According to Wikipedia, Snow Falling on Cedars was written by a teacher, taking 10 years to complete. The success of this book should give hope everywhere to teachers who want to be writers. But not just because it was a successful—it is also a good read.
David Guterson's novel was published in 1994, and became a huge hit, spawning a film version in 1999. The front cover gives away its superstar status, with a giant "The Award-Winning #1 Bestseller" badge.
"Oh great," I said to myself after examining the book. I came across this novel when Matt and Anna were simplifying their life and giving away books. I had heard of it, so I took it. But I had it for about almost a year before I read it. That "#1 Bestseller" just turns me away. I don't want people to think I read only bestsellers! I don't want want anyone to assume I'm a DaVinci Code fan! (Disclosure: I haven't read that novel, and I don't want to. Don't make me).
Anyway... this novel was a quick read, even though it's 460 pages long. Once I was into it, I didn't want to stop reading! The novel focuses on a murder trial in the '50s, when there was a lot of anti-Japanese racism resulting from WWII. Set on a Washington state island, the story revolves on the trial of Katsuo, who is accused of killing Carl over wanted strawberry farmland. It is easy for the citizens to get caught up in the racism, because they recall all of the Japanese citizens being interned in 1942, and many are war veterans. The internment of Japanese-Americans was a disgraceful action; this novel is a good reminder to us to not forget it. I don't think I heard about citizens being interned until I was in high school—which is pretty outrageous. Remember, kids, we study history lest we repeat it!
Which brings me to the relevance of this novel: it is really easy to read, sure, and very involving. Guterson has a gift for description: the strawberry fields, the snow, the mossy tree, each character's sex life, etc. But there is more to it than pretty words; it really makes you think about racial profiling and stereotyping. Well, Katsuo is a Kendo master, so he must been responsible for Carl's head wound.
I read that Snow Falling on Cedars is taught in many schools (but also banned in some). It is a great novel to teach for things like language, but more so for the potential discussions about racism. It's scary, because in the past seven years, America has painted all of its Arab-American citizens as potential terrorists. So, please read this novel as a reminder not to let these things happen!
KK
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson
Both Hunter S. Thompson and the Hell's Angels bring preconceived notions to mind:
Thompson was a crazy sonofabitch. He was a nutbag druggie who liked to blow things up.
The Hell's Angel's are crazy motherfuckers. Remember Altamont? They killed like 500 people while providing concert security for the Rolling Stones.
Both of these notions have some basis in reality. Thompson liked drugs and blowing things up. The Hell's Angels did provide security at Altamont, where one person was killed by an Angel (in self-defense).
It is very fitting that Thompson got close to the Angels in order to write a book, Hell's Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga (1969). This book is definitely in the vein of Gonzo journalism—Thompson spends nearly a year with the Angels, drinking, going on runs, and having close encounters with the lawmen.
Don't expect to read about some elaborate ritual where Thompson gets initiated into the gang. That doesn't happen. He just hangs around with them enough that they start trusting him (and he doesn't even ride a Harley, but a British bike!). He sees firsthand what runs are like, what parties are like, and what the members do when they aren't together. Turns out the Angels are much more tame than their reputation sells them.
Many are married with a mortgage, but some are unemployed couch-surfers. Neither is unique to the Angels—I'm sure you'll find both types in a Scrapbooking club.
But no one has quite the reputation of the Angels. So, where did this reputation come from?
Guess, c'mon...
Five seconds...
Ok, it was the press. Media is responsible for making the Angels simultaneously feared and revered. Thompson uses excerpts from articles and reports to show how this happened. You may have heard how Thompson got "stomped" out of the club—that's such a brief part of the story, it's in postscript.
Point being, don't read this book expecting to see how brutally Thompson was beat by the Angels. That is not what it is about. It's about a group of men finding common ground and forming a club. The club—and its members and their actions—get blown out of proportion by the media to become a symbol for all that is wrong with sex, drugs, and motorcycles.
Really, they aren't that bad. That's not to say they are good—they just aren't that bad.
