29 May 2007

The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman

I finished The Troublesome Offspring... last night. I enjoyed immensely, even more so than Correlli's Mandolin (which is saying a lot).

I read some lame review of it at the NYTimes on the Web site that concluded with, "What we have here is the age-old fight between good and evil. Which is which? Taking more than a page from Gabriel Garcia Marquez (who has obviously taught him a great deal), Mr. de Bernieres, who has lived and worked in Colombia, comes down hard on the side of good times and fornication. Along with the buffoonery and the wildly comic inventions, he tells us that there is simply no institution we can trust. The message of this wondrous novel is: Leave us alone and we'll manage. Not only that, we'll probably have a lot of fun along the way."

Yeah, okay, I can see that, on the surface. But this is magical realism we're talking about here. You can't just say, "What we have here is the age-old fight between good and evil." Cut. Dried. Pat answer. This is a story about The Other, or in this case The Others. Weird People. Amazing people who must make sense of the less-than-amazing world some of us live in and its less-than-amazing government.

-----------I'm not done here...I'll be back---------------

Okay, I'm almost done with "Good Omens" now and I realize I'm never gonna say everything I want to say in this post. But let me say this, I'm so tired of reading generic reviews of books that could apply to just about any compelling novel. Not only does it do an incredible disservice to the reader, it slights the author and banalizes the characters.

Oh, and one more thing..."Mr. de Bernieres, who has lived and worked in Colombia, comes down hard on the side of good times and fornication. Along with the buffoonery and the wildly comic inventions, he tells us that there is simply no institution we can trust." Well, duh. When was the last time you read a great novel that was on the side of the government, the establishment, the institution? When was the last time you read a great novel that sincerely put trust in the government, the establishment, the institution? When was the last time you read a great novel that said, "You know what? The bold (replace adjective with any of the following: bohemian, adventurous, etcetera) life should be replaces with one more rigorous (replace adjective with any of the following: structured, status quo, etcetera)? Of course the author was against the rules and silly crusading of the government and the religious do-gooders! Geez!

Bottom line, this is a great book. Read it.

What I'm Reading Now

I'm just finishing up Louis de Berniere's The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman and getting ready to start Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman...

26 May 2007

21 May Writing Prompt

ROADMAP

I drew a roadmap for peace
complete with oceans and valleys,
mountains and streams,
even pine trees in miniature,
their needles no larger than a rosemary leaf.
I made a house for me,
well-built, wearing modest grey-blue,
but inside things turned--
the way things always do--
and the roadmap for peace
struck a blow.
First it was the cat,
I named him Ink because
he rubbed himself against me
in long, fluid strokes.
When I bent to pet him
he purred and seemed content--
until I turned my back--
and then he pounced on the bread dough,
he scared away the birds,
and when I went to erase him
he nearly flew across the room
where he landed, claws first, upon my back.
And then there were the books
of every shape and size,
the books I tried endlessly to organize,
but every time I had a method, a plan that seemed just right,
a little voice would whisper yet another way to categorize,
until it was books, books everywhere:
they scattered in piles across the floor,
they took over the kitchen table,
they wound around corners and into my bed.
I decided I could do without books
and I burned a beautiful fire,
but all those books came back as words
that flicker through my mind,
and I find myself reciting whole passages
when I've had a little wine.
But the thing that really ruined
my roadmap for peace
was the thing I never could find,
it wasn't something I put on the map,
it was nothing I could see,
but it lurked in every corner
desperately hungry for me.
I tried my best to avoid it,
I plugged my ears
and closed my eyes,
I tiptoed even in the daytime
and tried to make no sound at all,
but eventually it found me--
the way it always does--
when I forgot to watch for it
and smiled at a rose.
It sunk it's teeth in slowly
so I scarcely felt the pain,
by the time I knew it had me
there was no escape.
That thing, it fed upon me
until I finally gave up,
and I admit I begged it to finish me
as quickly as it could,
but it dropped me quick from its drooling jaws
and left me broken on the ground.
And now I'm re-drawing
a roadmap for peace,
maybe this time I'll get it just right,
because when the dark thing
makes its way onto my map--
the way it always does--
it will show no mercy to me
and have no regard for love,
and I will have to fight it,
human against beast,
and I know the odds are not on my side,
but this latest roadmap is full of hope
and hope can turn the tide.

03 May 2007

Response to April 29 Prompt

Sixteen Candles

I left roses on your windshield,
slipped chocolate in your pocket;
you took it as a desperate plea for a wedding ring
but I just wanted somebody to take me home.
You colored me a picture of a turtle
on the kids' menu at the burger joint,
twisted my hair around your finger,
gave me a cupcake with a candle for my birthday;
it was just enough.
But every time I called you,
you had dishes to wash,
leaks to fix,
engines to rebuild;
I found contentment in a bottle of wine
and a late showing of "A Room with a View,"
but you showed up at two in the morning
hungry for my manicotti,
I lit white candles
and pretended this was something I knew how to do,
I wore perfume,
put on lipstick,
I even wore pink.
The last time I saw you,
you made me take out my poetry
and read you every word,
then you leaned in close--
my stomach was a brick
and it was in my throat--
but it never happened,
you leaned back on the sofa,
crossed your arms in front of your chest
and asked me why my poetry was so sad.
I stopped leaving flowers
on your windshield,
stopped slipping treats
in your pocket,
I had a bottle to drink
and a bus to catch.