tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1322656842342307612024-02-22T12:16:44.670-08:00Kent's Book BlogKent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-20504085110540558232021-03-15T19:08:00.003-07:002021-03-15T19:08:27.935-07:00Desolation Road by Ian McDonald - A Review<p>I just finished reading Ian McDonald's 1988 science fiction novel DESOLATION ROAD and I am very impressed. I won't claim that this is an easy read, there are far more characters than I was able to keep track of and the scope of the book is huge, but this is storytelling on a grand scale and it is done well. Set on a future terraformed Mars, the book tells the story, no make that stories, of the founding, growth, delights, and sorrows of the town of Desolation Road. This is a world of atomic trains, robotic religions, traveling carnivals, dystopian corporate control, revolution, redemption, destruction, and deliverance. There are magical machines and mechanical magics. It is the old west of the far future. It is a time when time itself is the ultimate weapon and perhaps the only thing that can save us.</p><p>DESOLATION ROAD takes the poetic vision of Ray Bradbury, the paranoia of Philip K. Dick, the adventurous spirit of Zane Grey, and the imagination of H. G. Wells, mixes them all together in a blender in the back of a 1940s jazz club and then blasts the whole thing out through Spinal Tap's amplifiers turned up to eleven. The result is strange and wonderful.</p>
<br>
<center>
<iframe style="width:120px;height:240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon®ion=US&placement=B00I5WATHO&asins=B00I5WATHO&linkId=f743cbb45651be9b5335106a6a1a16ad&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true"></iframe>
</center>Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-60041436365946683922016-05-29T18:49:00.000-07:002016-05-29T18:49:19.706-07:00The Fireman by Joe HillI'm a big fan of Joe Hill's work and he's one of the few author's whose books I tend to buy as soon as they hit print, but I hesitated when I first heard the plot of his latest, <a href="http://amzn.to/1Unf0DL">The Fireman</a>. A global pandemic, survivors in a ruined wasteland, blah, blah, hasn't this been done to death already? I wasn't up for another trip down this particular road. But then I heard Joe on NPR and he convinced me that he had a tale worth my time. He was right.<br />
<br />
The Dragonscale spore in <a href="http://amzn.to/1Unf0DL">The Fireman</a> doesn't just kill people, it first gives them a tatoo-like rash. Later, most of the infected burst into flames and die. Most, but some are saying not all. Some people, perhaps can live with Dragonscale, maybe even control it. And the real plague isn't the spore, it's panic.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1Unf0DL">The Fireman</a> is a big book, 700+ pages but it's human-sized. The main character, despite the title, is not the Fireman, but Harper a pregnant nurse with an annoying fondness for Mary Poppins. There are bad people and good people in this book along with good people who do some very bad things and bad people who do some very good things. The people seem like people, real, flawed, genuine people in a hell of a jam. There is a lot of bad language, many bad jokes and a few good ones, good intentions gone awry, and a whole hell of a lot of things burning.<br />
<br />
At its core <a href="http://amzn.to/1Unf0DL">The Fireman</a> is about how tough conditions bring out the best and worst in us. It's a dark tale that burns bright. At one point Harper says to the Fireman,<br />
<br />
<i>"I'm glad someone is having fun with the end of the world."</i><br />
<br />
<i>"What makes you think the world is ending?" He sounded genuinely surprised.</i><br />
<br />
Joe Hill has a lot of fun with this book. It's the ultimate campfire tale, something bright to get you through the long dark night.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B013C5M08O&asins=B013C5M08O&linkId=ff8e14f1f924d7fe37e98733b7cb0006&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-77812605690359261532016-02-16T19:47:00.002-08:002016-02-16T19:47:20.806-08:00ALL THE BIRDS IN THE SKY by Charlie Jane Anders<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyY1Qq5g4Twk8EfkMRGA4NKRTCm0X9cQK8T9nIoBcYq_1bAQWRz-YgdiIex7bBA1XLGynu5sUvLuDUsHmCe0uECPO-QOpm3jB61tc216KLgx2vbof2b5Mxog42CtQr5cjGVzu9LbjCg4P/s1600/AllTheBirds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyY1Qq5g4Twk8EfkMRGA4NKRTCm0X9cQK8T9nIoBcYq_1bAQWRz-YgdiIex7bBA1XLGynu5sUvLuDUsHmCe0uECPO-QOpm3jB61tc216KLgx2vbof2b5Mxog42CtQr5cjGVzu9LbjCg4P/s320/AllTheBirds.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
The best books are like magic spells or time machines, they transform you, take you wonderful places, and show you amazing things. You forget that you are seeing words and pages, you hear and see and feel and know instead. You make friends that you worry and wonder about, you flee enemies who make your heart race, you live in a world momentarily more real than our own. And if you are lucky and the author is wise and skilled, when the book is done it is not finished because something stays with you. Something more precious than words, a sense that you know something more of this world and your place in it because of where this book has taken you.<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1PEiteZ"><br /></a>
<a href="http://amzn.to/1PEiteZ">ALL THE BIRDS IN THE SKY</a> is such a book. It's a tale of magic and science, of a girl who talks to birds and a boy who dreams of rocket ships and time machines. The girl becomes a witch and the boy becomes a scientist who makes fearsome and fascinating machines. The two of them are destined to collide or fall in love, destroy the world or save it or perhaps some of each.<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1PEiteZ"><br /></a>
<a href="http://amzn.to/1PEiteZ">ALL THE BIRDS IN THE SKY</a> contains multitudes -- an assassin who loves ice cream, birds that talk, trees that know, gadgets that crack wise. It is funny and frightening and fantastic and true, true in the way that great fiction can be -- beautiful and horrible, filled with loneliness and friendship, mistakes and forgiveness, humor and heartbreak.<br />
<br />
This is a book I love too much to tell you too much about, the joy of discovery is diminished if the map is too clear. So open the pages and open a door. You are going on a wonderful journey with people and a few creatures you will never forget.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00W190RPG&asins=B00W190RPG&linkId=BSZOHLE7PJNEBLLE&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-74544804996125672052015-06-01T06:12:00.000-07:002015-06-01T06:14:19.722-07:00DEATH AND THE PENGUIN and PENGUIN LOST by Andrey Kurkov<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbt_FzTGsw6ELmCyz5MCKHqTZl6GEw7qLfxWeiCJ5-CliaR2QAOX0D2TWjN_YYcm4CBfIYxXncJSxqcCn5SeVLVGzTdUCV8zKBFG-B9YVsh_uqDSOmXLRdwVrCJZx4jWRMgdOJ5zAKvUn/s1600/PenguinBooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbt_FzTGsw6ELmCyz5MCKHqTZl6GEw7qLfxWeiCJ5-CliaR2QAOX0D2TWjN_YYcm4CBfIYxXncJSxqcCn5SeVLVGzTdUCV8zKBFG-B9YVsh_uqDSOmXLRdwVrCJZx4jWRMgdOJ5zAKvUn/s320/PenguinBooks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1K43qJK">Death and the Penguin</a> is an odd tale, told well. Viktor, like everyone else in post-Soviet Kiev, is doing what he can and must to keep going on. Viktor owns little more than a typewriter, but when the local zoo, low on funds, has to get rid of animals, Viktor and Misha become roommates. Misha is a penguin.<br />
<br />
Misha is not an overly cute or anthropomorphized penguin. He doesn't solve crimes or engage in witty dialog. In Antarctica he'd be perfectly normal, he's odd only because he is living in an apartment in Kiev. Responsible for Misha's well-being, Viktor turned from failed novel writing to something shorter that the local paper might publish, something that might make a bit of money, at least enough to buy fish for Misha.<br />
<br />
Viktor's writing gambit is successful when it leads to some steady work, he's given the job of writing obelisks, obituaries of people of varying degrees of prominence. These people aren't dead yet, Viktor's work is for the files, for use at a later date. But when those people start dying shortly with a disturbing frequency, Viktor begins to wonder if he's writing obelisks or death warrants. More questions arise when a local mobster, also named Misha, decides that a penguin is an ideal guest for a funeral.<br />
<br />
Andrey Kurkov tells his tale quickly, with short chapters and spare, almost poetic prose. The mystery is far more than a simple who-done-it, this is a world where Viktor's editor explains "your interest lies in not asking questions." He adds "The full story is what you get told only if and when your work, and with it your existence, are no longer required."<br />
<br />
Like Viktor, the reader spends most of <a href="http://amzn.to/1K43qJK">Death and the Penguin</a> wondering what the hell is going on. Like life itself, the big question of "why?" must be asked.<br />
<br />
I try in my reviews not to tell too much, the telling is the job of the book and my job is to tell you if the book is worthwhile. I will say only this, the ending of <a href="http://amzn.to/1K43qJK">Death and the Penguin</a> is pretty much perfect and the book is a complete little gem.<br />
<br />
There is a sequel, <a href="http://amzn.to/1GRkB08">Penquin Lost</a>, and it's just as good as the first. Where <a href="http://amzn.to/1K43qJK">Death and the Penguin</a> takes place entirely in Kiev, <a href="http://amzn.to/1GRkB08">Penquin Lost</a> occupies a larger stage and the big question is not so much "why?" as "how?" In <a href="http://amzn.to/1K43qJK">Death and the Penguin,</a> we want Viktor to know. In <a href="http://amzn.to/1GRkB08">Penquin Lost</a>, we want him to win.<br />
<br />
Kurkov's Penguin books provide a fascinating look at what remains when much is taken away. They are absurd but so is life and at the core they are true and good. When the zoo goes broke, you take the penguin home. Because you can, because you must. In the end, saving the penguin saves the man. Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-49898592060788333382015-05-04T06:23:00.001-07:002015-05-04T06:23:57.120-07:00The Sasquatch Hunter's Almanac: A Novel by Sharma Shields<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1XDTmVwLm2jSkon2Qw5LgN5KmgKmmuX-4VpCbP_x8dl6w2IuwCWtrWTRYXq95vZDBerfqxgqlrjswYSv1Bp_gxAmfRnOkBwvBKBVY16YI_ggdh1H44oEuFZdztr_1tDlo-oAJiibFKVm/s1600/SasquatchAlmanac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1XDTmVwLm2jSkon2Qw5LgN5KmgKmmuX-4VpCbP_x8dl6w2IuwCWtrWTRYXq95vZDBerfqxgqlrjswYSv1Bp_gxAmfRnOkBwvBKBVY16YI_ggdh1H44oEuFZdztr_1tDlo-oAJiibFKVm/s320/SasquatchAlmanac.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1GUimHE">The Sasquatch Hunter's Almanac</a> opens in 1943 when nine-year-old Eli Robuck is abandoned by his mother who willing walks out of his life and into the woods with "Mr. Krantz", a giant, hairy stranger who may or may not be Sasquatch. From this haunting scene the novel builds in a series of scenes, like faded snapshots in an old album, to tell the story of Eli's lifelong obsession.<br />
<br />
Sharma Shields paces her story perfectly, each chapter could easily stand on its own as a short story, but each also adds to a greater understanding not only of Eli but the lives of those around him. Eli, his family, and their various monsters are all fascinating. Shields writes so strongly we can not doubt the conviction of her characters, but she writes of things so strange we find ourselves doubting our own understanding of a world we thought we knew.<br />
<br />
There are more monsters than a single hairy beast contained in these pages and a merging of the familiar and the strange that is reminiscent of the best writing of Ray Bradbury. Shields can, in a single sentence, widen the world and invite the reader in. Near the end of the novel, she opens a chapter focused on one of Eli's daughters:<br />
<br />