I highly recommend reading it, especially if you haven't read anything by Thompson before. I also recommend reading it if you're looking to start a much-feared gang... everything comes down to reputation.
KK
Thompson was a crazy sonofabitch. He was a nutbag druggie who liked to blow things up.
The Hell's Angel's are crazy motherfuckers. Remember Altamont? They killed like 500 people while providing concert security for the Rolling Stones.
Both of these notions have some basis in reality. Thompson liked drugs and blowing things up. The Hell's Angels did provide security at Altamont, where one person was killed by an Angel (in self-defense).
It is very fitting that Thompson got close to the Angels in order to write a book, Hell's Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga (1969). This book is definitely in the vein of Gonzo journalism—Thompson spends nearly a year with the Angels, drinking, going on runs, and having close encounters with the lawmen.
Don't expect to read about some elaborate ritual where Thompson gets initiated into the gang. That doesn't happen. He just hangs around with them enough that they start trusting him (and he doesn't even ride a Harley, but a British bike!). He sees firsthand what runs are like, what parties are like, and what the members do when they aren't together. Turns out the Angels are much more tame than their reputation sells them.
Many are married with a mortgage, but some are unemployed couch-surfers. Neither is unique to the Angels—I'm sure you'll find both types in a Scrapbooking club.
But no one has quite the reputation of the Angels. So, where did this reputation come from?
Guess, c'mon...
Five seconds...
Ok, it was the press. Media is responsible for making the Angels simultaneously feared and revered. Thompson uses excerpts from articles and reports to show how this happened. You may have heard how Thompson got "stomped" out of the club—that's such a brief part of the story, it's in postscript.
Point being, don't read this book expecting to see how brutally Thompson was beat by the Angels. That is not what it is about. It's about a group of men finding common ground and forming a club. The club—and its members and their actions—get blown out of proportion by the media to become a symbol for all that is wrong with sex, drugs, and motorcycles.
Really, they aren't that bad. That's not to say they are good—they just aren't that bad.
I highly recommend reading it, especially if you haven't read anything by Thompson before. I also recommend reading it if you're looking to start a much-feared gang... everything comes down to reputation.
KK
Monday, October 20, 2008
Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins
Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins is "A sort of a love story."
There is a love story, and that is what holds all the randomness, such as redheads, Red Beards, miscarriages, cheerleaders, $20 million pyramids, sex, isolation, bombs, cocaine, Ralph Nader, and royalty together.
Did I mention Ralph Nader? If nothing else, I suggest one read this book because the protagonist has a thing for Ralph Nader. And by thing, I mean she both adores his ideas and wants to hump him.
Still Life is one of those postmodern treats where the author interacts with the reader. Robbins achieves this through occasional rants about his new electric typewriter, a Remington SL3. He isn't sure about this newfangled device: he senses "the novel of my dreams is in the Remington SL3" (ix), but he can't keep up with how fast it allows him to type. So if he gives up on the typewriter, and finishes his novel in longhand, does that mean this awesome book isn't the novel of his dreams?
I haven't read any of Robbins' work besides this, so I can't say if it gets better than this. But this book is pretty damn good. I didn't want to put it down, for a few reasons:
1. The plot is entertaining with some good twists (even if some are predictable)
2. It is naughty; definitely not for the prude
3. Non-sequitur city
4. Those of the Ginger persuasion may be controlling human fate
5. What secret is the Camel pack trying to tell us?
The main question of the novel is "What makes love stay?" Princess Leigh-Cheri really wants to know. Can an outlaw bomber help her figure it out? You may be surprised. I was expecting the Princess to be scorned by the self-proclaimed outlaw Bernard (the Woodpecker), but it didn't quite happen. Maybe outlaws are like cocaine, and that's the lesson. You know you shouldn't do it, but you can't stop yourself. Because you are addicted.
Then again, I know nothing about cocaine... and nothing about dating Outlaws. One time this guy I dated returned a bicycle to Target claiming it was broken when really, he just got sick of riding it to work... and that's the closest I've come to outlaw love.
So, back to the novel:
I recommend you read it. It is wholeheartedly enjoyable. I forgot to mention this, but there is an alien subplot.
