My mother’s end was sad and pathetic, and very painful to me. Don’t get me wrong—I hated her guts—it’s best she’s gone—but it’s still painful.
The death of the Parasite lasted basically the first half of 2024 (parasite is what I started to call her at the end; she’d burned all her bridges with her preference for drugs and mental delusions over family and friends—I was the last one left who tolerated her—she probably had longer conversations with the pawn broker than her own flesh and blood). She died May 6, then the rest of May and June was spent dealing with the mess she left behind—not just the sizable physical mess (the loon hadn’t thrown away her junk mail for the last five—at least!—years), but the physic, legal, metaphorical, etc. messes left behind as well.
She was someone who loved to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory just to prove she was right. But she was a dopefiend, and that ALWAYS guided her thought patterns—which were already scrambled; although I’m glad she was half in the bag most of the time: It allowed me to escape from her clutches and live the rich and rewarding life of a feral latchkey child. Did you know I taught myself to make gunpowder at the age of eleven? (Thank you, Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments!)
[Stuff about books after break...]
Before 2023 was over, and before the final death-spiral of my mother had begun, I had originally meant to spend most of The Reading Year of 2024 doing rereads, where I could check and make sure those books I’ve praised in the past were worthy of such. But the universe clobbered me, and my plans had to adapt. That said, sometimes those adaptions were exactly what I needed.
Dealing with the trainwreck that was my mother’s life and death has forced me to “man up” (a phrase I heartily approve of), and since what I read tends to reflect what I’m going through—and I didn’t notice this at the time while I was going through it—but so much of what I read was of a decidedly muscular and masculine nature. Most were about strong men facing basically impossible odds (sometimes from within)—and succeeding (even if only on a metaphorical level), even Jung, who is tacking the cosmic and unknowable! No epicene betas here! These characters think “soy” is Spanish for “I am.”
The Best Reads of January to June 2024:
#1—Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey (1964) [Also Best Reread]
#2—Crow Killer: The Saga of Liver-Eating Johnson by Raymond W. Thorp and Robert Bunker (1958)
#3—Every Man for Himself and God Against All: A Memoir by Werner Herzog (2022)
#4—The Carpetbaggers by Harold Robbins (1961)
#5—The Long Afternoon of Earth by Brian Aldiss (1961; a.k.a. Hothouse)
#6—Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things in the Sky by C.G. Jung (1958)
Number ONE:
*) Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey (1964)
Read this originally in 1984, when I was a kid, and was monumentally impressed—I thought that this was one of the greatest books I’d ever read—and rereading it forty years later (!!!), I’m still impressed, and still agree with my 1984 assessment.
It’s an utterly masculine, yet mature and thoughtful work—although the story begins at the end (and rereading the beginning after finishing the novel is SO DAMN helpful; author KK is going for a sort of Pacific Northwoods Finnegan’s Wake, I suppose), and is bound to confuse so many potential readers….
Set in Oregon logging country around 1960, the novel is a beautiful and evocative time capsule of an America that’s actually quite looooong gone, and the type of people who lived and worked it. This is a staggering tale about the end of the line for the main branch of the Stamper lumberjack family.
Pater familias Henry and eldest son Hank (as well as good-natured cousin Joby) are all cut from that heroic rock from which men’s men are hewn—working hard to make a living but doing that extra bit with a certain woodlands panache that pushes them into the mythic: Smiling Joby is often described as a “gnome,” and Hank, the novel’s real focus (as every single other character in the novel is concentrating on him), is literally described as a sort of “Captain Marvel” (the old school SHAZAM Captain Marvel from DC comics, whose popularity at one point surpassed Superman’s as America’s invincible superhero).
So much so are these gents like the gods of old that they, too, shun the concerns of mere mortals: All the other loggers in the town are on strike, but the non-union, family-run Stamper logging operation is still going—and in fact has signed a secret contract to deliver lumber to the mill despite the strike, essentially double-crossing everybody in the community.
The family motto is “Never Give A Inch” [sic], and too bad for you if you don’t like it.