"On the way to one of her three weekly therapy appointments, Ginger hit a unicorn with her car."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1GUimHE">The Sasquatch Hunter's Almanac</a> is a dark story made of stories, of monsters sighted in dim light and never forgotten. It is a walk in the dark woods that does not promise a safe return but perhaps something better and more valuable, an understanding of our own, often beastly nature.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00LKS1B5E&asins=B00LKS1B5E&linkId=ZV45AZKTDOJUUHV5&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-76623253540914088342015-04-27T05:21:00.000-07:002015-04-27T05:21:27.352-07:00WE ARE ALL COMPLETELY BESIDE OURSELVES by Karen Joy Fowler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfIBJzNYyzM5enT2r-Pec4D6aZbTI0ZwZGuQ7iJfGdJvELLgX9PPCHF9-oRKeGUG92hXJOBQrMqbjdHUXah0dwtl8ig61LlD2dd5L6vbUZzQ3EmMPRt55pvKhXaPKNwcBkdc-0j3SZTWA/s1600/we-are-all-completey-beside-ourselves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfIBJzNYyzM5enT2r-Pec4D6aZbTI0ZwZGuQ7iJfGdJvELLgX9PPCHF9-oRKeGUG92hXJOBQrMqbjdHUXah0dwtl8ig61LlD2dd5L6vbUZzQ3EmMPRt55pvKhXaPKNwcBkdc-0j3SZTWA/s1600/we-are-all-completey-beside-ourselves.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1DPssoF">We are all completely beside ourselves</a> is a novel of profound empathy. The story is told by Rosemary Cooke, a woman who begins her story in the middle. Any reader who has glanced at the book jacket or browsed a review on Amazon will know that this is a story of a chimp and a human raised as siblings but Rosemary spends 76 delightful pages dancing around the simian identity of her sister. This is not an annoying literary stunt, it's a completely honest way to tell the tale. If you were to meet Rosemary in real life the first thing out of her mouth would not be the words "my sister is a chimpanzee."<br />
<br />
Rosemary begins her story when she's in college in California. She's tried and somewhat succeeded in leaving her family and many of her memories back in Indiana when she meets Harlow Fielding, a young woman who literally crashes into the story swearing and smashing dishes. She has her reasons. Forty minutes later Rosemary and Harlow are tucked into the back of a Yolo County police car, headed for jail. Harlow introduces herself, "So glad you decided to come with. I'm Harlow Fielding. Drama department." Indeed.<br />
<br />
Rosemary's voice is a compelling one and her story, which grows to reveal her father, mother, brother and yes, her sister who is a chimpanzee, is as fascinating and true as life itself. Which is to say that it is funny and sad and foolish and wise, often at the same time. <br />
<br />
Karen Joy Fowler writes with great empathy. Minor characters prove to be less minor than they appeared at first glance. Fowler's characters, be they human, simian, family, friend or foe, are complex. Rosemary remembers, but doubts her memories.<br />
<br />
This is a story of a loving family and ways that love can go awry and ways that broken things may in time be mended. It's a story of how a quest for knowledge can lead us to places we don't expect and how our past choices make us what we are today. It is the story of what we think we have to lock away and what we ultimately have to free.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00B4FU6KE&asins=B00B4FU6KE&linkId=IVJ2LJFCHVZ2FLYO&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-25498125263125746112015-04-23T06:29:00.000-07:002015-04-23T06:29:02.845-07:00ANTHILL: A Novel by E. O. Wilson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0-LeqG8jLFgefCUaEhNpMkiZ_G0ChT5e8QFrBBeYnGKdDUxItfrv4XWDP0wcMbaU_n82ihqSO2UrcU_lgaf9YJ36KJQNc3GF-hyymE9LbIp86fAPDdq8sPTKlf9H8s4ydwgJ7tXmAKuf/s1600/Anthill.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0-LeqG8jLFgefCUaEhNpMkiZ_G0ChT5e8QFrBBeYnGKdDUxItfrv4XWDP0wcMbaU_n82ihqSO2UrcU_lgaf9YJ36KJQNc3GF-hyymE9LbIp86fAPDdq8sPTKlf9H8s4ydwgJ7tXmAKuf/s1600/Anthill.jpeg" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1FgxZtS">ANTHILL</a> is a remarkable novel. Harvard professor E. O. Wilson has spent his life in science, devoting much of his work to the study of ants, but being a good scientist doesn't necessarily make a person a good novelist or storyteller. But in <a href="http://amzn.to/1FgxZtS">ANTHILL</a> Wilson tells a warm, detailed, compelling story, proving conclusively that a scientist's eye and a poet's voice can coexist in a single body. Wilson's scientific attention to detail informs this story, giving it unexpected depth and wisdom but it is character and conflict that keep the reader eagerly turning pages.<br />
<br />
The story is that of a boy, Raff Cody, who grows to be a man. Raff's parents are from two slightly different worlds, his mother comes from an old-money, rich-historied southern family, while Raff's dad is a good old southern boy whose dreams are satisfied with a good truck and beer money for Friday nights. Raff finds a refuge from the tensions in his small town Alabama home in the woods of Nokobee County a place he grows to love.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1FgxZtS">ANTHILL</a> is broad in scope. Time brings changes to the Nokobee woods. Raff grows from an inquisitive kid, to a student of nature, to a mature defender of nature. Raff's struggles and growth are fascinating to follow and contemplate, particularly how his ultimate approach to conflict is informed by his studies of the ants.<br />
<br />
And make no mistake, Wilson packs a wealth of nature knowledge into this novel. The reader can't help but learn and be charmed by small details of small creatures but it's the larger echoes, the way all lives, big and small, intersect that makes Raff Cody's story come to life.<br />
<br />
E. O. Wilson's novel uses the lives of ants and men to help us make sense of the rich and fragile world we both inhabit. He reveals a world worth fighting for and creatures, both human and insect, whose lives are in the balance. I learned a lot about ants from this book, but more importantly, I learned about people, conflict and myself. And I got to read a terrific story along the way.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B003CTEFMK&asins=B003CTEFMK&linkId=NPXU6MJU4ILPE6FT&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-71767822649118156322015-03-19T17:08:00.000-07:002015-03-19T17:08:11.023-07:00The Monkey's Wrench by Primo Levi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT76wPHQh-Xp7sHdeSq-95B8-q1A_d-7uwKEJVeVH6LMsJ9hkvv7qSteoXg4uz9PNjn-XGBQud6l-XF6_tDU7soGOJTwfRBq-E2qv7all8LPHwgzE_7KDBUp6dR3abV5IbNPkHytBDFoug/s1600/primolevi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT76wPHQh-Xp7sHdeSq-95B8-q1A_d-7uwKEJVeVH6LMsJ9hkvv7qSteoXg4uz9PNjn-XGBQud6l-XF6_tDU7soGOJTwfRBq-E2qv7all8LPHwgzE_7KDBUp6dR3abV5IbNPkHytBDFoug/s320/primolevi.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0140188924?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393185&creativeASIN=0140188924&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=SFYQTRXUSN5QTCBK&keywords=The%20Monkey%27s%20Wrench&qid=1426807352&ref_=sr_1_1&s=books&sr=1-1">The Monkey's Wrench</a> is a slim, wise novel. Primo Levi begins with the simplest of circumstances, two men in a remote location who pass the time by recounting tales of past jobs, and, in a totally appropriate, workman-like manner, constructs a tale made of tales, a meditation on the nature of work and the nature of man. Most of the stories are told by Libertine Faussone, a rigger who has build towers, derricks and bridges all over the world. Faussone's stories are fascinating, sometimes funny, and always worthwhile. They contain a weary wisdom, an appreciation for the many small things that ultimately make big things succeed or fail. The second man in this tale, the writer-chemist narrator who spends much of the novel listening, eventually tells his own tale, of how he rigs molecules and words.<br />
<br />
This is a book for anyone who has ever taken pride in a job well done, marvelled at the work of a craftsman, or wondered about the ways of the world. This book contains cautions, tales of monkeys wrenching in imitation of men's expertise with disastrous results, but there are celebrations as well. Our understanding is seldom as great as we think but even when we fail to build the bridge we build something better from the twisted girders. We build the knowledge necessary to do better the next time. We become smarter monkeys with better wrenches. And our best wrenches are words, wise words told in fine tales, packaged expertly in fine books such as this one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=0140188924&asins=0140188924&linkId=44KHCSBK4GTGKJY2&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-2728703335707997452015-02-10T05:13:00.001-08:002015-02-10T05:13:26.990-08:00Summer of Love, A Time Travel by Lisa Mason<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0tgGsY4nIaFEAg0pciz_gFWq2mbKHl07uyo3CvuZz7YPQ6fgxGfMj0uH5luWhKHqKdq8Kst61fJUuD26P54cCsJQnBUkbAowR4mL9dnDPyMv4ZLykoN_inih8CDwdcFPu3-GNjeuBNK_/s1600/SummerOfLove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0tgGsY4nIaFEAg0pciz_gFWq2mbKHl07uyo3CvuZz7YPQ6fgxGfMj0uH5luWhKHqKdq8Kst61fJUuD26P54cCsJQnBUkbAowR4mL9dnDPyMv4ZLykoN_inih8CDwdcFPu3-GNjeuBNK_/s1600/SummerOfLove.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
<br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003OIBGLC?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B003OIBGLC&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=VQC5CTDGM4OOTY4M">Summer of Love, A Time Travel</a>
is a fine story. Lisa Mason takes three interesting characters, a time
traveller from a future 500 years hence, a 14-year-old midwestern
runaway flower child, and hip shopkeeper and places them all in the
fascinating place and time that was San Francisco's Summer of Love,
1967.<br />
<br />
Mason has certainly done her homework. You can
almost smell the pot and patchouli, see the painted faces and hear the
sounds of Janis and the Grateful Dead as Chi, Starbright and Ruby fight
to hold on to what really matters at a time when everything seems
possible and even the smallest things can have huge consequences.<br />
<br />
The
time travel plot is nicely (if a bit predictably) done and the glimpses
from Chi's future world are fascinating, frightening and ultimately
hopeful. Starbright is 100 percent convincing as a confused, loyal,
idealistic, moody teenager who really could hold the key to what is to
come. And Ruby Maverick, the shopkeeper who reluctantly gives the two
young strangers shelter and strength in a strange and wondrous time is
strong and smart and the kind of friend you'd want holding your hand or
watching your back when the trip starts going strange.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003OIBGLC?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B003OIBGLC&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=VQC5CTDGM4OOTY4M">Summer of Love, A Time Travel</a>
is not a rose-colored look backwards. It's is a kaleidoscopic look at a
time of both darkness and light, of confusion and clarity. It's scary
and beautiful, a strange trip where maybe all you need is a little love
and some flowers in your hair. <br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B003OIBGLC&asins=B003OIBGLC&linkId=ZNBQY6WW627XPF2Y&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-12687012026648351922014-12-30T08:31:00.001-08:002014-12-30T08:31:25.697-08:00The Golden Road and Beyond: A Grateful Dead Primer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwMlwpCF-WjNaWpflcd97upTXusGrvghgQqjVyg7wP-yqJDN0HoD_j4JIJk8g__nZ-ZinEOzYNggrdR-_cnfWBZut5eAygKZ4PsDDsSSQDp94v2yGS8YCR7FoppePh6gTG_rmG1Ro0DeL/s1600/DeadwHawk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwMlwpCF-WjNaWpflcd97upTXusGrvghgQqjVyg7wP-yqJDN0HoD_j4JIJk8g__nZ-ZinEOzYNggrdR-_cnfWBZut5eAygKZ4PsDDsSSQDp94v2yGS8YCR7FoppePh6gTG_rmG1Ro0DeL/s1600/DeadwHawk.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I've been a Deadhead for about four decades now. It was a cassette of American Beauty that turned me on to Jerry and the gang. I know that they're not everybody's cup of tea, and that's alright, but I do want to put my own life as a counter-example to those folks who contend you've got to be chemically altered somehow to enjoy the music of the Dead. I'm about as sober as they come (no moral judging, it's just my nature) and I totally dig their country, bluesy, poetic jams. I think, ironically, it's because the Dead are ultimately just so damn life affirming.<br />