KK
There is a love story, and that is what holds all the randomness, such as redheads, Red Beards, miscarriages, cheerleaders, $20 million pyramids, sex, isolation, bombs, cocaine, Ralph Nader, and royalty together.
Did I mention Ralph Nader? If nothing else, I suggest one read this book because the protagonist has a thing for Ralph Nader. And by thing, I mean she both adores his ideas and wants to hump him.
Still Life is one of those postmodern treats where the author interacts with the reader. Robbins achieves this through occasional rants about his new electric typewriter, a Remington SL3. He isn't sure about this newfangled device: he senses "the novel of my dreams is in the Remington SL3" (ix), but he can't keep up with how fast it allows him to type. So if he gives up on the typewriter, and finishes his novel in longhand, does that mean this awesome book isn't the novel of his dreams?
I haven't read any of Robbins' work besides this, so I can't say if it gets better than this. But this book is pretty damn good. I didn't want to put it down, for a few reasons:
1. The plot is entertaining with some good twists (even if some are predictable)
2. It is naughty; definitely not for the prude
3. Non-sequitur city
4. Those of the Ginger persuasion may be controlling human fate
5. What secret is the Camel pack trying to tell us?
The main question of the novel is "What makes love stay?" Princess Leigh-Cheri really wants to know. Can an outlaw bomber help her figure it out? You may be surprised. I was expecting the Princess to be scorned by the self-proclaimed outlaw Bernard (the Woodpecker), but it didn't quite happen. Maybe outlaws are like cocaine, and that's the lesson. You know you shouldn't do it, but you can't stop yourself. Because you are addicted.
Then again, I know nothing about cocaine... and nothing about dating Outlaws. One time this guy I dated returned a bicycle to Target claiming it was broken when really, he just got sick of riding it to work... and that's the closest I've come to outlaw love.
So, back to the novel:
I recommend you read it. It is wholeheartedly enjoyable. I forgot to mention this, but there is an alien subplot.
KK
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
The Road by Cormac McCarthy: Read it.
That's pretty much all I have to say.
The Road is a Post-Apocalyptic novel that showcases the opposite of what we see in popular Post-Apocalyptic cinema: love, sympathy, empathy, trust... and other things. It follows a father and his young son, who are trying to survive on little more than love and two bullets. I am used to seeing gun battles and dramatic fights for oil or water after the Apocalypse. That's not to say that the father and son don't worry about having oil and water; they definitely do, but that isn't what drives them. They are "each the other's world entire" (6) and they are carrying the fire.
Some people don't distinguish between Post-Apocalyptic and Dystopian books or films. I think you have to: in Dystopian literature, the most alarming thing is how the government is lying to you and definitely not behaving in your best interest (1984, Soylent Green, Brave New World).
In Post-Apocalyptic literature, the most alarming thing is anarchy. There is no government to help you out; sometimes people work together towards the common good, and sometimes they don't (Mad Max series, Steel Dawn). The Road is very much in the same vein. Something catastrophic happened; the Earth became hot with melted asphalt, and is now freezing with ashy snow. Few people are now living, as most people, if they didn't die in the catastrophe, likely starved. Or, you know, were cannabalized.
This book is short, so there is no reason to avoid reading it. I will leave you with just one excerpt and no analysis (196):
P.P.S. Nick Cave did the music for aforementioned movie... sweet!
P.P.P.S. Just linking to Steel Dawn, I noticed that IMDb users give it an average score of 4.2 of 10. I think it was much better than that! I would have to watch it again to accurately score it. If one says it's a Mad Max rip-off, then, OK, at least it's a decent rip-off.
That's pretty much all I have to say.
The Road is a Post-Apocalyptic novel that showcases the opposite of what we see in popular Post-Apocalyptic cinema: love, sympathy, empathy, trust... and other things. It follows a father and his young son, who are trying to survive on little more than love and two bullets. I am used to seeing gun battles and dramatic fights for oil or water after the Apocalypse. That's not to say that the father and son don't worry about having oil and water; they definitely do, but that isn't what drives them. They are "each the other's world entire" (6) and they are carrying the fire.
