Η σκιά στο σπίτι by Κωνσταντίνος Κέλλης
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Έχει spoilers ρε, τι δεν καταλαβαίνεις;

Κατάπια άλλες 220 σελίδες χτες βράδυ πριν κοιμηθώ, λίγο μετά το update που έλεγε ότι είχα διαβάσει +150 σελίδες χτες, κι ειχα φτάσει τις 220. Δεν διάβασα τις τελευταίες 100 γιατί είχα ήδη εξαντληθεί και τα μάτια μου δεν μπορούσαν να κρατηθούν ανοιχτά. Φύγανε σήμερα σαν ανάσα, όπως και το υπόλοιπο βιβλίο, πραγματικά μέσα σε έναν καταιγισμό δράσης, σε μια πανέμορφη, τραγική κορύφωση.

Από αυτή την πρώτη γνωριμία με το γράψιμό του, αν έπρεπε να διαλέξω μια λέξη για να περιγράψω τον Κέλλη, αυτή θα ήταν «συνεπής». Ξέρει ακριβώς που σε πάει, έχει απόλυτο έλεγχο της κατάστασης, είναι μετρημένη η πλοκή της ιστορίας που θέλει να πει, την παρουσιάζει με άψογο ρυθμό, και δε σε αφήνει εύκολα να κλείσεις τα αυτιά σου (ή το βιβλίο) και να σταματήσεις την αφήγησή του.
Στα σημεία που άγγιξα στο προηγούμενο update: γλωσσικά/τεχνικά, παρέμεινε σχεδόν άψογο το βιβλίο, πράγμα που με ενθουσίασε. Οι αφύσικες/«μεταφρασμένες» εκφράσεις παρέμειναν σε ελάχιστα επίπεδα, και για κάθε μία τους που με ενοχλούσε, υπήρχαν άλλες δεκάδες όμορφα φτιαγμένες, ίσως σε σημείο που έδινε την εντύπωση ότι προσπάθησε λίγο παραπάνω με τον λυρισμό σε κάποιες περιγραφές.
[Ακολουθεί παραλήρημα:Το θέμα των αφύσικων και μεταφρασμένων αγγλικών εκφράσεων είναι τεράστιο, τόσο που έχω ακούσει καθηγητές πανεπιστημίου να ανατριχιάζουν με εκφράσεις που χρησιμοποιούμε καθημερινά λανθασμένα χωρίς να το καταλαβαίνουμε. Από το προφανές «γράψε κάτω», μέχρι πιο ύπουλες εκφράσεις, υπάρχουν παντού, τρέχουν γύρω μας, και είναι πάρα πολύ λογικό να τρυπώνουν ακόμα και σε πολύ καλα κείμενα όπως αυτό, δεδομένου ότι οι (όχι ενοχλητικά) φανερές επιρροές του Κέλλη έρχονται από το εξωτερικό κα συγκεκριμένα την Αγγλική γλώσσα, την οποία εικάζω ότι κατέχει καλά μιας και τη διδάσκει κιόλας. Σε κάθε περίπτωση, κάθε άλλο παρά συντηρητικός είμαι γλωσσικά, και καταλαβαίνω ότι εισάγουμε κουλτούρα, και ότι η γλώσσα είναι ζωντανή και αλλάζει συνεχώς αντικατοπρίζοντας (και αυτό) το φαινόμενο Το πρόβλημα ομως παρουσιάζεται και γίνεται αντιληπτό –όπως έχουμε πει και σε συζητήσεις μας με τη φίλη Αταλάντη– όταν πας να μεταφράσεις κάτι που ήδη έχεις γράψει και ολοκληρώσει σε μία από τις δύο γλώσσες. Το φαινόμενο της αδράνειας που δημιουργεί η στερεοποίηση μιας άυλης ιδέας σε μια συγκεκριμένη γλώσσα (και η παρεξήγηση από γλωσσομαθείς ότι η γνώση 2 γλωσσών σημαίνει και γνώση των αντιστοιχιών τους, και δως του οι κακές μεταφράσεις) πετάει τα πλοκάμια του σε δύο φαινόμενα: 1) στο να μας φαίνεται μια σωστή μετάφραση λάθος επειδή λατρεύουμε με κατάνυξη το πρωτότυπο (με το μπαρδόν, αλλά όσο γελοίο σου φαίνεται το «μπάλα φωτιάς», σε πληροφορώ ότι άλλο τόσο γελοίο φαίνεται στον αγγλόφωνο το «fireball» και 2) στο όταν μας έρχεται μια φράση χαϊδεμένη από κάποια από τις επιρροές μας, να μας έρχεται στην γλώσσα πηγής, και να συμβιβαζόμαστε με μεταφρασμένες εκδοχές που εκείνη τη στιγμή ξεγελάνε ότι είναι σωστές και καλές, χωρίς όμως να επιστρέφουμε αργότερα για να τις γυαλίσουμε –κατά κάποιον τρόπο η γλώσσα πηγής της φράσης ακούγεται ακόμα. Η σιγουριά που έχουμε από την καλή γώση και των δύο γλωσσών ξεχωριστά συνηθίζει να μας κρύβει το προβληματικό (ή ακόμα και το καλό!) μεταφραστικό αποτέλεσμα. Για αυτον τον λόγο, καταλαβαίνω απόλυτα τον Κέλλη και τις λιγοστές εκφράσεις που τρύπωσαν εκεί μέσα. Σε σχέση με άλλα πράγματα που έχω διαβάσει, οι εκφράσεις που πέφτουν σε αυτήν την κατηγορία ήταν πραγματικά ελάχιστες. Παραληρήματος τέλος] Επίσης ένιωσα ότι υπερχρησιμοποιήθηκαν κάποιες φορές συγκεκριμένες λέξεις όπως «πραγματικότητα», «λογισμός», «μετείκασμα». Οι φράσεις όμως που περιέγραφαν τα άξια τρόμου γεγονότα και ο χειρισμός του στοιχειωμένου σπιτιού και του μεταφυσικού πρόδιδαν μια βαθιά αγάπη για το είδος, ταλέντο και εμπειρία, που σε αυτό το επίπεδο εκδηλώνονται ως μαεστρία. Και ναι, με δυο γάτες να τριγυρνάνε τη νύχτα στο ξύλινο σπίτι και να κάνουν ήχους, τρόμαξα, το παραδέχομαι.