<br />
Last week on Amazon I stumbled onto this fine Kindle book called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00G0062O2?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00G0062O2&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=PXSFSU46CA7FSLNZ&=digital-text&qid=1419953899&sr=1-3&keywords=grateful+dead">The Grateful Dead and Beyond: A Grateful Dead Primer</a>. I didn't need priming, but the book was free and it turns out it's a good little history of the Dead together with a nice discography. Written by Dennis McNally, the Dead's longtime publicist, there are some good stories about the circumstances behind the band, their songs and the legendary tours. I learned stuff I didn't know, learned more about things I'd heard about and generally enjoyed every page.<br />
<br />
If you aren't a Deadhead, don't start with this book. Start with their music and you can start pretty much anywhere. Tons of their stuff is publicly available (the Dead are big on that, another thing I love about them). I'll include a few links to some fun Youtube videos and what I think are their best albums.<br />
<br />
Keep on truckin'.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00G0062O2&asins=B00G0062O2&linkId=BOXW5PTF63E4KPPO&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
<center>
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/8YSTeJOxiaw" width="420"></iframe>
</center>
<br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/KWbzmRBU6Lg" width="420"></iframe>
</center>
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00007LTIL&asins=B00007LTIL&linkId=VVZYHSBXZE4FSPL5&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00007LTIK&asins=B00007LTIK&linkId=QQKELGNQSUVYHK3M&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B000E1ZBFE&asins=B000E1ZBFE&linkId=67KZOJAOVMURKR5B&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00007LTIN&asins=B00007LTIN&linkId=N3U2DUUL42OXE7QX&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-9106420716988876552014-12-26T08:32:00.000-08:002014-12-26T20:38:11.771-08:00The Uncanny Valley: Tales from a Lost Town by Gregory Miller<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0Rs8RFyP4-2ttDlKeTl66tQthM4CJzPhcEzCMIBJqJDUrPq9P7WTIrtzlI8KzGYPHEvwsqh4U40fWfNaMWJfwzbZQsYtzOB6V-dfzixLMIeX-m34WUiu__uXLazdStXrYwDaQKAhQBcK/s1600/the-uncanny-valley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0Rs8RFyP4-2ttDlKeTl66tQthM4CJzPhcEzCMIBJqJDUrPq9P7WTIrtzlI8KzGYPHEvwsqh4U40fWfNaMWJfwzbZQsYtzOB6V-dfzixLMIeX-m34WUiu__uXLazdStXrYwDaQKAhQBcK/s1600/the-uncanny-valley.jpg" height="320" width="202" /></a></div>
<br />
I believe in ghosts. Perhaps not ghosts in the literal sense, but I believe a person's spirit can live on, in the stories that we've told and the stories that are told about us. I believe the good and the evil that we've done in our lives continues on in the world and I am convinced that we do not, can not, know all the ways and shapes in which those continuations may manifest. I believe that the things that go bump in the night are sometimes just the frightened beating of our own hearts, but at other times there are things in the darkness that our minds can never fully know but our hearts are wise enough to fear.<br />
<br />
And I believe, quite fervently, that some among us are gifted, perhaps possessed, with the ability to tell true tales, tales of horror and imagination, tales truer than mere fact, tales called fiction that build worlds of words that outlast the world of dust. Poe's Usher will live forever even as it collapses again and again throughout the ages. Bradbury's hometown will be forever green in summer light and forever haunted by a dark autumn carnival.<br />
<br />
I mention Poe and Bradbury and ghosts because their spirits live on. They live in a man named Gregory Miller whose haunted pen has recorded tales of a place that is eerily familiar. In thirty-three small tales thirty-three different voices reveal a small town somewhere in Pennsylvania. Some of these tales are small, with just the hint of something off or odd. In others there is a horror that grabs at your heart more urgently. In sum, these tales will hold and haunt you and if you are like me you will come, oddly, to love this Uncanny Valley.<br />
<br />
Few things give me more pleasure than finding an author I never knew who has written tales I come to treasure. Gregory Miller has found treasure in The Uncanny Valley. This treasure, like some others, is guarded by spirits who will haunt you. There is death here, and darkness, and all that is most wonderful in life -- the great unknown.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00HQW3AHA&asins=B00HQW3AHA&linkId=3RXW5OKNFHMYGI73&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-9740898240467896202014-12-16T04:29:00.000-08:002014-12-16T04:29:10.122-08:00Ursula K. Le Guin: Empathy and Big Ideas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-tn3_kkw5wvh1Ksqh2b_zXYBBzpb419N3Vc-H5RQBDwxd31gCrT7bqIBnLiRdBcfClcB1t6FA0LNbgJJVmMkFmidvYem322dzX7LVSz5luHJeeSR3jULZwPD_RCvy8NiUvOeol08ipGA/s1600/LeGuinBuffaloGals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-tn3_kkw5wvh1Ksqh2b_zXYBBzpb419N3Vc-H5RQBDwxd31gCrT7bqIBnLiRdBcfClcB1t6FA0LNbgJJVmMkFmidvYem322dzX7LVSz5luHJeeSR3jULZwPD_RCvy8NiUvOeol08ipGA/s1600/LeGuinBuffaloGals.jpg" height="320" width="196" /></a></div>
<br />
I recently read a couple of wonderful books by Ursula K. Le Guin that reminded me once again what a gifted and skillful writer she is. Le Guin is a master of the art of letting the reader see through the eyes of another. Through her words, we don't just see, we feel and, perhaps, we begin to understand.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0451450493?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=0451450493&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=KPGDSD44OB3RGTXG&qid=1418730647&sr=8-1&keywords=Le+Guin+Buffalo&pebp=1418730667445">Buffalo Gals and other Animal Presences</a> is a collection of short fiction and poetry. In the title novella a child survives a plane crash and lives in the Dream Time world of animal myths, befriended by the Coyote and other creatures. It's a tale that is both dreamlike and sharp, a look at our world through eyes that aren't really alien, but rather native eyes that see (and make us see) our alienation from the natural world.<br />
<br />
Le Guin is a master of the alternate perspective. In various stories and poems in Buffalo Gals we see the world through the eyes of a wolf, a lab rat, and even rocks and trees. Le Guin's sense of empathy is strong and she transmits that empathy to the reader. Reading Le Guin expands not just the mind, but the heart and soul.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMK_HYuTL6LMGhFB2YVJFmedrWL0i-Nx8i3LpgEecbhPyoxG1k1-O_8uYtfyD33A-PD0u8cANVJ5mMBLykWm7ZxO0Oc4STRpfJmxcGAXcQxgCt5bEJ0KliaBrE3TSbA6cydyWgQjqSnUx/s1600/Ursula+K.+Le+Guin_1974_The+Dispossessed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMK_HYuTL6LMGhFB2YVJFmedrWL0i-Nx8i3LpgEecbhPyoxG1k1-O_8uYtfyD33A-PD0u8cANVJ5mMBLykWm7ZxO0Oc4STRpfJmxcGAXcQxgCt5bEJ0KliaBrE3TSbA6cydyWgQjqSnUx/s1600/Ursula+K.+Le+Guin_1974_The+Dispossessed.jpg" height="320" width="193" /></a></div>
<br />
In <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FC11GA?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B000FC11GA&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=OABM5M7AAJ7YC57E&qid=1418731776&sr=8-1&keywords=le+guin+dispossessed&pebp=1418731789534">The Dispossessed</a>, Le Guin builds not just one, but two worlds. Set on the twin worlds of Anarres and Urras, Le Guin gradually reveals two societies. Anarres is a harsh, barren moon settled by anarchic, collectivist utopians. Urras is the mother world, lush and green, with both great wealth and poverty, capitalism writ large.<br />
<br />
We see these worlds through the eyes of Shevek, a physicist of great intellect and compassion. Shevek dreams not just of understanding the universe but uniting the worlds. The timeline and narrative switch back and forth between the two worlds. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FC11GA?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B000FC11GA&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=OABM5M7AAJ7YC57E&qid=1418731776&sr=8-1&keywords=le+guin+dispossessed&pebp=1418731789534">The Dispossessed</a> is not a book to be rushed through, it is dense in ideas, long and deep in thought. It is what-if Science Fiction of the grandest sort, using alien worlds to help us better understand and live in our own.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=0451450493&asins=0451450493&linkId=CUHBOEG3SQLZ66BJ&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B000FC11GA&asins=B000FC11GA&linkId=W4FBYNGQSEWFEVZS&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-56589858288381534642014-12-09T05:52:00.000-08:002014-12-09T05:52:03.932-08:00Discovering Avram Davidson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9KJKixNEKOXSgHR9jT6tHKQce6Xw5xK0fRRYyPbhI1aBuI3-qQVOx58iYa5ffKnKqupvVIwcgjLRqmVxSYqQonQE4zGrgldKA4QrBbwGK8s1UlXJYrtpXi1zvRRUTk0mGJpIsQ48O5p9z/s1600/DavidsonTreasury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9KJKixNEKOXSgHR9jT6tHKQce6Xw5xK0fRRYyPbhI1aBuI3-qQVOx58iYa5ffKnKqupvVIwcgjLRqmVxSYqQonQE4zGrgldKA4QrBbwGK8s1UlXJYrtpXi1zvRRUTk0mGJpIsQ48O5p9z/s1600/DavidsonTreasury.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
When I first encountered Avram Davidson he was in disguise. I was a bookish teenager with an appetite for mystery novels. I devoured tales penned by Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, John Dickson Carr and others. I particularly enjoyed the Ellery Queen mysteries, not perhaps because they were great literature, but because they were fun puzzles. I learned to look for the twist, the false lead, the logical, yet wrong conclusion and still often Ellery would manage to surprise me in the end.<br />
<br />
From those days I remember most clearly one book, a novel called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00B1MSIAK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00B1MSIAK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=FRORTXHHCOXTTNDP&=digital-text&qid=1418129344&sr=1-1&keywords=And+on+the+Eighth+Day">And on the Eighth Day</a>. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-CIPIaREKqaxb4-5VtljLHeTOL_oopG6F9dda0leK5VLrYrDQ3IjeEXBHByMf9xZheP8egZGCCpXXc8YtHFqcgmcfnxfAtlTzXkrIsVlIYws4NLB30ntqUyXbDwPP_WQLO_psYdLT-gAx/s1600/DavidsonEighth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-CIPIaREKqaxb4-5VtljLHeTOL_oopG6F9dda0leK5VLrYrDQ3IjeEXBHByMf9xZheP8egZGCCpXXc8YtHFqcgmcfnxfAtlTzXkrIsVlIYws4NLB30ntqUyXbDwPP_WQLO_psYdLT-gAx/s1600/DavidsonEighth.jpg" height="320" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />
This book was different. It was better. It was a mystery, but it was more. Ellery was still Ellery, the puzzle was still puzzling but the world was richer, there were more ideas there. In some ways the book stripped the mystery and characters down to the bone and placed them in a dreamscape, but this was a fable that knew that true reality includes dreams.<br />
<br />
As a teen, I knew this book was better than most of the other Ellery Queen novels, but I didn't know why. I do know that the book stuck in my head for years, while others in the series faded away. Decades later, I'd solve the mystery.<br />
<br />
My reading world expanded to include various mainstream novels and science fiction. I went into space with Arthur Clarke and Robert Heinlein. I rode dragons with Anne McCaffery. And Ray Bradbury showed me Mars and a green town in Illinois that he never forgot and I'll never forget either.<br />
<br />
And so this bookish boy became a bookish man who never completely put away a child's sense of wonder. Like Asimov and Bradbury I decided that driving a car is foolishness I need not fool with and so I've made my way in the world by foot and bicycle, preferring a pace more convivial to conversation, contemplation and companionship. One day on a bike ride with my pal Mark Vande Kamp conversation wandered, as it is so oft to do, to stories of stories and we were discussing Ray Bradbury. "Remember the Bradbury story about how paper clips and coat hangers are really the larval form of bicycles?" Mark comments. "What?!?" I reply, not because the concept is fantastic, but because if such a tale existed I doubt I would have forgotten it. And I thought I'd been quite diligent (perhaps compulsive) in my consumption of the works of Ray Bradbury. Mark assured me that such a tale existed and that he would ferret it out and bring me a copy of the tale.<br />