Some people don't distinguish between Post-Apocalyptic and Dystopian books or films. I think you have to: in Dystopian literature, the most alarming thing is how the government is lying to you and definitely not behaving in your best interest (1984, Soylent Green, Brave New World).
In Post-Apocalyptic literature, the most alarming thing is anarchy. There is no government to help you out; sometimes people work together towards the common good, and sometimes they don't (Mad Max series, Steel Dawn). The Road is very much in the same vein. Something catastrophic happened; the Earth became hot with melted asphalt, and is now freezing with ashy snow. Few people are now living, as most people, if they didn't die in the catastrophe, likely starved. Or, you know, were cannabalized.
This book is short, so there is no reason to avoid reading it. I will leave you with just one excerpt and no analysis (196):
Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.P.S. Viggo Mortensen stars in the movie adaptation, which should be released Nov. 26, 2008. Perfect Thanksgiving movie? Huh.
P.P.S. Nick Cave did the music for aforementioned movie... sweet!
P.P.P.S. Just linking to Steel Dawn, I noticed that IMDb users give it an average score of 4.2 of 10. I think it was much better than that! I would have to watch it again to accurately score it. If one says it's a Mad Max rip-off, then, OK, at least it's a decent rip-off.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: Portland, Oregon, 09/22/2008
Monday was Nick Cave's birthday. He turned an ancient 51. He and
The Bad Seeds played a sold-out show at the Crystal Ballroom, which holds at most 1500 people.
So, how was the show? Great. I have a history of being let down by musicians I adore. Last year I finally saw the Smashing Pumpkins after loving them for 12 years... And was bored by Billy's wandering into neo-jam band territory. Ugh. A few years back I saw Bowie, and it was just OK as well; it was a decent performance, but it wasn't engaging thanks to the massiveness of The Rose Garden and the elder age of the audience.
Back to seeing the subjects of my adoration perform... Nick and the
Seeds were great! Nick may be getting up there (he said it was his "fucking birthday" and he was "disgracefully old" and then played "The Weeping Song"), but damn he still delivers. It's a combination of that moustache, that dancing, and that screaming and staggering!
They played a lot off the latest album Dig! Lazarus! Dig! and a hearty dose of classics too. Here's the setlist:
Night of the Lotus Eaters
Dig Lazarus Dig
Tupelo
Today's Lesson
Weeping Song
Nobody's Baby Now
Midnight Man
Mercy Seat
Deanna
Moonland
Red Right Hand
We Call Upon the Author
Papa Won't Leave You, Henry
More News From Nowhere
Love Letter
Lyre of Orpheus
Get Ready For Love
Hard-on For Love
Stagger Lee
I wasn't disappointed by the live spin put on these songs (as I was when I saw the Pumpkins...) It really felt like Nick and Co. were performing for us, not just the paycheck.
My review: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds put on a damn good show and I highly recommend seeing them! Just make sure to buy your tickets early.
I stumbled upon a few videos the band released before Lazarus came out. The record label posted a series of these promos. But, I admit, I have a special place in my heart for this sort of thing, as my final project for a Digital Photography class had a similar spirit to it (Ha!Ha!).
The Bad Seeds played a sold-out show at the Crystal Ballroom, which holds at most 1500 people.
So, how was the show? Great. I have a history of being let down by musicians I adore. Last year I finally saw the Smashing Pumpkins after loving them for 12 years... And was bored by Billy's wandering into neo-jam band territory. Ugh. A few years back I saw Bowie, and it was just OK as well; it was a decent performance, but it wasn't engaging thanks to the massiveness of The Rose Garden and the elder age of the audience.
Back to seeing the subjects of my adoration perform... Nick and the
Seeds were great! Nick may be getting up there (he said it was his "fucking birthday" and he was "disgracefully old" and then played "The Weeping Song"), but damn he still delivers. It's a combination of that moustache, that dancing, and that screaming and staggering!
