Time has passed again! Seems like it's taking a long time for me to get the posts on here. I've been away in the hospital nursing some intense wounds, so I've been away. But here are some of the things I've been reading. Instead of telling you what to avoid, I'll tell you only the good books I've read.

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Careless in Red by Elizabeth George

This is really a finely told story with a great ending. I think a lot of people will have a hard time with it only because it's a bit ambiguous in terms of closure; nothing is spelled out. And I like that. And she doesn't dumb the narrative down to accomodate any reader. The one thing I've never liked with genre fiction is that it's written to the lowest common denominator. It's written for everyone to read. Unfortunately, sometimes this comes at a price. Sometimes the writer writes poorly to make sure NO ONE misinterprets what he or she is saying. They use cliches because everyone will understand what they are trying to say, veering away from any kind of creativity at all so no one will have to think. George doesn't do this. She writes well and she writes with a passion. No one can accuse her of being lazy, and she is on her game in this novel. Her last one in the Thomas Linley series focused on the death of Linley's wife, and, really, it was rather poor. This is a glowing novel. Very dark in that it deals with family secrets, but the story is solid, the mystery is brilliantly conceived, and she is so above the curve here than the next book I read was somewhat disappointing.

Everything is Illuminated: by Jonathan Safran Foer

People who know me know that I’m not a major Foer fan, but you cannot deny the man has a kind of pop-genius that’s hard not to like. I find him overly aware that what he’s doing is kind of gimmicky, and yet unable to sink into the corner and do what he’s told. I have to respect that. Once I got beyond the opening, which, let’s be honest, is brilliantly written but I found him at times trying a bit too hard to be “Foerish,” I found myself knee deep in the story, and soon the Foer-sand began to suck me in.

He is a subtle writer. He is an extremely nuanced and creative writer, who won’t let himself being “that” kind of artist. He’s not a naturalist and he’s not an observationalist. Foer writes what he feels. He writes like someone possessed in his novel. He writes as if he needs to say something, and he needs to say it quickly and violently; kind of like riding for seven hours after eating ten bran muffins and four cups of coffee. You simply have to go. But he has so much to say, and he wants to say it all at once, but has to space it out over the pages, give the reader a little breathing space, and subtly, almost subliminally, insert bits and fragments of his message, spread out over the story of Jonathan and his “premium” friend, Alex Perchov.

Jonathan is searching for a woman named Augustine who saved his grandfather from liquidation by the Nazis. The novel story arc in this book is phenomenal, going from a novel in progress by the character Foer, as he tells in very literate English the almost mystical story of the people of Trachinbrod, as well as Alex Perchov’s narrative about his and Jonathan’s quest to find the village in the Ukraine. The way Foer twists the narratives and winds the plot chords around each other until it is one strong, straight line. What he does best is done subtly. What I found amazing was that just as I was beginning to think, “This is getting old,” I saw Foer switch gears and turn everything on its head. I love this book. I love the way it’s written.I would recommend this novel to anyone looking for style and voice.

Study the way he treats each word, carefully and cautiously using words not to show how clever he is—and he does do that, as does any writer, really—but rather to paint a picture of the character. Look at the way he bends his plot, builds on the story through each character’s actions and dialogue. After the first section we know the know the kind of person Alex is. He’s that guy at the party who comes too early, leaves too late, and doesn’t seem to know when his mouth is going to spout something absolutely absurd.

Living Buddha, Living Christ: by Thich Nhat Hanh

I kid you not when I tell you that no other book has influenced my spiritual and personal life more than this book. In terms of research for my latest novel, which delves into the existence of God, and my view of self and individuality as key integrals that dictate Who or What god will be in your life. Ostensibly generous to Christians in regards to the fundamental beliefs, teachings, and wisdom of Jesus of Nazareth, the book grabs at the flaws of fundamentalism and the disastrous history of the Catholic church. There is no way around the fact that if you are in any way a spiritual person this book will cause both conflict and awe at the similarities between Jesus’ words and Buddhist teachings. You wonder if Jesus hadn’t somehow gone to India himself and gained Enlightenment with a colony of Buddhist monks. Which, when you look at the picture the Gnostic gospels paint of Jesus with the actual teachings of the Buddha, doesn’t seem surprisingly at all.

In the Gospel of Thomas, a book omitted from the Christian Bible, we see Jesus as Buddha himself. He claims at the beginning that those who seek should not stop seeking. When they have found, they will be disturbed, and once they are disturbed, they wlll be astonished, and they will have eternal life. What this book tells us is that eternal life is , actually, enlightenment, and that what we are, essentially, given the choice of looking deep within ourselves to find true peace—finding things that disturb and astonish, or we can go on ignorantly following life where it takes us. Hanh won’t allow you to do that. You’re going to have to look deep inside to see the beauty of Jesus’ teaching without being corrupted by men with agendas, or women with a pie to sell.