<br />
It turned out that Mark was both right and wrong. The story was as he recalled and it is an odd gem called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0671808060?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=0671808060&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=M27IG7MOKWE2WGEQ&=aps&qid=1418131277&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=Or+All+the+Sea+with+oysters">Or All The Sea With Oysters</a>. But the author of the tale is not Ray Bradbury but a fellow named Avram Davidson.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUQ5YlxzuAtLT6bRLs5dtRVFbCVGrntdUjtUJfZrC1AQ4uISnT0V2U8MGdNx1yn77j1nQlJdkUsGYNTJyyS6xXWkMMw4wWoUyfek0aHWGiTSjelnrji2TCNuwem7i0tZ9bo0Yfp9aZ473/s1600/Davidson-OrAllTheSea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUQ5YlxzuAtLT6bRLs5dtRVFbCVGrntdUjtUJfZrC1AQ4uISnT0V2U8MGdNx1yn77j1nQlJdkUsGYNTJyyS6xXWkMMw4wWoUyfek0aHWGiTSjelnrji2TCNuwem7i0tZ9bo0Yfp9aZ473/s1600/Davidson-OrAllTheSea.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Mark's slightly faulty memory brought Davidson to my attention and Davidson's stories held that attention. Davidson is wonderful. I began scouring bookstores for his work and Wikipedia solved an old mystery for me. For my "new" discovery of Davidson's writing was in fact a rediscovery. Davidson had ghost written the book I'd loved years before, he was the true author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00B1MSIAK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00B1MSIAK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=FRORTXHHCOXTTNDP&=digital-text&qid=1418129344&sr=1-1&keywords=And+on+the+Eighth+Day">And on the Eighth Day</a>.<br />
<br />
In a more just world Davidson wouldn't have died poor and mostly forgotten. He wouldn't have had to sell so many fine tales for pennies or write great stories under someone else's name. Davidson is gone now, but we still have the tales and they are treasures. Seek them out.<br />
<br />
Davidson wrote mysteries, fantasy, science fiction, alternate histories, tales that we'd now call steampunk, and so much more. His tales are fantastic in every sense of the word.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSE8dZHyUD96pCPG2Qfm0qme9XYBzWGtgoXIl8LhSCsSZXm6twTnGlo-IVpSy8zg4GQRFG2oc0qb6LM7Bcd4LIdmqqSTjjZNAFa-JS04vKbtbRa2RB141QaoyMr6hEIgSVpoYPqhSbpfI/s1600/Davidson-investig8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSE8dZHyUD96pCPG2Qfm0qme9XYBzWGtgoXIl8LhSCsSZXm6twTnGlo-IVpSy8zg4GQRFG2oc0qb6LM7Bcd4LIdmqqSTjjZNAFa-JS04vKbtbRa2RB141QaoyMr6hEIgSVpoYPqhSbpfI/s1600/Davidson-investig8.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
If you want a place to start with Davidson, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004ULPL4U?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B004ULPL4U&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=VIL6AITGG2HKCM3P&=digital-text&qid=1418132801&sr=1-1&keywords=avram+davidson">The Avram Davidson Treasury</a> is a terrific collection of his work, punctuated with fine introductions by the many, many writers who've loved his tales.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B004ULPL4U&asins=B004ULPL4U&linkId=AJR7K6F4GTCVF2UN&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-23810859849917365112014-10-31T09:30:00.001-07:002014-10-31T09:30:16.586-07:00Sarah Canary by Karen Joy Fowler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHW6DNpCwnSSph-H0hAqFBVnR5L2NIcCNM-46WQKhWBreS621fMvyzuFVluqyrZwUYwnFrm-XEKvcFVN27IoB6bvKdhUmhqGKUT_kpbueOnRcRYq0idlA0L_Kvvq1p8Uc1HbEeGvMWOZNs/s1600/sarahcanary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHW6DNpCwnSSph-H0hAqFBVnR5L2NIcCNM-46WQKhWBreS621fMvyzuFVluqyrZwUYwnFrm-XEKvcFVN27IoB6bvKdhUmhqGKUT_kpbueOnRcRYq0idlA0L_Kvvq1p8Uc1HbEeGvMWOZNs/s1600/sarahcanary.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00EV4YYNK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00EV4YYNK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=H5EJP53NZSZOF2GU&tkr=1">Sarah Canary</a> is a wonderfully deceptive book. The title suggests biography or a single life rendered in fiction, but <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00EV4YYNK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00EV4YYNK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=H5EJP53NZSZOF2GU&tkr=1">Sarah Canary</a> is something of a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004G5ZU32?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B004G5ZU32&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=UQ6WHLXTVBSME37H&=digital-text&qid=1414769216&sr=1-1&keywords=maltese+falcon">Maltese Falcon</a>, a mystery and a catalyst for action in others. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00EV4YYNK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00EV4YYNK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=H5EJP53NZSZOF2GU&tkr=1">Sarah Canary</a> is the woman in black, sometimes glimpsed but seldom seen, an inkblot that looks very much like something we recognize.<br />
<br />
The book follows Chin, a Chinese railway worker, who follows Sarah through the fog shrouded Pacific Northwest of the 1870s. This is not a straightforward journey but Karen Joy Fowler has a fine sense of pace, creating a story that moves and a set of characters and circumstances that fascinate. Fowler rejoices in odd details but rather than being digressions that slow the action, these facts are like bits of a broken mirror unexpectedly reflecting light just when and where it's needed.<br />
<br />
In a prison Chin befriends a killer and in an asylum in Steilacoom he and Sarah are aided in their escape by a lunatic named B.J. Lunatic, of course, is a relative term and B.J.'s counsel and considerations are often the wisest words in any given situation.<br />
<br />
This is a book of action, filled with chase scenes, grifters, men with schemes, women with dreams. This is a fine book, rewarding the reader not with a simple solution but a reminder that the world is complicated, barely glimpsed and best journeyed through with perseverance and a few good friends. I count certain books as friends and Sarah Canary is one of the very best.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00EV4YYNK&asins=B00EV4YYNK&linkId=5X4Y4GASDERFCMUN&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-8705777448961035092014-10-19T10:37:00.003-07:002014-10-19T10:40:26.668-07:00Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn30l0l4apFmNMgbuFajsdiajALZq7TSSC5n46jpI4s3PuiR15ws8gOaKqVzadhsK5VGhcTfEHTRvAuE7MpM6qL1JOan2OIPxpdmPfx5pgobBhOwATf_VPqkTmA61dgRQp9UcjaxRYbm-Z/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn30l0l4apFmNMgbuFajsdiajALZq7TSSC5n46jpI4s3PuiR15ws8gOaKqVzadhsK5VGhcTfEHTRvAuE7MpM6qL1JOan2OIPxpdmPfx5pgobBhOwATf_VPqkTmA61dgRQp9UcjaxRYbm-Z/s1600/image.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
So there's an <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005CRQ3H0?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B005CRQ3H0&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=HUJBMSP67RXLAVDO&=digital-text&qid=1413737602&sr=1-1&keywords=inherent+vice">Inherent Vice</a> movie coming out in December and I'm not too proud to admit that it's the movie that got me motivated to finally read Thomas Pynchon's novel of the same name. You know Pynchon, that genius author of giant books? While epics like <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005CRQ3MA?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B005CRQ3MA&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=X6WBKBGRKAI3ZWKL&refRID=0ED99YPV6D0H2MN0QY2Q">Gravity's Rainbow</a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005CRQ34S?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B005CRQ34S&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=7KTFM4XIHGOLCYRA&refRID=0ED99YPV6D0H2MN0QY2Q">Against The Day</a> might require a few months of heavy reading and a book bag strong enough for heavy lifting, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005CRQ3H0?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B005CRQ3H0&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=FJOTFBVNNSMQEXKK&=digital-text&qid=1413737602&sr=1-1&keywords=inherent+vice">Inherent Vice</a> has been dismissed by some as "Pynchon-lite." I'm here to tell you that that is not a bad thing. 369 pages of Pynchon is a damn fine way to spend your time.<br />
<br />
Pynchon's hero, Doc Sportello, wobbles his way through a woozy, sex and drugs and rock and roll exploration of the psychedelic landscapes of 1971 Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Don't let the pot haze fool you, Doc is a keen observer with his own code of conduct that is every bit as consistent and admirable as that laid down by his spiritual fore-bearers, Phillip Marlow and Sam Spade. There's mystery upon mystery here, brilliant wordplay, astounding dialog and some terrific humor.<br />
<br />
Inherent Vice sneaks up on you. It's light, mysterious and fun but there's something deeper here. Like all Pynchon, there's a layer of paranoia that should not be ignored. There's more going on every day than most folks see and Pynchon is a master of providing glimpses through the fog. If the movie and this book get more people looking where Pynchon is pointing, I have to see that as a good thing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B005CRQ3H0&asins=B005CRQ3H0&linkId=CFDOEJDXDAQJTJLW&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
<center>
</center>
<center>
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/wZfs22E7JmI" width="560"></iframe>
</center>
<br />Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-21317301432005297612014-07-16T20:34:00.000-07:002014-07-16T20:34:01.500-07:00The Way Inn by Will Wiles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-WmC535OyVMgWMv7JLGe0DRpcweieRT4wTXZJst3FOzlBtP8zYSENtqDjLHZv7xI02lcJu3xmWAxFfxZ8cMNsakw1lD-wQJwBGmHYgpfNRsOhq6NX2c9MaK08nSTU6zttFF4shKxCLmp/s1600/20140716_094130~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-WmC535OyVMgWMv7JLGe0DRpcweieRT4wTXZJst3FOzlBtP8zYSENtqDjLHZv7xI02lcJu3xmWAxFfxZ8cMNsakw1lD-wQJwBGmHYgpfNRsOhq6NX2c9MaK08nSTU6zttFF4shKxCLmp/s1600/20140716_094130~2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
In his first novel, <a href="http://kentsbook.blogspot.com/2013/02/care-of-wooden-floors-by-will-wiles.html">CARE OF WOODEN FLOORS</a>, Will Wiles did something I'd previously thought impossible; he made me care deeply about the removal of a wine stain from the floor of a meticulously modern apartment. From this simple accident Wiles spun a masterful, complex contemplation of order and chaos, of favors gone awry and friendship strained by human frailty. It was a tale told with equal parts humor and horror and, remarkably, it kept me turning pages well into the night.<br />
<br />
Thus it was with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation that I approached Wiles' sophomore effort, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a>. Would this novel measure up to the oddly high bar set by its quirky predecessor? The answer became obvious in the first few pages. I was checked into <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a> every bit as securely as Wiles' less-than-noble protagonist, Neil Double. I didn't have to like Mr. Double, I only had to believe I was seeing the world through his eyes and this I did with ease. Through Double I found myself contemplating the mundane, the relentlessly packaged, processed, economically engineered, corporate approximation of refuge, the modern chain hotel.<br />
<br />
One of Wiles talents as a storyteller is his ability to amplify the contrast levels in his tale to extreme levels while still retaining the reader's belief. We smile at the absurdity, but we buy into it. Neil Double is not just a bland business traveler, he's a PROFESSIONALLY bland business traveler. He's a conference surrogate, he goes to business conferences so other businessmen don't have to. And the conference he's attending in this tale? It's the conference of conference organizers. The conference, of course, is being held at the MetaCentre.<br />