Στην κολοκυθόπιτα της υπόθεσης εντάσσω το θέμα μου με τους χαρακτήρες, που εν τέλει δεν με κέρδισαν όπως πραγματικά θα ήθελα 100%. Από νωρίς, η 15χρονη Ελπίδα φαινόταν υπερβολικά ώριμη και ανιδιοτελής για την ηλικία της, και ο Τάσος υπερβολικά σκεπτικιστής και άπιστος σε αυτά που συνέβαιναν γύρω του [όσο και να είχε επηρεαστεί], ενώ ο μικρός ηταν σαν «default παιδάκι», το οποίο σχεδόν ένιωσα ότι το αγνοούσαν οι γύρω του.

Βέβαια ότι το παιδάκι ήταν οριακά αδιάφορο [αν και πόσο βάθος ή πολυπλοκότητα μπορεί να έχει ένα παιδάκι; Ίσως μόνο αν ήταν βασισμένο σε αληθινό πρόσωπο] ίσως έκανε την πορεία του στην πλοκή πιο εύκολη για τον αναγνώστη . Λέγε με παλιόπαιδο, λέγε με αλήτη, αλλά δεν νοιάστηκα πάρα πολύ, και υπόσχομαι να το κοιτάξω. Επίσης, μιας και είμαστε σε spoiler box, δε χάρηκα όσο περίμενα με την επιβεβαίωση της πρόβλεψης που έκανα όταν έγραφα τη φράση για το τασάκι του Τσέχοφ πάντως. Jayzus, Κέλλη, τη σακάτεψες την κοπέλα.

Ωστόσο, ήταν συγκινητική η εξερεύνηση των συναισθημάτων τους στα τμήματα της ψυχολογίας τους που χρειάζονταν στην πλοκή, και ο χειρισμός τον διαλόγων ήταν υποδειγματικός –ακόμα και χαρακτήρες στις παρυφές της ιστορίας γίνονταν έτσι ανάγλυφοι.
Εξαιρετικό touch στην υπόθεση ήταν οι πολλαπλές φωνές στην αφήγηση. Ανάλογα με το κινηματογραφικό εφέ που ήθελε να δώσει ο Κέλλης, ακόμα και χωρίς ιδιαίτερη συνέπεια, άλλαζε αφηγητή και ο παντογνώστης έδινε χώρο στην οπτική του Δημητράκη, του Τάσου ή της Ελπίδας κ.ο.κ.