These are the type of MEN who scare the intelligentsia of today… And speaking of intelligentsia: Henry’s youngest son and Hank’s half-brother, Leland (Lee) has returned after a long absence. Ostensibly to help with the big logging order (being union-busters, the family’s having trouble finding hands, and has put out the call to all blood relations, putting to work even the most severely alcoholic or immensely emotionally estranged), but in reality, the self-aggrandizing and self-pitying Lee is there for revenge….
Despite his size and strength, Lee is one of those whiny and pathetic East Coast intellectual creeps who sneers and mocks the “normal,” and rationalizes about everything they do—until all they do is rationalize [it’s like that scene in Fight Club: “How’s that working out for you? Being clever?”].
I won’t go into unraveling the Stampers and their history, but suffice to say, we enter heavy neo-oedipal territory that does the whole Tonio Kroger mind vs. body trip one better in a doorstopper tome that not only demands that you PAY ATTENTION—the book’s not quite nonlinear, but leaps from the head of one character to another—including a dog at one point (!!!)—we get at least one hundred first-person perspectives in this read—however never losing coherence or cohesion, thus turning Sometimes a Great Notion into an exquisite page-turner, as well.
Insanely complicated to map out, it’s no wonder Kesey took a several decades leave of absence from writing after Sometimes… (doing that Magic Bus/LSD thing also probably didn’t help Ken’s output either….).
Good Lord, I love this book! So recommended. [BTW, if you’re a, ummm…. sensitive soul who can’t handle rude and rough language, with generous pepperings of a particularly racist phrase, then don’t bother with this novel. There’s a reason the mean old man uses the word: he’s of a certain time and place, and its use was much more common then—remember, the geezer’s kind of vicious… ]
Number TWO:
Crow Killer: The Saga of Liver-Eating Johnson by Raymond W. Thorp and Robert Bunker (1958)
Kee-Ray-Zee book that took me forever to read: This sort of madness can only be absorbed in small doses. The inspiration for the movie Jeremiah Johnson, and as far away from that film as a tea party is from an abattoir.
This is the tale of the mightiest of mountain men, someone who’d put Conan the Barbarian to shame. John Johnson sets off for the Rockies to earn his keep trapping, and to avoid other people. These were guys who took their agoraphobia seriously, basically shunning nearly all human contact (except for equally taciturn and anti-loquacious trappers and hunters with whom they’d hang with for a day or two, hardly saying anything, then not see again for another three years: the ultimate Ron Swanson life), and did everything to avoid “civilization” (which in those days was three tents and a shack).
Meanwhile, every single waking moment is spent towards survival: find food for yourself and your horses, fight fauna bigger than you, and deal with local indigenous peoples who have been wronged by the U.S. Cavalry and want to take it out on you. Or your pregnant wife.
A war party of Crow encounter Johnson’s pregnant Indian wife and kill her. Johnson discovers her skeleton, and inside her is another tiny skeleton, and he FREAKS out, mutating into Liver-Eater (that is what he’s often called in the book, by not only other characters but by the authors as well (!?!)). He proceeds to fuckin’ slaughter so many goddamn Crow, it is SICK. Memory serves that he eats the livers of the warriors (whether met through open combat, ambush, or accidental encounter) so as to prevent the completion of their voyage to the afterlife. Kind of an additional “fuck you” for killing my pregnant wife.
In between whittling down this misbegotten tribe, Johnson hunts and traps for pelts, or else is often called on to assist in various battles and whatnot, all of which contribute to the “Conquest of the West.” He’s there for various now-forgotten battles, and then back in the saddle to get back to takin’ care of business….
And this is only the halfway mark, because later, Johnson is made the sheriff of a mountain town, and boy-oh-boy, is Law & Order maintained!
I have been aware of the “legend” of Liver-Eating Johnson since seeing the movie in the theaters in 1972. My stepdad Keith had a paperback copy of this book in his collection, but I never read it then. I think I stole it from him and traded it in for a comic book. Found the book at [REDACTED] and stole it (a second time!), but this time to read.
