Closed Garage Door.

I love this: Closed Garage Door by Allison Carter. It's at 5_Trope.

Am I supposed to use the underscore? I'd hate to look the fool.

Inherent Vice.

I've read some Pynchon in the past-- some, meaning:

1) I have opened "Gravity's Rainbow" approximately three times while sitting on the toilet, read three sentences per visit, and decided that this was obscenely optimistic bathroom reading
2) "Slow Learner."
3) "V." Though to be honest I don't think I finished it. In college I was terrible about abandoning books halfway through

This book is less Pynchon-y than any of those, though it's still crammed with characters who sometimes seem to exist chiefly to be branded with a kooky name (Jason Velveeta) and then disappear. I haven't finished the book yet-- about 60 pages left-- but, if all these characters intend to return, the final pages are going to be like watching an extravagance of weirdos and paranoiacs endlessly disembarking a clown car.

I'm not a huge fan of noir, and a first-timer to hippie noir, if that's even a recognizable genre, but this book-- for all its weirdness and whimsy-- has actually been quite a bit of fun so far. If you can tolerate an eccentric dentist/suspected ne'er-do-well operating from inside a building shaped like a giant golden tooth and later suffering a serious accident on a trampoline, last seen in the presence of a car full of potheads driven by a-- okay, so that's what we're dealing with.

Anyway, I thought it would grate on me. The 60s are not being defined by the writing; little is being made in the way of sinister, braided social commentary, which is possibly what I was expecting. It's more like a costume party. Breezy. Drug-addled. But I'm glad I carried on. The plot is coming together, against all odds. Probably my favorite Pynchon so far, so far.

"Victimized" by Richard Thomas.

Writer and all-around cool guy Richard Thomas has self-published a story entitled Victimized. It's aimed at the neo-noir crowd-- those who enjoyed his novel "Transubtantiate" will certainly dig the vibe. Get "Victimized" on the cheap:



For the Amazon Kindle store version, go here.
For Nook and every other eReader, get it at Smashwords here.

Stranger Will.

Caleb Ross's "Stranger Will" shall now be purchased by you:





A few months ago Caleb ran a contest where people could vote on the cover of the book-- this is the one I voted for. I hope that's not breaking internet-book-cover-voting-contest etiquette by revealing my vote. Anyway, I dig the cover, and I got a solid introduction to this book in a workshop setting a few years ago. It was a blast back then. I can't wait to jump back in and see the final product.

Here's a link to Caleb's website.

"They've built their nests..."

...in the chimneys of my heart, those swallows that you lost."

Reading "Another Roadside Attraction." I've read Tom Robbins before, but I never considered him one to risk a passage so nakedly romantic. Or am I misunderstanding it? Maybe the all his shenanigans are simply covering that vulnerability. There was, you know, the whole Bernard Mickey Wrangle/Princess Leigh-Cheri lovefest. If "Love" is the appropriate word. Infatuation. Maybe the shenanigans are in service of it. Maybe I'm clinging to the wrong piece of driftwood.

Anyway, it's been a long time since I've read "Still Life With Woodpecker," and I was in a different frame of mind then. So I might be misinterpreting things. But anyhoo. This moved me.

Out of Touch.

I review Brandon Tietz's forthcoming novel Out of Touch here. Click, and enjoy.




When you're done clicking and enjoying, purchase it from the intersphere, perhaps here. Here as well.

This post is abbreviated because my hands are cold and I've been typing for a while now and my thermostat is set @ 59 degrees because I am cheap and I am afraid the world will run out of fossil fuels and I'm not having that on my head, no sir.

How Some People Like Their Eggs.

Received a copy of How Some People Like Their Eggs by Sean Lovelace for Christmas. A truly thoughtful gift! I can't recommend it highly enough. Especially the title story, which, appropriately, and amusingly, and beautifully, details how some people like their eggs. General Patton, in particular, delighted me.

It's not an easy thing, being able to transplant yourself so readily into another's skin, even for a paragraph. I had no doubt I was inside Patton's mind. Or at least the caricature of Patton's mind. I read this passage aloud to people who will sit still long enough to be enraptured. If they fail to be enraptured, they are clods and I have no use for them. It is cruel, but life is cruel. Buy this book.

By the way, Happy New Year. And Merry Christmas. And Happy Thanksgiving. And Happy Halloween. And Happy Birthday to: Monica Bellucci; Mark Hamill; Xzibit; Evan Rachel Wood; myself.