Τα κομμάτια του παρελθόντος ήταν πολύ όμορφα, αν και θα μου άρεσε να είχαν μεγαλύτερη επίπτωση στο παρόν μετά την παρουσίασή τους. Ήταν σαν να ήταν περισσότερο για χάρη του αναγνώστη, παρά των χαρακτήρων που τα ανακάλυπταν. Μπορεί να ήταν και ιδέα μου αυτό.

Στο σύνολο, δίνω 4.5 αστεράκια. Ήταν τρομακτικό, ήταν εθιστικό αρκετά για να το καταβροχθίσω γρήγορα, ήταν τίμιο, καλογραμμένο, και συνεπές, μου άφησε ερωτήματα (κάποια δίκαια, άλλα άδικα θεωρώ), αλλά και τις καλύτερες εντυπώσεις ώστε να περιμένω και το επόμενό του βιβλίο.

Εσύ διάβασες Κέλλη; Διάβαζε και γρήγορα. Αξίζει.

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Danse Macabre by Stephen King
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Stephen King Chronological - Notes #13

No one is exactly sure of what they mean on any given subject until they have written their thoughts down.

* * *

This is Stephen King's first attempt at non-fiction, of course after giving the world a taste of his style in his introductions. And I'm hands down a fan. When he's telling stories, he's hiding behind fantastic stories. When he can't hide, he's even better. But that's only me.

* * *

And whenever I run into someone who expresses a feeling along the lines of, "I don't read fantasy or go to any of those moviesl none of it's real," I feel a kind of sympathy. They simply can't lift the weight of fantasy. The muscles of the imagination [we all possess as children] have grown too weak.

* * *

His style is direct and friendly, and in the way he's setting the tone, he really takes the reader by the hand, seats them in front of a fireplace and discusses The Horrors that Keeps Us Up at Nights. The ones people read to for a drop of catharsis to avoid (and even find strength to face) everyday horrors? The ones dismissed or scorned by the serious literary critics and academics? The ones you won't admit you're reading. Yeap, that's what he's talking about.


* * *

Here is the final truth about horror movies: They do not love death, as some have suggested; they love life. [..] We will, perhaps, link hands like children in a circle, and sing the song we all know in our hearts: time is short, no one is really okay, life is quick and dead is dead.

* * *

He inevitably includes some autobiographical elements in it, after all he's "mortally involved" with horror, but he dissect the genre and its horrors honestly, truthfully, courageously. When Neil Gaiman writes non-fiction love-letters to his genre, he makes his readers all "awwww" and "isn't that cute?" and makes you all soft and warm inside (See The View from the Cheap Seats). When the King undertakes such a huge task as to explain the genre, its fans and its authors' (along with his own's) fascination with it, he is out-of-this-world good - you don't know if you want to highlight with a marker pen half the book, if you want to have cans of beer with the man and laugh over books and movies, or if you want to roll a spliff and watch with a few friends some of his cult 70s' horror movie suggestions (like he did).

Danse Macabre is an anatomy of the world of modern horror: books, movies, TV. He divides the book in chapters, he provides historical context, urban myths and kids stories, he traces the archetypes/tarot cards of the monsters The Vampire, The Werewolf, The Thing (and later The Ghost) of the storylines commmonly visited by authors, he discusses the most important works of the period, he differentiates between terror ("the finest form"), horror and revulsion, he and all avoiding the academic mumbo jumbo that he hates.

Most of the sections in the chapters on books are based on the notes he was using in his Themes in Supernatural Literature lectures in the University of Maine. But although he's dissecting, he's always doing it not just honestly, but with a sense of humour and a deep understanding. Even when he's using the Apollonian/Dionysian antithesis and he may sound a bit more serious, it always makes sense and is always with a genuine appreciation of the genre, with its goods and bads.

Of course, it's only 1981 and the book is 35 years old now and it's seriously dated. But I honestly think that this book is as enjoyable. It's a compass for new explorers of the genre to find the true north of where everything started and how it evolved until the end of the 70s.

An absolutely enjoyable trip down fantasy, science fiction, supernatural and horror, it's a book you need to hunt down and mark it up, highlight it, read it, re-read it, carry it with you and use as a reference.


* * *

The primary duty of literature [is]... to tell us the truth about ourselves by telling us lies about people who never existed.