Loved it. Insane adventure about MEN. Fuckin’ testosterone OD, dude. The antithesis of the wet noodle effeminates that are being promoted by the WEF and its cronies. These guys were gen-you-ine Schwarzeneggers and Eastwoods and Bronsons and Lee Marvins, who covered hundreds of miles in freezing weather half-naked and barefoot and fought tooth and nail against nature, beast, and usually worst of all, man. Oh yeah, cannibalism was commonplace. Intense stuff, with some unnerving brutality.
Number THREE:
Every Man for Himself and God Against All: A Memoir by Werner Herzog (2022)
Read this via the NYPL, but when I see this book in a used bookstore, I will grab myself a copy. Love this title (probably the best ever)—a philosophy and worldview in one phrase! The title is from Werner Herzog’s 1974 film about Kasper Hauser, and a beautiful and mysterious movie in and of itself.
Herzog is one of the Earth’s greatest storytellers, and to say that several of his films are considered masterpieces might be damning the man with faint praise—but Werner Herzog has also become an inter-disciplinary phenom, with guest appearances on Rick & Morty and The Mandalorian, with countless memes based on his droll, sarcastic, almost nihilistic persona (itself a sanguine kissing-cousin to the late, great Brother Theodore). But Herzog is too busy living a life and having adventures to get wrapped up into your navel-gazing death-spiral. The man talks a talk and walks a walk. Can you?
Every Man for Himself and God Against All is a fantastic addition to his body of work. This memoir covers many of his adventures, delivered in his undeniable Herzogian manner (kudos to the translator).
Big Werner H. is someone to emulate, someone to imitate—and because he is so unique in his vision and working style, that even if you managed to somehow replicate WH’s journey, his path is so treacherous and dangerous that there is no way that you could precisely copy his footsteps. Your journey would wind up being completely your own, despite all your best efforts to emulate Big WH. Which is for the best, and I think would make Werner happy.
(Meanwhile, half of Every Man for Himself and God Against All is the title of one of my favorite songs, a rarity from Big Black—RIP, Steve Albini! I’ll miss you more than I’ll miss my mom!)
Number FOUR:
The Carpetbaggers by Harold Robbins (1961)
Delicious, almost pornographic trash! Pulp at its finest—only suffering because it loses its insane (basically unsustainable) propulsive motion when it slows down to give unnecessary backstory to the character of Jennie Denton (the weakest character in the book, an ill-defined whore-into-Madonna, given a truckload of neuroses to “explain” her nymphomania; Robbins loves the character too much, IMHO).
The massive tome (650+ pages!!!) is a goofball roman a clef about the early-ish life of Howard Hughes (“Who?” asks the Modern Audience), amping up the sex and violence, and throwing in a few shakes of then-contemporary hip pop-psychology. Still, a lot of fun—and so passionate! The book is a roiling, throbbing, spewing spectacular, and probably one of the most efficient page-turners ever. The ultimate trashy beach read, and that’s a compliment.
Although the movie is “better” (not only more streamlined, but trashier, nastier, sleazier [since it’s always better to actually look at hot chicks than read about them]), I’m grateful to Robbins’ The Carpetbaggers for getting me out of a depressive reading slump. When in doubt, turn to pulp!
Number FIVE:
The Long Afternoon of Earth by Brian Aldiss (1961; a.k.a. Hothouse)
Wow, what a great piece of weirdo sci-fi! Winner of the Hugo Award (back when that meant something), this book—and I prefer the US title (Long Afternoon Etc.) over the UK title (Hothouse; rejected by the American publisher because they thought the book would end up in the gardening section of the bookstore), I think The Long Afternoon of Earth sounds much more elegiac.
All that said, a great read: a picaresque tale of life on Earth about a billion years from now (and 180 degrees in the opposite direction from Arthur C. Clarke’s The City and the Stars, also set in that far-flung time frame—but at the same time very similar to the Billion-Year-Earth-Is-Hell of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine [see below]), where the Earth has stopped rotating and the Sun is getting ready to nova, and life on our big blue marble is extremely fucked up—zero tech: Life has reverted back to savagery (that the characters even have a language is a concession to keep the plot moving, IMHO), and mutations just don’t abound, they swarm.
