
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Chronic Monarch
On The King (1990) by Donald Barthelme Camelot in WWII UK: Arthur upholds medieval warfare, Winston be damned; the radio airs Guinevere's a-Maying with Launcelot; Ezra chastises the Jews and calls FDR an imbecile; Merlin's prophecy looms still; and the Quest for a new Grail promises great irony. This brilliant conjecture hopscotches happily along the boundaries of fiction and reality.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Screwing the Nation
If there is a National Fist, why not a National Prick? Delirious as if virginal, this nation writhes in carnality at every newsflash. Each buzz is a solid thrust, adding to the ecstasy. And everyone has to partake in the debauchery, the politicians, most especially. One wonders how long this National Orgasm will last.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Love, Kill, Live
On Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (1986) by Patrick SüskindIn Grenouille, Süskind has created a beloved serial killer with a powerful sense of smell. His beginning, a Dickens novel; his journey, a bildungsroman; his end, a Sartrian exit. More than an inspirational manual for murderers, Perfume is a treatise on the implosive relation between love and existence.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Bunch of Book Flips
On Flips Flipping Pages in Shelfari.comWednesday, May 20, 2009
Spiffier than Slumdog

On Millions (2004) by Danny Boyle, Director and Frank Boyce, Screenplay
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Butt of the Joke
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
A Not So Sorry Story

Monday, May 11, 2009
Authoring an Author

On Bech is Back (1982) by John Updike
An uncanny and hilarious surfacing of a writer's mind as he enters his twilight years, dealing with writer's block, a global readership, marriage, and a much-changed publishing world. Will Updike’s Henry Bech hit another bestseller or are his few books doomed to shelf wear?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Dozing with Discomfort
On The Comfort of Strangers (1981) by Ian McEwan
Two couples, never alike in dignity, meet, and disaster could not have been spelled out more clearly. The unfolding, however, is excruciatingly slow. McEwan’s novella could be the most effective sedative since counting sheep. Sexual perversity has never been made so boring.