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Carrie by Stephen King
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Project Stephen King Chronological - (Anachronous) Review #1

The man in black fled into the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

Ok, this is not a quote from this book. Nor is it in the language I first read it in. But I need to pay tribute to the book that introduced me to King which I first read in Greek, almost a decade ago, in my mid-20s. So I think it's fitting as an introduction to my series of notes about King's writing, since I started being more social about my readings and my impressions of them.

After the Dark Tower epic, which absolutely swept me away, I read his non-fiction endeavour, "On Writing", suggested by a tutor of mine. Due to the numerous Dark Tower connections in other King's works and the solid advice he gives to aspiring writers in his "memoir of the craft", I decided to closely follow the tales this master craftsman spun over the years in chronological order. I started this out almost three years ago, and I haven't been reading as fast as I thought, and I haven't been writing down my thoughts either.

Since I'll be coming back to my personal experience with King's stories, I will only say in brief about Carrie that it was a great read, especially if you put it in the context of its time.

"Carrie" is the story of a bullied high-school girl, raised by her oppressive, hysterically religious mother, and of the events that culminate her suffering and trigger her telekinetic powers, that manifest and burst in a vengeful fit that takes down a whole town with it. Carrie becomes an instant archetype and the characters around her are mostly transparent as snow, opaque as shadows, but apparently you don't need much more to create a classic modern horror tale, one that made it into film, first by De Palma's rendition, and lived on in the character types that became too recognisable and almost cliché in stories since.

King's style is still kind of awkward, he's in search of his voice. He intersects extracts from newspapers, reports and other voices among his omniscient, third-person narration and uses the italicised internal monologue parts. The whole story has a sense of inevitability, drawing to its conclusion. I most certainly enjoyed this first effort (which was not quite "first" as I found out later, when I reached the Bachman novels period). "Carrie" not only saved King's family from the financial struggles, but also put him straight to the map.

It is a solid 3.5, that my memory romantically turns into a 4, as I caught myself frequently after finishing the book that I wanted to return to return to the book's world, recounting Carrie White's drama and demise. The same fascination with which I picked King's second published book, Salem's Lot.

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Indian Summer by Hugo Pratt
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Disclaimer: This is an adult-themed comic book. It contains (maybe unnecessary) female nudity. You've been warned.
This one served as an introduction for me to both Pratt and Manara. And I'm sure Pratt's fans, as much as Manara's, would have much to say about how inappropriate an introduction this volume would be to each artist's body of work, but truth is, Gaiman brought me here (See his introduction to his 'Endless Nights' Sandman-verse related volume) and I was already prejudiced that I would read a fantastic piece of art. Although I can already hear the criticism against Manara's strips being filled with unnecessary, male-gaze eye-candy nudity and misogyny (and I'll admit some nudity felt indeed out of place at times), we need to consider this work in its proper context.

"Indian Summer" (or "Everything started with an Indian Summer" as the actual translation of the Italian title goes) is a 33-year-old comic book, its story set in America, where the English settlers have recently arrived, and revolves around a matriarchical family, put together by Abigail Lewis, an abused and beaten woman cast out of the Protestant colony of New Canaan (and marked with a scarlet letter), who raises her children among the White colonists (and the Puritan morals they brought along from Old Europe) and America's native Indians. When one of her sons murders two Indians after they have raped New Canaan's Pilgrim Black's niece, the revenge of the tribe is a fierce wave that spawns revelations about the Puritan settlers' hypocrisy, the Lewis's and Black's families (incestuous and traumatic) past and leads to a tragic catharsis.

Manara's strips, if one can get past the nudity, which I found suitable for this context, with their wonderful depictions of nature, and the long, deep, intense and meaningful silences, make a great pairing with Pratt's story. Punctuated by the sexual acts (always with a critical subtext), Manara's illustrations create a masterful rhythm in telling the story, from the introduction, to the episodes, their revelations and the denouement, which is concluded by an excellent post-cllimactic/post-coital epilogue that elevates this historical graphic novel to an epic of the American Odyssey.

Powerful, moving, thought-provoking. Highly recommended.

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"Don't just write people off. Not even when they have written you off to defend by the skin of their teeth a false narrative. Let people make mistakes, allow yourself a few as well in the process, but don't write them off. Instead, be creative and send them your deepest, most sincere, and heartfelt 'fuck off'."