A wonderful overload of keeeee-RAY-zee imagery—jeez, mile-wide vegetable spiders that can travel between the Earth and the Moon? Like, WTF? Yeah, the whole book’s like that and IT’S SO COOL.
It’s to Aldiss’ credit that the bonkers nightmare world he creates never just feels like a mere list of “strange things encountered”—he has done worldbuilding at its best, drawing us in with his precise descriptiveness, even to hostile environments. I discovered this book through the passionate recommendations of YouTuber Bookpilled [he just LOVES this novel], and you should discover it, too.
Number SIX:
Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things in the Sky by C.G. Jung (1958)
Therefore, Jung is examining this phenomenon like a proto-John A. Keel, not just looking at materialistic scientific findings (scorch marks, indentations, high levels of radiations, etc.), but at the psycho-sociological impact these “visions” may impart upon people. Jung examines cultural findings—that is, the influence (and/or presence) of UFOs in art, socio-political reactions, and even in religion.
Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things in the Sky plugs into the “ultraterrestrial” question more precisely than mere listings of various sighting—Jung asks WHY do we WANT to see these things, and what unspoken feelings do they represent. Serious thought-provoking stuff with a grand touch of the supernatural, if not cosmic. No answers, only greater questions.
HONORABLE MENTION:
I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy (2022)
Got this from the NYPL in March (right when I was in the middle of trying to wrap my head around the endgame maneuvers the parasite was trying to pull on me), and sped-read my way through it—probably didn’t do this memoir justice, but… I needed this when I read it: my dope fiend mother, a class-A narcissist, was in a nursing home, carpet-bombing guilt, and….
I did not like the maternal unit, and my book will be titled “I’m SO FUCKING GLAD She’s Dead—Wished It’d Happened Sooner!”
Compared to McCurdy, though, I had it easy: There for the grace of God go I.
And before the DNFs and RUNNERS-UP, the Complete List of the Six Months:
The Books Read from Jan. 1 to June 30, 2024!!!
[In order of books read; * means it is a reread; and DNF = Did Not Finish]
JANUARY
—Crow Killer: The Saga of Liver-Eating Johnson by Raymond W. Thorp and Robert Bunker (1958)
—The Time Machine: An Invention by H.G. Wells (1895)
FEBRUARY
—DNF: The Lost Cause by Cory Doctorow (2023)
—*) The Book of the Dun Cow by Walter Wangerin, Jr. (1978)
MARCH
—*) Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey (1964)
—I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy (2022)
—Every Man for Himself and God Against All: A Memoir by Werner Herzog (2022)
APRIL
—*) You Can’t Win: The Autobiography of Jack Black by Jack Black (1926)
—The Story of Benjamin Franklin: A Biography Book for New Readers by Shannon Anderson (2020)
—The Carpetbaggers by Harold Robbins (1961)
—Bennett Cerf’s Book of Animal Riddles by Bennett Cerf, illustrated by Roy McKie (1964)
—Fart Proudly: Writings of Benjamin Franklin You Never Read in School by Benjamin Franklin, compiled and edited by Carl Japikse (1990, from writings 1731-1789)
MAY
—The Long Afternoon of Earth by Brian Aldiss (1961; a.k.a. Hothouse)
—*) The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis (1942; 1959)
—*) The Man With Kaleidoscope Eyes by Tim Lucas (based on the original screenplay by Tim Lucas & Charles Largent with Michael Almereyda & James Robison) (2022)
—Cinema Speculations by Quentin Tarantino (2022)
—Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things in the Sky by C.G. Jung (1958)
JUNE
—No Place to Hide by Alan Battersby (2011)
—DNF: Past Master by R.A. Lafferty (1968)
—*) Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett (1929)
—Apocalypse Now: The Lost Photo Archive by Chas Gerretsen (2021)
—Dark Harvest by Will Jordan (2022)
Before looking at the Runners-Up, let’s quickly examine the DNFs (Did Not Finish)—So, why DNF?