They played a lot off the latest album Dig! Lazarus! Dig! and a hearty dose of classics too. Here's the setlist:
Night of the Lotus Eaters
Dig Lazarus Dig
Tupelo
Today's Lesson
Weeping Song
Nobody's Baby Now
Midnight Man
Mercy Seat
Deanna
Moonland
Red Right Hand
We Call Upon the Author
Papa Won't Leave You, Henry
More News From Nowhere
Love Letter
Lyre of Orpheus
Get Ready For Love
Hard-on For Love
Stagger Lee
I wasn't disappointed by the live spin put on these songs (as I was when I saw the Pumpkins...) It really felt like Nick and Co. were performing for us, not just the paycheck.
My review: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds put on a damn good show and I highly recommend seeing them! Just make sure to buy your tickets early.
I stumbled upon a few videos the band released before Lazarus came out. The record label posted a series of these promos. But, I admit, I have a special place in my heart for this sort of thing, as my final project for a Digital Photography class had a similar spirit to it (Ha!Ha!).
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk
Hi. It's been a while.
After reading Galapagos, I set off to read some short stories. I read "Colony" by Philip K. Dick (awesome!) but then I had enough. If I am trying to read a load of books and write about them, reading short stories is antithetical.
On to a review: my first experience of reading Chuck Palahniuk wasn't bad, but it didn't help me understand why so many people enjoy his work. That was Choke (which, BTW, the film comes out next month). I really had to understand the hype, so I read Lullaby last week. Verdict: much better.
I hate saying this, but as a person with, you know, teaching as a profession, literature should say something. It ought to mean more than just a simple story. Now, I could make up a meaning for anything, but that's not the point. It should be obvious enough that any person reading can see a hint of meaning. Maybe not "get" the whole thing, but be able to say, "Yeah, I think this book is about _______" (insert theme here).
That was my main problem with Choke, that I wasn't sure what Palahniuk was doing with it besides shocking us. But that's fine! Whatever, moving along. Reading Jezebel the other day, some commenter made a snide remark about how Palahniuk is a hack who can't string together a literate sentence. I don't know what is going on with that bitter reader, but even if you don't like his style, he's definitely got one. His voice is strong, identifiable, and his. It is definitely literate and literary. That's what I recognized with Lullaby... his stories are outrageous, but there is something comforting about them. If Chuck were my uncle, I would hear these tales at family gatherings and never be disturbed—"that's good ol' Uncle Chuck."
Lullaby would be a great read for those into folklore. It centers on a culling song, a poem that read, spoken, or even thought brings instant death. Not to the reader/speaker, but to whomever they read it to or who they think about. So, this likely started as an oral tradition and then got transcribed and ended up in The Book of Shadows. I'm surprised I haven't heard people bring this little tale up in Folklore class and pretend they heard it from someone. But that's a digression.
Carl read this song to his wife and young daughter, accidentally killing them. He fled, and is now an incredibly guilt-wracked newspaper reporter focused on a series of articles about Crib Death. Hits a little close to home, huh?
Unfortunately 500 copies of the book with this culling poem were printed. It becomes his job, with the help of a realtor, to track these books down and destroy page 27.
So, awesome premise. It's a great story, and it doesn't shock quite as much as Choke. That's not to say it's sterile, sanitary, or something you'd want your grandmother to read. It's just a little more reserved...
One conflict of the novel is the power that comes from the culling song. In the wrong hands, it could mean genocide. But even in careful hands, it causes a string of deaths. So what do you do with it? Use it selectively? Kill yourself so you can't wreak havoc? Carl's realtor friend, Helen, believes you should aim at constructive deconstruction: she uses the poem as her weapon for her side-job as a hitwoman.
But, if you know of the power of this poem, do you have responsibility to destroy it so innocent people are spared? Not only do countless infants die because of it, but their parents are punished (by guilt, or the law).
Or, as Oyster, the young hippie/anarchist/Eugene-resident-at-heart wants, you could use it to shake up the world's balance of power. Maybe kill all of the CEOs, world leaders and child molesters? Make yourself Adam and your girlfriend Eve?