Baulo Costelho

It's not a death rattling coda,

although it's filled with some remorse,

nor is it moderate mid-life crisis, a fugal, miserable theme we hum (while chopping onions midnight naked, upon a dirty cutting board);

It's just the crown of realisations that each overture of expectations grows up with you but shrinks with age

to only a handful,

ticking,

ambrosial moments

―and those we seek and hunt; on those we prey―

(those palate-burning, soul-elating metronome beats): The sound of water in night-time swims (under a starless, moonlit sky)

A single or a few intertwining voices (in a harmonious embrace)

The fumbling counterpointillism (of when our bodies touched).

Πιστεύω σε μία, αγία, καθολική και αποστολική ευαισθησία.

Πιστεύω όμως ότι το συναίσθημα, όταν το εξηγείς χωρίς να το δείχνεις, όταν το αναλύεις χωρίς να το απευθύνεις, όταν το επιβάλλεις μονομερώς, ευτελίζεται. Είναι χυδαίο.

Όταν το εμπορεύεσαι, εκδίδεσαι.

Όταν το πουλάς, γελοιοποιείσαι.

Οι σχέσεις είναι εξισώσεις, κι αν τολμάς να γενικεύσεις την ασήμαντη μεταβλητή σου σε κανόνες και τύπους, εξευτελίζεσαι.

Πιστεύω ότι το φάντασμα του «είσαι ό,τι δηλώσεις» πλανά και πλανάται, επωάζεται και θεριεύει στην κοινωνική δικτύωση, ηλεκτρονική και μη, και μας κάνει δυστυχείς, ξεθωριασμένες Μπλανς που τρέφονται από τις εκδηλώσεις της αρεσκείας των ξένων.

Πιστεύω ότι ο κόσμος θα ήταν καλύτερος αν πιστεύαμε περισσότερο στη μοναδικότητα των άλλων, παρά στη δικιά μας.

Πιστεύω ότι τα χειρότερα καθάρματα έχουν τα καλυτερα χαμόγελα και αρκετά μεγάλες αυλές για να κρατούν κοιμισμένη τη συνείδησή τους, και να ξεγελιούνται ότι δεν τους αξίζει ευθανασία. Μισώ τον αέρα που αναπνέω, γι' αυτό καπνίζω ακόμη. Μισώ τον αέρα που αναπνέεις, γι' αυτό εκπνέω ακόμη.

Πιστεύω ότι ΠΑτρίς-Θρησκεία-ΟικoΓΕΝΕΙΑ έχουν μπαζώσει τα μυαλά μας με τρόπους που ούτε αντιλαμβανόμαστε, και μόνο μακριά τους υπάρχει μια ελπίδα να μη ζήσουμε ανελεύθεροι, εμπαθείς στο διαφορετικό, (τουλάχιστον ασυνείδητα) τυραννικοί.

Πιστεύω ότι η κοινωνία δεν είναι τίποτα παραπάνω από το άθροισμα των μερών της, και ότι υπάρχει τόση σαπίλα και τόση ομορφιά –πάλη υγρών σε χημική ασυμφωνία–, αρκετές για να σε κρατήσουν ζωντανό λίγο ακόμα, αλλά και να σε κάνουν ερημίτη.

Πιστεύω ακόμη ότι το επάγγελμα-επαγγελία, είναι αυτό που κρατούσε πάντα τους ανθρώπους πίσω από το χείλος του υπαρξιακού κενού τους. Η δουλειά-δουλεία, από το σβέρκο  ― η εργασία-ενασχόληση με κάτι που σε κάνει να νιώθεις ότι εκπληρώνεις την ενδελέχειά σου, από το χέρι.

Πιστεύω ότι τα βιβλία, η λογοτεχνία, η μουσική, η φαντασία των άλλων, ανοίγουν δρόμους και μονοπάτια κάπου βαθιά μέσα σου. Φωτίζουν πιθανότητες, δυνατότητες, αλλά μόνο αν τους αφιερώσεις ένα μέρος από τη σκηνή της πραγματικότητας του μυαλού σου. Δεν είναι πανάκεια, ούτε εχέγγυα ελεύθερων πνευμάτων. Ευτυχώς, υπάρχουν μια ντουζίνα γνωσιακών προκαταλήψεων για να αυτοεπιβεβαιωνόμαστε και να διαιωνίζουμε τη σήψη μας. Γι' αυτό θρηνώ τις εκατομμμύρια σελίδων που διαβάστηκαν από άρρωστα μυαλά, και ερμηνεύτηκαν ως αφορμές για να καταπιέσουν, να βασανίσουν και να επιβληθούν σε άνθρωπο. Μισώ τον αέρα που αναπνέουν, γι' αυτό εκπνέω ακόμη.