<br />
In lesser hands this tale of the bland and boring could certainly be bland and boring, but Wiles has an eye for the odd and a strong sense of the absurd. Neil Double is soon a victim of misadventure and chance encounter. A mysterious red-haired woman has pointed out something odd about the abstract paintings that populate the rooms and hallways of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a> and by the time the mysterious and sinister hotel executive Mr. Hilbert appears, Mr. Double is deep into a thriller that could give Alfred Hitchcock a severe case of vertigo. And if Rod Serling turned out to be the night manager of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a>, I would not be the slightest bit surprised.<br />
<br />
But <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a> is surprising, odder than you can imagine unless your name is Ray Bradbury, Neal Gaiman or Will Wiles. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a> is a masterful metaphor for an age where corporations are people and people are cogs in machines we too often ignore. But <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a> is more than metaphor, it's a fun story. Neil Double has a problem, it's easy to check into <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a>. Checking out is something of a nightmare.<br />
<br />
But don't let that deter you. I checked out 343 pages of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/000754555X?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=000754555X&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&linkId=6SBAZADMDZQ6PEBY&=books&qid=1405567799&sr=1-1&keywords=the+way+inn">THE WAY INN</a> and I'm not quite sure I've left it yet. But it is time very well spent. I'm weary, wiser, and more than willing to buy whatever the next tale is that Mr. Wiles will choose to tell.Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-2880284762978142552014-03-31T08:59:00.002-07:002014-03-31T08:59:58.022-07:00The Word Exchange by Alena Graedon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBO5iehHUbQdJaCd2ja4QhgMyWrOXBjkACS8j7cfYT65KsUeiiA7T1V4Pl3HzuP0TmMNBmcjWkl2dZq_sodznkdaXbWMGXy9t0-r3DSi7pB418A-xaO29Vcx1OOK5eQK_aFIysKubjhMM/s1600/word-exchange-by-alena-graedon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBO5iehHUbQdJaCd2ja4QhgMyWrOXBjkACS8j7cfYT65KsUeiiA7T1V4Pl3HzuP0TmMNBmcjWkl2dZq_sodznkdaXbWMGXy9t0-r3DSi7pB418A-xaO29Vcx1OOK5eQK_aFIysKubjhMM/s1600/word-exchange-by-alena-graedon.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FUZQY7I/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00FUZQY7I&linkCode=as2&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">The Word Exchange</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=kentsbikeblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00FUZQY7I" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /> is set in a world of words. It's a world eerily similar to ours, the geography is recognizable, the people seem real, but where we have iPhones and Kindles the characturers in Alena Graedon's thoughtful and thrilling novel have a device called the Meme. The Meme is insidiously useful. It not only holds your books, your movies, your life, it calls you a cab when you need one. It orders you a sandwich before you know you're hungry. It looks up words you don't know, it remembers what you don't need to recall. The Meme has changed the world. And now it's changing the words that make up the world. Words and their meanings are now bought and sold on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FUZQY7I/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00FUZQY7I&linkCode=as2&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">The Word Exchange</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=kentsbikeblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00FUZQY7I" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />.<br />
<br />
Douglas Johnson is the editor working on the North American Dictionary of the English Language (NADEL). On the eve of the publication of what will be the last print version of his life's work, Doug disappears. His daughter Anana, who had been working on the NADEL with her father, together with her bookish colleague Bart work to unravel the mystery of Doug's disappearance while all around them the world descends into a madness known as the Word Flu. People, including Anana and Bart are rapidly losing the ability to communicate.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FUZQY7I/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00FUZQY7I&linkCode=as2&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">The Word Exchange</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=kentsbikeblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00FUZQY7I" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /> is the best kind of cautionary fable. It is not a hard science projection of future doom, it is instead a poetic recasting of our own age in a poetically warped looking glass. This is a book that values books on paper, people who think and people who preserve that which is old, not out of nostalgia, but because they know what is truly valuable.<br />
<br />
For all it's fine ideas, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FUZQY7I/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00FUZQY7I&linkCode=as2&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">The Word Exchange</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=kentsbikeblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00FUZQY7I" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /> is first and foremost a good story. Anana's a plucky heroine and Bart is the kind of guy you hope she'll fall for. The mystery is mysterious and the setting is wonderful, populated with menacing folks of uncertain motives, escapes through hidden tunnels. strange messages sent through an ancient, secret pneumatic tube systems and late night meetings in old libraries. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00FUZQY7I/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00FUZQY7I&linkCode=as2&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">The Word Exchange</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=kentsbikeblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00FUZQY7I" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /> is a thriller for folks thrilled by and informed by words.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&Operation=GetAdHtml&ID=OneJS&OneJS=1&source=ss&ref=ss_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=kentsbikeblog-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00FUZQY7I&asins=B00FUZQY7I&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&MarketPlace=US" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
</center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-68681279091551624852014-02-04T18:29:00.001-08:002014-02-04T18:29:29.749-08:00Rereading Ray Bradbury<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz471TGmVqxWqyW5-Bn1GhpZ3TpE6GnSNEGmfpiOKxDK7Z4yOevbFKfZGUWMvILbxDQG6bs4f8MSCLljRj4Jsyk6LQ0Kbu0WinzzfRnoHhls3p6jtcb9ReH1yI0oFF8SpCOUDwn0ifacCI/s1600/RayInkling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz471TGmVqxWqyW5-Bn1GhpZ3TpE6GnSNEGmfpiOKxDK7Z4yOevbFKfZGUWMvILbxDQG6bs4f8MSCLljRj4Jsyk6LQ0Kbu0WinzzfRnoHhls3p6jtcb9ReH1yI0oFF8SpCOUDwn0ifacCI/s1600/RayInkling.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
How do these things start? I cannot say, for cannot recall important things such as the day I was born or the day I first read a story by Ray Bradbury. Ray claimed he could, recall the day of his birth that is, and who am I to doubt the man, the man whose taught me much about remembering and imagining. Did he remember Mars or Greentown or invent them? Does it matter now?</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Somewhere back in time and Minnesota a younger me met Martians and a man named Montag who burned books and sparked in me something that still smolders and now and then burns bright, fanned to flame by what exactly? Memory, imagination, a book on the shelf glanced then grabbed. Here’s a comfy chair, no... a rocket ship and the dust of the years falls away, water flows in the old canals and I am once again young with wonder.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
How do these things start? It doesn’t matter, they keep going. They scuttle like robot mice in robot towns, they echo from the past, in warning and wonder, and the man who wanted to live forever does, he really does, in these books and these electrons in these infernal machines he loved and warned us about.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Do I have favorites? Of course I have favorites, but favor is fickle. The streets of Greentown, glowing in sunlight seen through a strawberry window, a good place to come from, to spend a boyhood or a summer but not forever. No, not forever.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Perhaps to the past, via some fantastic machine, bending time to hunt the dinosaurs, to make them live again, to hear their terrible roars, to fear their terrible claws, to watch in wide-eyed wonder.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Or maybe build machines, robots to make us toast, to sweep our rugs, to tell us stories, to be our grandmothers, to remember and imagine...</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Mars. Mars is heaven and hell and Usher and the new frontier. It’s where we’ll wait out the war, make new mistakes and old ones. We’ll not see the Martians until it’s too late or perhaps they’ll do the same. Dark they were, and golden-eyed. Give us time under a sky with two moons, time to learn to read the old singing books, to learn to live in crystal cities beside canals that are not dead but flowing...</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
I read the old books and my eyes begin to fleck with bits of gold.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
The old pages smell of mummies, dandelions, rocket ships and dinosaurs.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
It’s the first day of summer or maybe it’s October and a dark carnival has just rolled into town. Or maybe it’s Hollywood in the fifties and a mystery is afoot. This is Mars and Greentown and a million other places, real and imagined.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Live forever, Ray advised. There’s a crater on Mars called Bradbury now. There are millions of Bradburys on millions of shelves now, dinosaurs, Martians and mechanical hounds let loose to roam wild. They’ll not be stopped.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Book paper burns at Fahrenheit 451. But the stories and ideas don’t die. They’ll live forever.</div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
Just like Ray Bradbury. </div>
<div style="-qt-block-indent: 0; -qt-paragraph-type: empty; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br /><!--EndFragment-->Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-44976176759025685112013-12-17T07:45:00.000-08:002014-02-11T06:32:04.175-08:00The Martian by Andy Weir<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6tuF-oSrHW1M_UBZwQyyMEXT8SQmF3IsVuhaFFC-rUJPNUGRFy5u4KLDSchMr0AJ2CyP0e4g6Mkifm9T_LonCTL9KZ4l12tSSpW2ETiTaKecYy1UTt4yidDaVUE6IpQGMICeRyS1WHjq/s1600/91c4ZDFCn1L._AA1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6tuF-oSrHW1M_UBZwQyyMEXT8SQmF3IsVuhaFFC-rUJPNUGRFy5u4KLDSchMr0AJ2CyP0e4g6Mkifm9T_LonCTL9KZ4l12tSSpW2ETiTaKecYy1UTt4yidDaVUE6IpQGMICeRyS1WHjq/s320/91c4ZDFCn1L._AA1500_.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0804139024?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393185&creativeASIN=0804139024&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1386528432&sr=1-1">The Martian</a> is one of the most perfect science fiction novels I've ever read. Originally self-published by Andy Weir, this tale of a man stranded on Mars quickly amassed over 1,000 five-star reviews on Amazon and was picked up by a major publisher. I recently had the absolute joy of reading an advance copy of the book, which will be in wide release in February of 2014. If we live in a just universe, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0804139024?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393185&creativeASIN=0804139024&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1386528432&sr=1-1">The Martian</a> will be a best seller and win both the Hugo and Nebula awards. It's that good.<br />