This is just one conflict the poem presents: power. What about control? In trying to destroy an evil force, the characters could spur an ugly control of all people read, hear, speak, etc. What happens if the World's citizens realize books are dangerous, and that they can kill? Do we destroy all literature? (I bet The Anarchist's Cookbook is the first to go). If not, who decides what goes?
And there's so much more. Like I've done before, I'm cutting myself off. Go read this book.
KK
After reading Galapagos, I set off to read some short stories. I read "Colony" by Philip K. Dick (awesome!) but then I had enough. If I am trying to read a load of books and write about them, reading short stories is antithetical.
On to a review: my first experience of reading Chuck Palahniuk wasn't bad, but it didn't help me understand why so many people enjoy his work. That was Choke (which, BTW, the film comes out next month). I really had to understand the hype, so I read Lullaby last week. Verdict: much better.
I hate saying this, but as a person with, you know, teaching as a profession, literature should say something. It ought to mean more than just a simple story. Now, I could make up a meaning for anything, but that's not the point. It should be obvious enough that any person reading can see a hint of meaning. Maybe not "get" the whole thing, but be able to say, "Yeah, I think this book is about _______" (insert theme here).
That was my main problem with Choke, that I wasn't sure what Palahniuk was doing with it besides shocking us. But that's fine! Whatever, moving along. Reading Jezebel the other day, some commenter made a snide remark about how Palahniuk is a hack who can't string together a literate sentence. I don't know what is going on with that bitter reader, but even if you don't like his style, he's definitely got one. His voice is strong, identifiable, and his. It is definitely literate and literary. That's what I recognized with Lullaby... his stories are outrageous, but there is something comforting about them. If Chuck were my uncle, I would hear these tales at family gatherings and never be disturbed—"that's good ol' Uncle Chuck."
Lullaby would be a great read for those into folklore. It centers on a culling song, a poem that read, spoken, or even thought brings instant death. Not to the reader/speaker, but to whomever they read it to or who they think about. So, this likely started as an oral tradition and then got transcribed and ended up in The Book of Shadows. I'm surprised I haven't heard people bring this little tale up in Folklore class and pretend they heard it from someone. But that's a digression.
Carl read this song to his wife and young daughter, accidentally killing them. He fled, and is now an incredibly guilt-wracked newspaper reporter focused on a series of articles about Crib Death. Hits a little close to home, huh?
Unfortunately 500 copies of the book with this culling poem were printed. It becomes his job, with the help of a realtor, to track these books down and destroy page 27.
So, awesome premise. It's a great story, and it doesn't shock quite as much as Choke. That's not to say it's sterile, sanitary, or something you'd want your grandmother to read. It's just a little more reserved...
One conflict of the novel is the power that comes from the culling song. In the wrong hands, it could mean genocide. But even in careful hands, it causes a string of deaths. So what do you do with it? Use it selectively? Kill yourself so you can't wreak havoc? Carl's realtor friend, Helen, believes you should aim at constructive deconstruction: she uses the poem as her weapon for her side-job as a hitwoman.
But, if you know of the power of this poem, do you have responsibility to destroy it so innocent people are spared? Not only do countless infants die because of it, but their parents are punished (by guilt, or the law).
Or, as Oyster, the young hippie/anarchist/Eugene-resident-at-heart wants, you could use it to shake up the world's balance of power. Maybe kill all of the CEOs, world leaders and child molesters? Make yourself Adam and your girlfriend Eve?
This is just one conflict the poem presents: power. What about control? In trying to destroy an evil force, the characters could spur an ugly control of all people read, hear, speak, etc. What happens if the World's citizens realize books are dangerous, and that they can kill? Do we destroy all literature? (I bet The Anarchist's Cookbook is the first to go). If not, who decides what goes?
And there's so much more. Like I've done before, I'm cutting myself off. Go read this book.
KK
Monday, August 4, 2008
Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut
I just finished Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut. Vonnegut is a prolific author, but aside from this book, I have read just two others: Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat's Cradle. I remember precious little of the former, but I read the latter earlier this year...with my 11th-and-12th grade Modern Literature class (they must have thought I was crazy, assigning that novel).