The sin of both of these books is the “Fight Club” criticism I leveled at the character Lee from Sometimes a Great Notion: “Being clever? How’s that working out for you?”
Neither The Lost Cause by Cory Doctorow (2023), nor Past Master by R.A. Lafferty (1968) know when to stop showing off how smart, or on “the right side of history,” or how damnably smugly GLIB they both can be. Both made me gnash my teeth too much to finish. Fuckin’ wound up hating these reads. Avoid! (Interestingly, Doctorow is a progressive Leftie, and Lafferty has been called Right-Wing. Both were insufferable!)
RUNNER-UPS!!!!
Some of these books are great, but….
Many were rereads—and I only wanted one reread on the “Best of” List….
While most of my “Best Of”s concentrated on manly virtues and hyperintense tales of survival (reflecting one aspect of my psychic state during the trying times of Parasite Demise), other aspects of my psyche get some representation as well: specifically, cinema and metaphysics (and any combination of the two….). Runner-up write-ups will be short-ish.
[Books that don’t get a mention were kids’ books and primers read for my day gig as an ESL teacher/adjunct professor, or else books related to my teaching. I’ll include them on the big list, but they don’t need to be reviewed.]
The Time Machine: An Invention by H.G. Wells (1895)
Having seen various film adaptions of Wells’ first novel (my favorite is George Pal’s 1960 version with Rod Taylor and Yvette—meow!—Mimeaux), and read an absurd amount of comic book adaptations, I figured it was time to read the source material.
That said, I feel that The Time Machine: An Invention (LOVE that full title) isn’t so much sci-fi anymore, but cosmic horror. The far-future slide of humanity into two equally pathetic and horrible evolutions—the pretty but useless Eloi, and the aggressive and cannibalistic Morlocks—is a dreadful conclusion, and the novel’s literal conclusion—about a billion years in the future—is a hellish vision right out of Lovecraft. I strongly recommend picking up a version of the book with the appendix that includes the “unedited” Chapter 14, featuring even more horrors of the future Earth: humans devolving into rabbit-like critters routinely devoured by centipedal horrors (paging William S. Burroughs!). This is in addition to the slime-encrusted, table-sized crustaceans that try and sneak up on the intrepid Time Traveler. Wells creates an atmosphere of haunting loneliness, and a crushing silence—foreshadowing existentialism, if you ask me. The Time Machine is great stuff. Glad I finally got to it.
*) The Book of the Dun Cow by Walter Wangerin, Jr. (1978)
Originally read this around 1980, enjoyed it, but didn’t “get it” like I did as a (somewhat) mature adult.
The book never comes out and says that it is set in the Garden of Eden (or the Earth) before the creation of Man, but it is, something that I learned (via intertubes research) when I was about halfway through the book—and after learning that, the plot gained a greater significance and meaning.
Beautifully nuanced fantasy with innocent barnyard animals, led by a prideful rooster, being pitted against the forces of Evil: Giant, foul-smelling serpent Wyrm; its “son,” Cockatrice, a hideous and pestilent half-rooster/half-snake; and Cockatrice’s thousands of children, the serpentine, poisonous basilisks. Wonderful characters and characterizations, delivered in a deft style that keeps the pages turning. Author Wangerin (also an ordained minister, I believe) gives distinct voices to the characters, reflecting both their personalities, but also their “animal” characteristics, which tends towards some amusing back-and-forth conversations.
*) You Can’t Win: The Autobiography of Jack Black by Jack Black (1926)
Read this in 1989 (a birthday gift that year from the great Photographer Reuben R.), and 35 years later, I got around to rereading it—and the damn thing makes SO much more sense now. Yup, like our author, I thought I was the coolest hot shit around—and then life clobbered me. Again and again and again.