Πιστεύω ότι το κόστος του να αποφεύγεις μια ταυτότητα (ιδίως λόγω της αναγραφόμενης τιμής της, που προκύπτει από την αξιακή της απόσταση από την καθεστηκυία ΠαΘΟγένεια) είναι μεγαλύτερο από αυτό της αποδοχής της, συμπεριλαμβανομένου του Φόρου Προστιθέμενης Απόρριψης.

Πιστεύω ότι οι λέξεις έχουν δύναμη. Ότι κάθε τι που γράφουμε μπαίνει σε ένα μπουκάλι στη θάλασσα, και το μήνυμα θα βρει τουλάχιστον έναν άνθρωπο και θα ταράξει τα νερά του στη γoύρνα που πλατσουρίζει.

Πιστεύω ότι ακόμα κι αν δεν έχεις κάτι να πεις, γράψε, τραγούδα, γράψε με ορμή, αληθινά, με παλμό, ξεγέλα το μυαλό, κι ίσως έτσι σιγά-σιγά διαβρώσεις τα μπάζα που το περιστοιχίζουν.

Πιστεύω, τέλος, ότι μπορείς να ζήσεις τόσες ζωές μέσα σε μία, όσες ο αριθμός των ιστοριών που άκουσες και τόλμησες να πιστέψεις, όσες φορές έσκυψες και μάζεψες ένα μπουκάλι από το νερό και πίστεψες στο μήνυμά του, όσες φορές τόλμησες να αμφισβητήσεις το έδαφος που πατάς.

Εσύ; Πιστεύεις ακόμα;

Is there a word more spiteful?
Is there a curse more hurtful?
An observation of the obvious
An understatement of a state
Of mind
Of mine
Of my mind, of our mind
set – visceral, lateral, visceratical.
Pick up your brush and paint it
Take your pick and choose
A moment can be abstract, ever-expanding, marvelous
Anything else but literal.


(Photo by Bruno) 

Batman: Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader? by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

How do you cope with being a famous author and a fanboy at the same time?
How do you kill off a super hero without killing him?
How do you answer a question without answering it?

Have a crack at this amazing, deluxe edition volume (also including a fantastic Poison Ivy storyline and the meta-hilarious Black and White), where Gaiman pulls another Wake from his bag of tricks (and you don't give a damn about it) and find out for yourself.


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The Art of Reading Poetry by Harold Bloom
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Let's start with the obvious cliché: You can either love or hate Bloom.
I've loved him since my college years for his take on Shakespeare, I was impressed with his contribution on poetry criticism with the anxiety of influence (and intertextuality all at once made tremendous sense), and I kinda hated him for his strong views against popular literature, fantasy, and specifically, well, I'll say it, Stephen King.
As elitist, opinionated and grumpy as he can be, we have to admit that he has collected an astonishing amount of knowledge over the years, and anything he might have to say on poetics, it's at least worth hearing. Bloom loves language, literature and poetry with a strong, deep, religious respect, and he treats it as something unique, holy and therapeutic for the reader.
The essay of this book was the introduction to The Best Poems of the English Language. After defining poetry as "figurative language, concentrated so that its form is both expressive and evocative", Bloom goes on to provide us with examples from his favourite poets (as well as from his not-that-favourite Poe) on the four types of figurative language and on what is "inevitable" phrasing. There is also a fantastic conclusion with a few thoughts about the importance of reading poetry, which he describes it as "authentic training in the [healthy] augmentation of consciousness". Brilliant motherfucker.
Of course, you may love or hate Bloom. Well, fuck that-
If you don't mind, I think I'll do both with this one.

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The Unbelievable Hamlet Discovery by David Crystal
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Hardly hysterical, hypothetically hilarious, hyperbolically humorous - harmless, however.

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The View from the Cheap Seats: Selected Nonfiction by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Wow, I had no idea Neil Gaiman had written that many introductions and speeches.
Nor did I know that he thought his stories have genders (and apparently that I am sort of sexist, having read only his little-boy's book, Neverwhere, and his male novel, American Gods; I'm not counting Sandman, some volumes are male, others female).

I thought Gaiman had been celebrated a little too much in his lifetime compared to his work volume, but this non-fiction collection, besides being a name-dropping parade itself, is the proof why.