<br />
Weir does several hard things very well in this novel. He's obviously done his homework and the Mars mission, NASA, all the science and the sequence of events leading to astronaut Mark Watney's predicament all ring true. More importantly Mark Watney is someone you believe in from page one. He is one of the most human, likable, funny and stubborn people you will ever meet in the pages of a book and you cannot help but root for this guy.<br />
<br />
A book like this could easily get bogged down in technical details, overwhelming the reader with details and infodumps, but Weir keeps the tension high throughout the novel. It's tempting to compare Weir's book to the technothrillers of someone like Michael Crichton but I honestly have to say that Weir seems to be a better writer than Crichton.<br />
<br />
Science is the star of this book and our hero is ultimately not alone as NASA and the rest of planet earth become aware of Mark Watney's predicament. This is ultimately the story not of a man or a martian, but of humanity and how we as humans survive through intelligence, humor, perseverance and faith in each other.<br />
<br />
The Martian is the opposite, perhaps the antidote, to dystopian fiction. It is a reminder that thrilling stories and great adventures exist and we can and must go out and find them.<br />
<br />
Go out and find The Martian. It's one of the wonders of the universe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00EMXBDMA/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00EMXBDMA&linkCode=as2&tag=kentsbikeblog-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=B00EMXBDMA&Format=_SL110_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=kentsbikeblog-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=kentsbikeblog-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00EMXBDMA" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
</center>
<br />Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-69004522847940819462013-11-05T05:30:00.001-08:002013-11-05T05:30:19.501-08:00Little Green Men by Peter Cawdron<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfVRFTdRSP6nquhZnBA8XB0mYIdLkOaGBQStuVPtMZWD0fFXlrwGlVLp6I_oEZvbu86piGGNeVZdJObzEE-AweqJN3RLFnK6_WAnOnr7SGpt_9DnTAtylg4cnEvQMlz08DPqf7dpQaEBA/s1600/81qidE5Ls8L._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfVRFTdRSP6nquhZnBA8XB0mYIdLkOaGBQStuVPtMZWD0fFXlrwGlVLp6I_oEZvbu86piGGNeVZdJObzEE-AweqJN3RLFnK6_WAnOnr7SGpt_9DnTAtylg4cnEvQMlz08DPqf7dpQaEBA/s320/81qidE5Ls8L._SL1500_.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ET56DHG?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00ET56DHG&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1383656363&sr=8-1&keywords=Little+Green+Men">Little Green Men</a> is a great, page turner of a story. It's a not a long story, more a novella than a novel, detailing the experiences of the crew of space ship Dei Gracia on a frozen, distant world. The writing is brisk and the tension of the story is perfect. Halfway through the book there was a spot where I stopped and said "Holy Crap, I never saw that coming!" It's a great puzzle of a story that in the end fits together with a very elegant and satisfying logic.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Peter-Cawdron/e/B00600L9FO/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1">Peter Cawdron</a> says that he wrote <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ET56DHG?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00ET56DHG&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1383656363&sr=8-1&keywords=Little+Green+Men">Little Green Men</a> as a tribute to the works of Philip K. Dick and the classic science fiction stories of the 1950s. He's certainly succeeded, the story manages to mix the pulse-pounding fear of the Alien movies with some of the big questions of perception and existence that one normally associates with authors like Dick, Asimov or Clarke. The interactions of the crew reminded me of the best of the old Star Trek episodes.<br />
<br />
I don't want to give away any of the story, this is a book to be read and enjoyed, not explained. The book was free when I downloaded it to my Kindle, but the story is well worth the regular price of 99 cents. Such deals exist to introduce the reader to a new writer. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ET56DHG?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00ET56DHG&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1383656363&sr=8-1&keywords=Little+Green+Men">Little Green Men</a> certainly worked on that level for me, I've already downloaded some of Peter Cawdron's other stories.<br />
<center>
<br /><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=kentsbikeblog-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B00ET56DHG" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
</center>
<br />Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-17085281789886887142013-10-30T11:46:00.000-07:002013-10-30T11:46:22.067-07:00The novels of Daniel Pinkwater<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZkMM6_1Jy6-tfbdiF7G4ScTYe_t2Fk5dNV9-ZzvclegKsx6Yud16xpiXyAGir4SdoB168hnPeq2ATcCkdPIQGZkgrEPooIjOaq0wKghWz2iV2vQlJwlsDK838t9jFvXKCifvExtz7AJP/s1600/PA150139-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZkMM6_1Jy6-tfbdiF7G4ScTYe_t2Fk5dNV9-ZzvclegKsx6Yud16xpiXyAGir4SdoB168hnPeq2ATcCkdPIQGZkgrEPooIjOaq0wKghWz2iV2vQlJwlsDK838t9jFvXKCifvExtz7AJP/s320/PA150139-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I heard <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Daniel-Pinkwater/e/B000APAVUO/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393193&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&id=1383146531&sr=8-2-ent">Daniel Pinkwater</a> before I ever read any of his books. He was a goofy, friendly voice on the radio, talking to Click and Clack about some car problem or discussing children's books with Scott Simon. Sometimes, when NPR had an odd couple of minutes to fill, they'd have Daniel Pinkwater talk about whatever he wanted to talk about that day. And that was enough to get me dig through the children's section of bookstores (or maybe the young adult section, bookstores have a hard time figuring out where to put Pinkwater) and even though I'm not a child anymore (or even a young adult) when I'd find his books, I'd start reading and then, because I liked what I found, I'd buy the book.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing about Pinkwater: he tells good stories. His characters are interesting, they're folks you'd probably want to hang out with for the most part. The great thing is that they may be young or old, fat or thin, boys or girls, moose, cat-whiskered girls, space aliens, talking lizards, whatever. They do interesting stuff. The books aren't too dark or scary for children but certainly not too boring for adults (or children for that matter).<br />
<br />
You don't have to take my word for this. Go here:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.pinkwater.com/podcast/audioarchive.php">http://www.pinkwater.com/podcast/audioarchive.php</a><br />
<br />
And you can grab, for free, audio versions of his various books. I'm fond of Borgel and Lizard Music but there are a whole bunch of good ones there. Then send him some money or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Daniel-Pinkwater/e/B000APAVUO/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393193&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&id=1383146531&sr=8-2-ent">buy some of his real books</a>. They're real good.<br />
<br />
I like reading and when I got to looking at my shelves and the contents of my Kindle, I concluded that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Daniel-Pinkwater/e/B000APAVUO/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393193&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&id=1383146531&sr=8-2-ent">Daniel Pinkwater</a> is my favorite author. That kind of snuck up on me, but the more I think about it, the more I see that it's true.<br />
<br />
You'll learn things reading Pinkwater books. Here's a nice nugget from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003UV9142?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B003UV9142&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&=books&qid=1383146540&sr=1-9">The Neddiad</a>:<br />
<br />
<i>...my father said. "Don't fall in a tar pit." It isn't tar. Everyone calls it tar, but it's really natural asphalt. The Indians used it to waterproof their canoes, and the Spanish settlers used it to seal their roofs. "La Brea" in Spanish means "the tar," so "The La Brea Tar Pits" means "the the tar tar pits."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Pinkwater makes normal things strange and strange things normal in a way that makes you feel that he really knows how things work and that the way things work is really OK. Here are a few bits from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003WUYQBY?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B003WUYQBY&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">Adventures of a Cat-Whiskered Girl</a>:<br />
<br />
Here, they are setting out in a boat.<br />
<br />
<i>"Oh, hell," I said. "It's a coracle." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"What's a coracle?" Molly said, looking at it. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"A coracle," I told Molly, "is the most primitive, and also worst, boat in the world. As you see, it is shaped like a bowl. It's made of branches with skins stretched over it, and it's waterproofed with a coating of tar." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Why is it round like that?" Molly asked. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"As far as I know, it is because the people who invented it were not quite smart enough to figure out that a boat-shaped boat would work a lot better."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
There guide leaves them on an island with monsters who want to play cards.<br />
<br />
<i>"Wait!" I called to Harold. "Are we safe here?" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"As long as you don't play for money, you're safe," Harold said, and the coracle disappeared into the darkness. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"We would never play for money against children," one of the monsters mumbled. "Do you have any money, girls?" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Not a cent," Molly said. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Me neither," I lied. I had twenty-six dollars pinned to my underwear.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
As I noted earlier, Pinkwater is goofy, but as near as I can tell, the world is pretty goofy. I'm old enough to be sure I don't have it all figured out and Mr. Pinkwater would probably tell you he doesn't have it all figured out either. But his novels tell truths worth telling and they're a whole lot of fun.Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-21683453919603095022013-10-02T07:46:00.000-07:002013-10-02T07:51:44.836-07:00Bleeding Edge by Thomas Pynchon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUHJKQBVVk3NdIlpCfe3mq6oj9qrwHPtDFZbwPcnPa9H8y9cug2WBa1jN-JIuVvRMG6OU53CVkGmgp1uZEtjNx_crozlOMh0Wd9iNer2lIl-xWU7_4Qe9xfBI5Arsw34fHbISg7y1DWGO/s1600/Thomas-Pynchon_Bleeding-Edge-Cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFUHJKQBVVk3NdIlpCfe3mq6oj9qrwHPtDFZbwPcnPa9H8y9cug2WBa1jN-JIuVvRMG6OU53CVkGmgp1uZEtjNx_crozlOMh0Wd9iNer2lIl-xWU7_4Qe9xfBI5Arsw34fHbISg7y1DWGO/s320/Thomas-Pynchon_Bleeding-Edge-Cover.png" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Thomas Pynchon's latest novel, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C5R78JM?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C5R78JM&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">Bleeding Edge</a>, is set in 2001 in New York City. Pynchon is a careful observer, a wizard of wordplay, who is justly revered for crafting paranoid parables. The critics have all been waiting for this, his 9/11 novel, which is also promised to be his take on the early days of this, our internet age.<br />