Crime, being a hobo, riding the rails, doing time, bustin’ out of the iron-bar hotel, livin’ high, slidin’ low, getting hooked on “hop”—it’s all here, told with a ferocious, yet exceedingly polite honesty—an honesty that compels you to keep turning the page: Where the heck is this reckless roustabout gonna end up next?
Deffo a companion piece with White Waters and Black [tie for Best Read of 2023] and Crow Killer (see above)—bold, BOLD old-school men (testosterone OVERLOAD; we kill what we eat and eat what we kill) living life on their terms. Interestingly, NONE of these books is contemporary. Sigh… What I’d give for a time machine back to 1911…. A fabulous read.
*) The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis (1942; 1959)
Reread (for the third time) in a spiritual quest to help deal with my situation with my mother.
That said, Lewis has created a book well worth rereading: a marvelous and fantastic tome where a demon gives his inexperienced “nephew” advice on the proper way to corrupt a human soul (which is food to devils). It’s a great work, incredibly thought-provoking, and one that, while seemingly simple and light (almost for kids, one might think), is not only about matters cosmic and eternal, but concerned especially with life in the here and now.
I cannot praise this novel enough. It’s a work of genius.
*) The Man With Kaleidoscope Eyes by Tim Lucas (based on the original screenplay by Tim Lucas & Charles Largent with Michael Almereyda & James Robison) (2022)
Reread this in the wake of Roger Corman’s death at the age of 98…
This recreation of the making of 1960s exploitation flick The Trip (including director/producer Corman’s taking some LSD) is just as delightful the second time around—just like a good movie; always worth checking out again—now catching even more of the absurd amount of detail crammed in: just SO much! Just so much AWESOME!
The book is not necessarily biography, but a non-fiction novel, perhaps closer to a Herzogian “Ecstatic Truth” than any boring old recitation of facts, figures, years, and dosages.
READ THIS BOOK!
Cinema Speculations by Quentin Tarantino (2022)
Really enjoyed this—QT is a good writer who can define and clarify his points expertly, especially regarding flicks that not everyone who venture to glance at. But this book is only recommended for those who have seen—several times!—the films QT rants about, otherwise you may be lost in the minutia.
*) Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett (1929)
Rereading this classic was a good thing during this time of sturm und drang in my life; and I needed the straightforward—nay, hardboiled attitude to help me get through a tough time. Interestingly enough, the twisted criminal machinations of Poisonville are SO similar to the literal mess my mom made of her life. I only wish I could burn it all down like did the Continetal Op (what the unnamed narrator/protagonist is called outside of the novel; in the book, he’s never named). This fab book (this must be the third time I’ve read it) was the inspiration for Kurosawa’s magnificent Yojimbo (1961), which was remade three years later as A Fistful of Dollars, the first of the epic Sergio Leone/Clint Eastwood Man With No Name trilogy.
Dark Harvest by Will Jordan (2022)
June concluded with a pulpy actioner that was quite the enjoyable page-turner, moving at an almost breathtaking velocity. Fun summertime read that only suffers from what I feel is a rather generic title. Techno-thriller with elements of horror, sort of “mercenaries vs. zombies,” but with enough surprises and twists that even genre pros will be intrigued. Worth a look! (BTW, written by YouTube commentator The Critical Drinker: The guy knows how to pace a book!)
Does the reading ever stop? No.
Coming Attractions:
What I’ve been reading since July 1, 2024:
—*) Jaws by Peter Benchley (1974)
—I, Fatty by Jerry Stahl (2004)
—The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel) (1957)
—*) “The Flight of the Horse” by Larry Niven (1969; short story)
—Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (2021)
—The Secret Sun Synchromystic Handbook by Christoper Loring Knowles (2024)
—The Story of Henry Ford: A Biography Book for New Readers by Jenna Grodzicki (2022)
—Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang: The Magical Car by Ian Fleming (1964)
—The Future Was Now: Madmen, Mavericks, and the Epic Sci-Fi Summer of 1982 by Chris Nashawaty (2024)
—Timeline by Michael Crichton (1999)
—*) The Goblin Reservation by Clifford D. Simak (1968)
AND MORE!
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