny, the too-cool-for-school b-ball player who is more attitude than words. Gilbert, the brawny, mouthy one and then, there’s Lionel. I loved the sense of these guys. The classic Lost Boys.
Lethem does a great job of fleshing these guys out, taking emotions like guilt and concepts like conspiracies and waxing touretticly poetic (yeah, so I made that up…sue me):
Is guilt a species of Tourette’s? Maybe. It has a touchy quality, I think, a hint of sweaty fingers. Guilt wants to cover all the bases, be everywhere at once, reach into the past to tweak, neaten, and repair. Guilt like Tourettic utterance flows uselessly, inelegantly from one helpless human to another, contemptuous of perimeters, doomed to me mistaken or refused on delivery. Guilt, like Tourette’s, tries again, learns nothing. And the guilty soul, like the Tourettic, wears a kind of clown face---the Smokey Robinson kind, with tear tracks underneath.
Conspiracies are a version of Tourette’s syndrome, the making and tracing of unexpected connections a kind of touchiness, an expression of the yearning to touch the world, kiss it all over with theories, pull it close. Like Tourette’s, all conspiracies are ultimately solipsistic, sufferer and conspirator or theorist overrating his centrality and forever rehearsing a traumatic delight in reaction, attachment and causality, in roads out from the Rome of self. The second gunman on the grassy knoll wasn’t part of a conspiracy—we Touretters know this to be true. He was ticking, imitating the action that had startled and allured him, the shots fired. It was just his way of saying, Me too! I’m alive! Look here! Replay the film!
I don’t want to get too into the plot; I don’t feel that that’s what makes this book so great...the writing, the wordplay, that’s where it’s at. ...more
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