<br />
While 9/11 looms in the background of every reader's mind, the monster we all know is in the closet, Pynchon's people wander and wisecrack their way through a NYC that is not so much doomed as destined to be something that none of us can ever stop or really hope to understand. Pynchon is not telling us a story, he's telling us stories, hundreds of them. Perhaps they're pixels, part of something larger that we'll see when we draw our focus back, or perhaps we're only paranoid minds finding patterns were none exist.<br />
<br />
Pynchon's people dwell in doubt and he does interesting things with time in conversations. Phrases trigger recollection and we're taken from a coffee shop to a scene a thousand miles and five years away before we close the paragraph. It is disorienting and enlightening at the same time. And Pynchon packs his books with casual references to obscure facts (both real and fictitious) which he'll delightfully deploy with equal zeal in the making of a key plot points or terrible puns. Even the most nimble of minds is apt to find both delight and befuddlement in pages penned by Pynchon.<br />
<br />
Pynchon opens his book with this quote from Donald Westlake:<br />
<br />
<i>"New York as a character in a mystery would not be the detective, would not be the murderer. It would be the enigmatic suspect who knows the real story but isn’t going to tell it." </i><br />
<br />
Pynchon's heroine, Maxine Tarnow, is a decertified Certified Fraud Examiner, a sort-of-divorced mom with a couple of kids and just enough disconnection from the structures of power to be completely delightful and dangerous. Like the best private eyes, Maxine is less beholden to the law than she is to her own sense of justice. She investigates crimes, both commercial and karmic. Minor infractions are given as much, or often, greater weight, than major felonies.<br />
<br />
In an early scene, Maxine's kids are playing with a prototype of a new computer game, a shooter where the targets are not criminals, but the criminally rude on the streets of New York:<br />
<br />
<i>“Come on,” sez Otis, “let’s just cruise around.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Off they go on a tour of the inexhaustible galleries of New York annoyance, zapping loudmouths on cellular phones, morally self-elevated bicycle riders, moms wheeling twins old enough to walk lounging in twin strollers, “One behind the other, we let them off with a warning, but not this one, look, side by side so nobody can get past? forget it.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Pow! Pow! The twins go flying, all smiles, above New York and into the Kiddy Bin. Passersby are largely oblivious to the sudden disappearances except for Christers, who think it’s the Rapture.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Guys,” Maxine astonished, “I had no idea— Wait, what’s this?” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She has spotted a line jumper at a bus stop. Nobody paying attention. H&K woman to the rescue! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“All right, how do I do this?” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Otis is happy to instruct, and before you can say “Be more considerate,” the pushy bitch has been despatched and her children dragged to safety. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Way to go Mom, that’s a thousand points.”</i><br />
<br />
Bleeding Edge takes place in both the virtual and the real world, although the reality and virtuality of each comes into serious question as things progress. Maxine's investigations attract some attention, leading to a questionable conversation with a fellow named Windust. Some of the key questions Maxine has are "who is this guy?" and "who is he working for?" Even paranoids have enemies.<br />
<br />
<i>"Not to mention there’s a couple of Israeli chips, highly sophisticated, which Mossad have been known to install at the same time, without necessarily informing the client. What these chips do is scavenge information even while the computer’s turned off, hold it till the Ofeq satellite comes over, then transmit everything out to it in a single data burst.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Oh, devious, these Jews.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Israel doesn’t spy on us? Remember the Pollard case back in 1985? Even left-wing papers like the New York Times carried that story, Ms. Tarnow.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>How right-wing, Maxine wonders, does a person have to be to think of the New York Times as a left-wing newspaper?</i><br />
<br />
Maxine also wonders how Windust knows what he knows:<br />
<br />
“<i>These are all public, the sites I use, nothing illegal, how do you know what I’m researching anyway?” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Child’s play,” sez Windust, “we like to think of it as ‘No keystroke left behind.’” </i><br />
<br />
In Pynchon's writing words and ideas snap into focus and his city teams with so many people that despite their odd names and odder proclivities that even the most careful reader will at some points be befuddled. Is Pynchon a genius or just nuts? And why are these folks having sex?<br />
<br />
And then there is DeepArcher, a virtual reality that is not a game, but very gamelike, a private beta of something like a digital haven or heaven or something else. It's all very bleeding edge.<br />
<br />
When 9/11 happens there is no grand revelation or even great turning of the wheels of the world.<br />
<br />
<i>Everybody is still walking around stunned, having spent the previous day sitting or standing in front of television screens, at home, in bars, at work, staring like zombies, unable in any case to process what they were seeing. A viewing population brought back to its default state, dumbstruck, undefended, scared shitless. </i><br />
<br />
Like any good New Yorker, Maxine talks things over with her therapist, a laid back Californian whose mental pressure gauge Maxine suspects may be reading low by a few PSI.<br />
<br />
<i>Not when ‘everything changed.’ When everything was revealed. No grand Zen illumination, but a rush of blackness and death. Showing us exactly what we’ve become, what we’ve been all the time.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“And what we’ve always been is . . . ?”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Is living on borrowed time. Getting away cheap. Never caring about who’s paying for it, who’s starving somewhere else all jammed together so we can have cheap food, a house, a yard in the burbs... planetwide, more every day, the payback keeps gathering. And meantime the only help we get from the media is boo hoo the innocent dead. Boo fuckin hoo. You know what? All the dead are innocent. There’s no uninnocent dead.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>After a while, “You’re not going to explain that, or . . .”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Course not, it’s a koan.” </i><br />
<br />
Pynchon's description of a post 9/11 New York is both insightful and funny as Maxine's trip to get a Thanksgiving turkey illustrates:<br />
<br />
<i>AS THANKSGIVING APPROACHES, the neighborhood, terrorist atrocities or whatever, reverts to its usual insufferable self, reaching a peak the night before Thanksgiving, when the streets and sidewalks are jammed solid with people who have come in to town to view The Blowing Up Of The Balloons for the Macy’s parade. Cops are everywhere, security is heavy. In front of every eatery, there are lines out the door. Places you can usually step inside, order a pizza to go, and wait no more than the time it takes to bake it are running at least an hour behind. Everybody out on the sidewalk is a pedestrian Mercedes, wallowing in entitlement—colliding, snarling, shoving ahead without even the hollow-to-begin-with local euphemism “Excuse me.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A serial line jumper has been making his way forward along the turkey line, a large white alpha male whose social skills, if any, are still in beta, intimidating people one by one out of his way. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Excuse me?” </i><i>Shoving ahead of an elderly lady waiting in line just behind Maxine. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Line jumper here,” the lady yells, unslinging her shoulder bag and preparing to deploy it. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“You must be from out of town,” Maxine addressing the offender, “here in New York, see, the way you’re acting? It’s considered a felony.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“I’m in a hurry, bitch, so back off, unless you want to settle this outside?” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Aw. After all your hard work getting this far? Tell you what, you go out and wait for me, OK? I won’t be too long, promise.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Shifting to indignation, “I have a houseful of children to feed—” but he’s interrupted by a voice someplace over by the loading dock hollering, “Hey asshole!” and here cannonballing over the heads of the crowd comes a frozen turkey, hits the bothersome yup square in the head, knocking him flat and bouncing off his head into the hands of Maxine, who stands blinking at it like Bette Davis at some baby with whom she must unexpectedly share the frame. She hands the object to the lady behind her. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“This is yours, I guess.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“What, after it touched him? thanks anyway.” </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“I’ll take it,” sez the guy behind her. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As the line creeps forward, everybody makes sure to step on, not over, the fallen line jumper. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Nice to see the ol’ town gettin back to normal, ain’t it.” </i><br />
<br />
There is much more to this novel than a single review (or even a single reading) can adequately consider, but that is the appeal of Pynchon. He jokes and plays with ideas and one is never sure if he's serious or kidding. If asked, one suspects his answer would be "yes."<br />
<br />
For all the technology and intrigue, this novel revolves around family and friendship. Maxine seeks a bit of guidance from her father:<br />
<br />
<i>Here in the capital of insomnia, it is hours yet from dawn, and this is what innocent father-daughter conversations can drift into. Beneath these windows they can hear the lawless soundscape of the midnight street, breakage, screaming, vehicle exhaust, New York laughter, too loud, too trivial, brakes applied too late before some gut-wrenching thud. When Maxine was little, she thought of this nightly uproar as trouble too far away to matter, like sirens. Now it’s always too close, part of the deal.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Yep, and your Internet was their invention, this magical convenience that creeps now like a smell through the smallest details of our lives, the shopping, the housework, the homework, the taxes, absorbing our energy, eating up our precious time. And there’s no innocence. Anywhere. Never was. It was conceived in sin, the worst possible. As it kept growing, it never stopped carrying in its heart a bitter-cold death wish for the planet, and don’t think anything has changed, kid.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“Call it freedom, it’s based on control. Everybody connected together, impossible anybody should get lost, ever again. Take the next step, connect it to these cell phones, you’ve got a total Web of surveillance, inescapable. You remember the comics in the Daily News? Dick Tracy’s wrist radio? it’ll be everywhere, the rubes’ll all be begging to wear one, handcuffs of the future. Terrific. What they dream about at the Pentagon, worldwide martial law.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“So this is where I get my paranoia from.” </i><br />