Galapagos follows in the tradition of Vonnegut by being "all over the place"; it's not quite linear, includes lots of characters, and may be considered weird. Suffice it to say, I recommend it. I guess it's a little sci-fi (so, you know, he makes a few points). It's not like, robots-and-spaceships sci-fi, mind you, but it is certainly speculative.
Our narrator, Leon Trout, is a ghost who can't go into that blue tunnel known as the Afterlife for one million years (he has a fractured relationship with his father, sci-fi scribe Kilgore Trout). Galapagos is his recording of what happens to the human race from 1986 to 1,001,986. In this time, we hear a little bit about the downfall of humans... if you could call it that. You might call it, like Darwin, Survival of the Fittest. You see, some poor saps on the "Nature Cruise of the Century" land on an island in the Galapagos chain. And one million years from now, all humans claim this small group as common ancestors. We eventually all have silky fur, fins, and small brains.
I mentioned before Vonnegut makes some points—he is known for being satirical, a master of black comedy. Galapagos skewers the human race, sure: we all have these big ol' brains, and you know what we do with them? Yeah, the shit we come up with is ridiculous. We bomb, we con, we swindle, and occasionally love and comfort each other.
Leon remains a ghost for so long because he likes doing "research." As a ghost he can see everything and read minds. But really, what is there to learn about people? As his father Kilgore points out (p. 254):
Really, it gets me every time *tear*.
KK
Next up: The Biker Ghouls From Hell Book Club still isn't up, so I can't crack open The Road or Hell's Angels yet. I'm on this sci-fi kick, so I think I'll continue with some short stories from Science Fact/Fiction or Space Opera: An Anthology of Way-Back-When Futures.
Galapagos follows in the tradition of Vonnegut by being "all over the place"; it's not quite linear, includes lots of characters, and may be considered weird. Suffice it to say, I recommend it. I guess it's a little sci-fi (so, you know, he makes a few points). It's not like, robots-and-spaceships sci-fi, mind you, but it is certainly speculative.
Our narrator, Leon Trout, is a ghost who can't go into that blue tunnel known as the Afterlife for one million years (he has a fractured relationship with his father, sci-fi scribe Kilgore Trout). Galapagos is his recording of what happens to the human race from 1986 to 1,001,986. In this time, we hear a little bit about the downfall of humans... if you could call it that. You might call it, like Darwin, Survival of the Fittest. You see, some poor saps on the "Nature Cruise of the Century" land on an island in the Galapagos chain. And one million years from now, all humans claim this small group as common ancestors. We eventually all have silky fur, fins, and small brains.
I mentioned before Vonnegut makes some points—he is known for being satirical, a master of black comedy. Galapagos skewers the human race, sure: we all have these big ol' brains, and you know what we do with them? Yeah, the shit we come up with is ridiculous. We bomb, we con, we swindle, and occasionally love and comfort each other.
Leon remains a ghost for so long because he likes doing "research." As a ghost he can see everything and read minds. But really, what is there to learn about people? As his father Kilgore points out (p. 254):
"The more you learn about people, the more disgusted you'll become. I would have thought that your being sent by the wisest men in your country, supposedly, to fight a nearly endless, thankless, horrifying, and finally, pointless war [Vietnam], would have given you sufficient insight into the nature of human to last you throughout all eternity!So, as we've come to realize, sci-fi is more than androids, hovercraft and space travel. It is timeless. Although the above excerpt was published in 1985, it packs the same punch today. Man, the fact that literature published decades (or centuries, eons, etc.) ago can remain relevant slays me.
"Need I tell you that these same wonderful animals, of which you apparently still want to learn more and more, are at this very moment proud as Punch to have weapons in place, all set to go at a moment's notice, guaranteed to kill everything?"
Really, it gets me every time *tear*.
KK
Next up: The Biker Ghouls From Hell Book Club still isn't up, so I can't crack open The Road or Hell's Angels yet. I'm on this sci-fi kick, so I think I'll continue with some short stories from Science Fact/Fiction or Space Opera: An Anthology of Way-Back-When Futures.
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