This man loves books, libraries, storytellers and their stories and speaks no ill of anyone. Period.
He has such a love for the genre that moved him originally to write stories, that he's made me fill three airsickness bags, back and front, with notes and references of books, authors, comics and artists I want to follow and find out more about. He made me chuckle one too many times and he moved me to tears just by talking with such fondness about people I haven't heard before.

This non-fiction collection will make you all wooshy woobly warm and fuzzy inside for the things Neil Gaiman loves. I don't know if I'll be an avid fantasy/science fiction reader after this, but sure I'll give it an honest try. And I'll look up his movie suggestions and music recommendations. And I'll try to move myself closer to whatever is the mountain that I'd like to see its top. And I'll try to make good art.

Neil Gaiman has met giants and has walked among them, and, well, you can say, after all is said done, he is rightfully one of them.

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Tales of the Unexpected by Roald Dahl
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I don't think I'll forget The Landlady, The Man from the South, The Way up to Heaven, William and Mary, or Skin anytime soon. I'm grateful to all those who insisted I had to have a crack at Dahl's short stories. The Great Switcheroo's plot was funny and bizarre and oopsy-daisy-awkward, but this collection flirts with macabre, grotesque, and even gore, with a masterful, playful, brilliant way. I'm absolutely in love with his creations.

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Through the fingers of boredom that support my forehead
(What a wonderful sight to behold)
A hopeless rain droplet falls on my window (and begs for attention)
Its movement narrates a story untold.

I squint and on its reflective course I see
an immovable mass of rigid self-righteousness,
an unstoppable force of fluid unhappiness,
perplexed with the molecules that comprise it, unable to just be.

And so it floats, nameless and empty, forged to defy the worlds,
it stares and casts its judging glares through the spider veils it whirls.

And it drifts with the drafts that define its days, and climbs on made-up thrones
clad in golem’s skin, over werewolf’s rage, over vampire’s lusts, dreams and bones.

It curses the rivers for flowing, it curses the surface that moves,
It curses the birds and the lizards, it curses the kingdom’s rules.

Every day it drops on life’s glass window,
Every move in the spotlight, demented hero.
Every step and another chance to fail;
every failure another dramatic performance,
in self-pity it chases its tail.

On its throne, before its downfall, at the end of the production,
The tragic droplet mourns again –steamy amoeba’s reproduction–
and breaks into honest tears (its impending doom delayed).

I thought I saw it turning to myself for a reaction,
I might have even heard its final words, uttered only for my satisfaction:

“Out, alas! I’ve been an ignorant fool!” said the droplet and then met the soil.
For a moment I pondered–
But in the end, I rolled my eyes and muttered: “No shit, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle”.

Yeah, hi there, I think I have an issue with my Mango Super Drive. I’m trying to rip my music CD collection, and I have Madonna’s Music in there, and it’s only showing 10 tracks instead of 11. Please, help me! It's broken and I wanna just die!

Well, hi Patricia, I’m Costas. Of course I understand this is super important for you. I always hate it when my Mango Super Drive doesn't show all the tracks on my Madonna CDs. I will definitely help you out today with your issue. Would you mind going to the Lunchpad on the left-hand side in your Duck bar?

Aha!

Great! Do you see ‘Dicktionary’ there?

Aha!

Well, did you know that ‘Dicktionary’ is connected with both an Eenglish dictionary and Wikipeedia? Pretty cool, uh?

Aha!

I know, right? What do you say, let’s type ‘Madonna discography’…

Aha!

…now. If you check for ‘Music’ you’ll see that the Standard edition of the album had actually 10 tracks, but it was the International edition that had 11. You probably thought you had the other one.

Wow, I totally forgot! You're amazing! Thank you so much!

There! See? Aren’t you satisfied with the assistance you got from Mango today?

(…)

[Inspired by real life events.]

the night was still young, I was lucid and I had it all planned, we were still catching up, and we ate, drank and laughed, and we both ignored the bogeyman unnoticeably –how civil!– creeping around, chewing off the air’s big chunks of a b-movie’s sensual, horror plot waiting to unravel, while I was mustering the courage, to sit closer and lean over to you, to reach the end of the barrel– but amid indecisive sighs, when I opened my eyes, I saw the alarm clock’s digits, alas, flashing at me ‘7 30’, commanding me Rise! ah the knackering, dream-twist realisation– exhausted and robbed off of another night’s anticipation, I dragged my self-harming shadow under the cold running shower, and for the sake of monsters, I snoozed again my desire

Y0u’re e1ther soc1ety mater1al 0r–

There’s n0 acceptable state of be1ng 1n the m1ss1ng part 0f the sentence ab0ve. 