<br />
Pynchon's normal world is paranoid, wise-cracking and wise. It moves fast and we're not sure what is real and what is virtual, what is coincidence and what is conspiracy. It's funny and frightening and ultimately comforting in an odd way, like an all night diner in the first light of dawn. Pynchon's brewed up something fine here. There may be more than just coffee in that cup. It might be just what you need.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=kentsbikeblog-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B00C5R78JM" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
</center>
<br />Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-79625914072810603822013-09-04T06:54:00.001-07:002013-09-04T06:54:46.294-07:00Skulk by Rosie Best<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp4q9VYGPqyOBgMoP3kd_30CC_xHErYchpytw1nMiLo46YzV2Tx3yXINlnXQ6GqJR3RYCqymhhSf_56SS9DQ_sH8u3jQI1R8sHYq6nO1knnRt9septgqo13AlSkPqJnot5r8HN4GXbaE6K/s1600/Skulk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp4q9VYGPqyOBgMoP3kd_30CC_xHErYchpytw1nMiLo46YzV2Tx3yXINlnXQ6GqJR3RYCqymhhSf_56SS9DQ_sH8u3jQI1R8sHYq6nO1knnRt9septgqo13AlSkPqJnot5r8HN4GXbaE6K/s320/Skulk.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C8RZHGU?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C8RZHGU&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1378296649&sr=8-1&keywords=Skulk">Skulk</a> is an urban fantasy set in contemporary London. While a casual bookstore browser might be inclined to dismiss this novel, which features a teen protagonist and a cast of characters who can shape-shift into various creatures, as a bit of Twilight-inspired trash, such a judgement would be very wrong. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C8RZHGU?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C8RZHGU&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1378296649&sr=8-1&keywords=Skulk">Skulk</a> is a fine mix of the familiar and the strange.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C8RZHGU?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C8RZHGU&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1378296649&sr=8-1&keywords=Skulk">Skulk</a> opens with Meg Banks sneaking out of her room in the middle of the night. Meg's mother is a Thatcher-esque British politician (Meg is named after Margaret Thatcher) and her father is real estate financier. Meg lives in a big house with servants and goes to a fancy school but she longs for more than shallow friends, conservative politics and always presenting the image of perfection. Meg goes out at night and expresses herself through graffiti.<br />
<br />
On this particular night Meg's mission goes awry when she encounters an injured fox who, while dying shapeshifts into a man. The dying man gives Meg a mysterious gemstone and, unbeknownst to her, the ability to shift into the form of a fox.<br />
<br />
As the story progresses, Meg learns of her ability to shift and the existence of other shifters, clans known as the Skulk, the Rabble, the Conspiracy, the Horde, and the Cluster. Each shifter group has its own gem and unique creature, so there are shapeshifting ravens, spiders, rats and butterflies as well as foxes. And there is also someone evil trying to merge all the shifting power into one super weapon.<br />
<br />
What makes <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C8RZHGU?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C8RZHGU&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1378296649&sr=8-1&keywords=Skulk">Skulk</a> work as a novel is the character of Meg. She's not super-human or perfect. She's snarky at times, scared at others, and always human even when she happens to be a fox. The other people and creatures she meets in the novel are complicated and much more than props or gimmicks but it's through Meg's eyes that we discover this weird and wonder-filled world.<br />
<br />
The book has flavor like that of Neil Gaiman's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FC130E?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B000FC130E&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&=digital-text&qid=1378302737&sr=1-1&keywords=neverwhere">Neverwhere</a>, a rich layer underneath the day-to-day that we think of as all that there is. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C8RZHGU?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C8RZHGU&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1378296649&sr=8-1&keywords=Skulk">Skulk</a> opens the reader to a richer world.<br />
<br />
Ironically, the strongest scenes are the least fantastic ones. Meg at her mother's "Party party", forced to make small talk with horrid boys and trying not to split the seams of her too-tight dress, will be achingly familiar to anyone who has ever been, or can remember, what it's like to be 16 years old and not what your parents want you to be. And while deadly fog and pecking zombie-pigeons are certainly creepy, I found Meg's tyrannical mother and her iron lady expectations to be the scariest of all.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=kentsbikeblog-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B00C8RZHGU" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-6633183863424628782013-08-28T04:31:00.001-07:002013-08-28T04:31:59.521-07:00Blood Drama by Christopher Meeks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZtaRkdrZxaNpg2Lu-6QvxMxkD9re8aRgqWpHrFWHsPIGw1Y8ceXotI8uSSFab7Fcjyvobn1T1XSUvEaBkM40GoGWA80KPxNNwdFOctw4SYrK_Ahps0TPtbHrUQet1NZfcPTQk2R8-DC8/s1600/blood-drama-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZtaRkdrZxaNpg2Lu-6QvxMxkD9re8aRgqWpHrFWHsPIGw1Y8ceXotI8uSSFab7Fcjyvobn1T1XSUvEaBkM40GoGWA80KPxNNwdFOctw4SYrK_Ahps0TPtbHrUQet1NZfcPTQk2R8-DC8/s320/blood-drama-cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Christopher Meeks knows how to engage a reader and tell a story. His collection of short stories, <a href="http://kentsbook.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-middle-aged-man-and-sea-by.html">The Middle-Aged Man and the Sea</a> showcases Meeks' mastery of small moments and was the book that made me a huge fan of his work. The great joy I found in those stories compelled me to buy every other book he's written.<br />
<br />
In this book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00D0G5RJK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00D0G5RJK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&=books&qid=1377684817&sr=1-2">Blood Drama</a>, tells a longer story. It begins with Ian Nash, a drama school grad student who is having a bad day. After being dropped from his Ph.D. program, Ian stops for coffee and manages to wind up as a hostage in a bank robbery gone wrong. It's a classic case of a bad day gone much worse.<br />
<br />
Meeks takes all the cliches of a thriller, the desperate criminal, the wise-cracking cops, the beautiful FBI agent and the hapless every man caught in the middle and takes them mostly in the ways you'd expect. But there are enough "wait, he did what?" moments in the tale to keep you turning the pages and the dialog sparkles and cracks with wit. I found, as I turned the pages, that while I certainly didn't like every character (indeed, I found Ian pretty annoying at times) I cared what happened. I bought into the story and the characters.<br />
<br />
Meeks is not afraid to be outrageous and while the book comes dangerously close to collapsing under the "writer's fantasy problem" (Do you think the beautiful FBI agent is going to fall for the annoying, self-absorbed, Mamet-obsessed writer-type? Is said writerly guy going to grow as a person and save the day? Well, what do you think!) Meeks manages to both play by the cliche, poke fun at it and hit a layer of truth underneath it all. When I've described some of the more outrageous scenes to friends they've said "that sounds awful." And you'd think it would be, but somehow under Meeks' watchful eye and wise pen, it's not.<br />
<br />
Meeks writes about people trying to solve problem of making it through the day. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00D0G5RJK?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00D0G5RJK&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&=books&qid=1377684817&sr=1-2">Blood Drama</a> sees just how bad a day can get. Meeks takes the thriller and gives it a heart. A dopey, exasperating heart, but one that beats true.<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=kentsbikeblog-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B00D0G5RJK" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-132265684234230761.post-32512926084743172292013-08-07T05:53:00.001-07:002013-08-07T05:53:10.485-07:00Twittering from the Circus of the Dead by Joe Hill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Cx6m5VMsvY1GXGpdx9SX_5_gwMO2y6xC8Ytj5-ShzgbNwvVVGrrWeunVIb5Q-q_IYudJxh72dF24KEHXGTXg03qGhXNWzeT96Q46lVVLfNI3ZFxmRoqPZ8vodXw-OAlpPNGVyf_nrrid/s1600/JoeHillAndKent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Cx6m5VMsvY1GXGpdx9SX_5_gwMO2y6xC8Ytj5-ShzgbNwvVVGrrWeunVIb5Q-q_IYudJxh72dF24KEHXGTXg03qGhXNWzeT96Q46lVVLfNI3ZFxmRoqPZ8vodXw-OAlpPNGVyf_nrrid/s320/JoeHillAndKent.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm a big Joe Hill fan. I've reviewed his three novels (<a href="http://kentsbook.blogspot.com/2013/03/heart-shaped-box-by-joe-hill.html">Heart-Shaped Box</a>, <a href="http://kentsbook.blogspot.com/2013/02/horns-by-joe-hill.html">Horns</a>, and <a href="http://kentsbook.blogspot.com/2013/05/nos4a2-by-joe-hill.html">NOS4A2</a>) here and last month I got to meet Joe at the Seattle Public Library. Joe is a great guy and not that scary in real life. He gave a great reading, answered numerous questions, posed for pictures with fans, and signed books and Kindles.<br />
<br />
I was thrilled yesterday to find that a new Joe Hill story was published as a $0.99 Kindle single. I clicked the buy button in a heartbeat and plowed through <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C9AO91U?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C9AO91U&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1375878737&sr=8-7&keywords=Joe+Hill">Twittering from the Circus of the Dead</a> in one sitting.<br />
<br />
Joe Hill is a terrific (and terrifying) writer and he proves it here by telling a story entirely in tweets. His bored teenage protagonist thinks she is on the worst vacation ever. When things get more interesting, she finds things much worse than boredom.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C9AO91U?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C9AO91U&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1375878737&sr=8-7&keywords=Joe+Hill">Twittering from the Circus of the Dead</a> is a quick read and quite scary. I love Joe's novels and and now I'm loving his short stories. I'm still dipping into his short story collection, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000W916P2?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B000W916P2&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20">20th Century Ghosts</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C9AO91U?ie=UTF8&camp=213733&creative=393177&creativeASIN=B00C9AO91U&linkCode=shr&tag=kentsbikeblog-20&qid=1375878737&sr=8-7&keywords=Joe+Hill">Twittering from the Circus of the Dead</a> is well worth the buck I paid for it.<br />
<br />
Keep those stories coming, Joe!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS7lQnJDK3DKjVxSxPpwrepxOgI8z6Cp9no2pyMriVnipXPLkXYXGM-I8rgzRPmhoVpc-CA3y3j5fRZD_Cu-cPhLVNg_6Tkix9d3eKHw5f9HLCXAqQrwjejxHGkBi-zsRlP8cmghZ6S5J/s1600/JoeHillKindleSig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS7lQnJDK3DKjVxSxPpwrepxOgI8z6Cp9no2pyMriVnipXPLkXYXGM-I8rgzRPmhoVpc-CA3y3j5fRZD_Cu-cPhLVNg_6Tkix9d3eKHw5f9HLCXAqQrwjejxHGkBi-zsRlP8cmghZ6S5J/s320/JoeHillKindleSig.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=kentsbikeblog-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B00C9AO91U" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></center>
Kent Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01607372827627527450noreply@blogger.com1