0utcast! 1 by 1 c0me to m1nd the gr0ups 1’ve been part 0f. 

Repet1t1veness, r0ut1nes, f0rmulas, recycled 1deas, and n0rms: 

they perpetuate the ugl1ness; 0f c0urse they’d leave me appalled. 

Take 20-year-0ld, breathtak1ng, 1mpulse-awaken1ng beaut1es. 

1n the c0ntext 0f the1r parents 0r the1r fr1ends, they seem reduced to c0p1es.

Nat10nal1ty, Rel1g10n, Patr1archy, C0rp0rat10ns: fa1l-safe mechan1sms and guarantees, struggl1ng to c0nserve the a1r 1n the r00m as 1t was: 

Breathe 1n synchr0ny – 0r d0n’t. 

Y0u’re y0ur parents –s0rry, 0nly 1 s1ze allowed 1n the pr0duct10n l1ne– 0r y0u’re n0t.

D0n’t d3v1at3, 1 sa1d: "Y0u’re e1ther s0c1ety mater1al 0r–"

Οf course… maybe there is another way. 

Accept your layers, ( ( ( tell' em to fuck off ) ) ) 

and be a happy onion.

Firestarter by Stephen King
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Stephen King Challenge #10

Well... this is awkward. The only reason this is getting a third star is because I found the idea well ahead of his time. Mind you now, this book is 36 years old, I've read my fair share of Stephen King books in succession and I could really use a break at this moment. So one could blame the times, the timing or the timelessness (or lack thereof) but I found the Firestarter's very hard to keep up with.

It dragged like hell. Oh yes, like hell it did. King takes his sweet time to set scenes and prepare climaxes and describe plot points from different views and I can only salute the master's will to adapt his storytelling style to a more ready-to-become-a-film trope... but unfortunately, my state of mind could not forgive slow pacing, long descriptions, loose ends and unbelievable villains. Rainbird is an assassin, a brute, a thug, a muscle, but also an expert tactician/strategist/hacker/cook/actor/improviser/psychologist, in the convenient massive package of an one-eyed, creepy mother loving Indian, with a metaphysical motive to kill people so he can see the glimpse of death as a reflection of the other side in their eyes when they die in his hands.
Add to this mix the so-ambitiously-futuristic-that-it-must-be-the-80s scene where Rainbird calculates probabilities through interviewing a terminal, and it amounts to an embarrassing pile of eye-rolling and sighing moments of impatience, during which I was convinced that I was sticking to this book out of sheer compulsion to get on with the challenge.

Watch the movie. It's fun. Read this in the toilet or on guarding duty while in the army.
And I'm taking a much needed from the Stephen King Challenge, before moving to Bachman's Roadwork.

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The Mist by Stephen King
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

And this brings me to the end of the 70s, in this chronological reading of Stephen King's body of work.

This was one average monster story. I'm not sure if I'd recommend it to any non-fan. Don't introduce anyone to King with this book, anyway.
Two points escape this generalisation: (1) the exploration of social dynamics in a time of crisis (which he does much more efficiently and with many more impli/complications in The Stand); and (2) the meditations of the protagonist who reflect King's agonies whether they make serious art or they're putting food on their family's plates, as hard working Americans have to.
[Harold Bloom would slap our hero (and King) to get himself together and stop entertaining foolish thoughts.]
In any case, the reader justifies the protagonist, as they justify King's storytelling, because apart from his repetitiveness and his not-that-sharpened-yet tools of his craft ("unreality" keeps "washing over" our protagonists since Salem's Lot), he still has one entertaining, honest (enough) story to say, one that you don't regret spending a few hours in the subway reading...

...even though if the whole thing would have been far more entertaining as the world's most hilariously unbelievable excuse to the missus if she ever confronted you with suspicions of your adultery with an out-of-towner lady. "Monsters! Giant bugs! Of course!"




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Creatures of a Day: And Other Tales of Psychotherapy by Irvin D. Yalom
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Yalom's insight of the human psyche, along with the embrace of his own issues and his curiosity for the healing factor, delivers a read that becomes an authentic, true, therapeutic experience in its own right. This book highlights the importance of existential issues for the journey that therapy and self discovery is. It makes the reader feel less lonely in the process of this journey and becomes a virtual group-therapy experience that reaches out to all those who are looking for answers and keep asking questions.

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