(Irony implied.)

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail: by Hunter S. Thompson.

I read this book during last year’s primaries and was so intensely into the story of Hubert Humphries loss to Richard Nixon in the ’72 presidential election that by the time actual debate and election time had begun, I was so anti-republican and pro-democrat that I needed Barack Obama to win the election this year, just so I could throw it in the face of the people who elected Nixon. It’s like Karma; you get a Nixon and a Bush within thirty years and you eventually use up all your free passes and you’ll have to pay.You must pay for your atrocities towards Mankind! Save us all Hunter!

When Thompson died in January 2005, Bush had just won the 2004 election and the climate around the country was so divided that we hadn’t seen a schism between right and left that polarizing since, well, the 1972 election. I read this book and I could feel Hunter’s pain. The way Nixon is portrayed is not unlike the way many villains are portrayed: as an ordinary Mr. Niceguy. But what I admired was the way he could paint such an angry picture of the election that I no longer felt as if the democrats should win this election, and the republicans should not; but that they must win.

The intricate way Thompson takes us from stop to stop, from coffee shops to rallies to the conventions, gives the reader an inside look at how good politicians can make you either love them, or hate them, and in the end will make you either love or hate the other guy. It’s a tricky thing to portray a scum like Nixon as a bad guy without going overboard; there probably shouldn’t be any horns or hoofed feet. Thompson pulls it off. He hate Nixon just enough to want him to lose big, but not enough to want him dead. I’ll leave it at that. Hopefully in thirty years someone will read about this election and feel the same way I did.

"A Streetcar Named Desire" by Tennessee Williams

For an out and out, in your face look at a woman losing her mind, read Blanche at the tavern with Stella. She's talking crazy, absolute nonesense, going from topic to topic with no segue, just rambling. Read the words. Read what she's saying and put the puzzle pieces together. Then enters Stanley and you can juxtapose his philosophy on life (which is basically: What? You think you're better than me?), with Blanche's Southern Belle, Yes, I'm better than you philosophy and watch how the tug of war becomes and all out battle. It's a great play. Also, watch the Marlon Brando/Vivian Leigh film after reading the play and see how the characters actions tell the story as well. Reading a play is to get the content and see what style and technique the playwrite uses; what the subtext is, what the content is. But you really need to SEE it to fully appreciate it. But if it's not in town at the local cultural center, then you'll just have to pick up a copy.

Tishomongo Blues (By Elmore Leonard)

Great book. Quite simply a fantastic read. The story is about a high diver (random?) who starts working as a high diver at a small, southern casino. After witnessing the murder of a man, he becomes immersed in the lives of what Leonard calls "The Dixie Mafia." I couldn't put this book down, and after it was over, I wished it would go on for at least another two hundred pages (the book is over three hundred pages long in mass-market paperback). Anyway, if you want a good crime novel, this one is definitely recommended.

The Sins of the Father (By Lawrence Block)

I find it's really hard to find a truly great mystery. This book was not it. But it was good. Just good. It's supposed to be one of his best mysteries, but I found the ending very unsatisfying, namely because the killer is obvious right from the start. It's his early work, so it very much in the "pulp detective fiction" genre, much like film noir. At times it felt like he was trying to outdo Raymond Chandler, which is damn near impossible, at at that early in his career I wouldn't think it advisable to try to outdo Chandler. It would be like me trying to outdo Chuck Pahlaniuk. Simply won't happen.

The Age of Reason (By Jean-Paul Sarte)

This book pretty much defines existentialism, which, in and of itself, is nearly impossible to define accurately. in essence we have four or five stories going on, each character holding a different facet of the existentialist philosophy. one of the Characters, Mathiau, believes in total freewill and doesn't believe that there is any kind of destiny; that he can make any decision he chooses and, in the end, it will always be the right decision. The other characters are all outcasts themselves, and since existentialism was not wholly embraced by philosophers in Europe (but was gangbusters here in America), it holds a special place for speaking to the alienated youth, who less then twenty years after this book was written, would get the ultimate alienated individual in the form of Holden Caulfield.

Fifty Delightful, Witty and Provocative Essays (Edited by Houston Peterson)

I'm pretty certain this book is out of print because I picked it up at the salvation army the other day when I was shopping for sweaters for my wife. There are essays on "man and the world around him by 38 great writers." This is according to the book cover. There are essays by George Bernard Shaw, Virginia Woolf ("How Should One Read a Book?" is a great essay, but be careful of her meanderings), and E. B. White, who is always great, no matter what he writes.

This is New York (By E. B. White)

As I was saying, I haven't read anything--anything by White that I haven't liked. Even his writing reference books are amazing. In this long prose essay, White pontificates on the true meaning behind the city, how it's ever changing, how the bookshop on the corner he'd been going into for fifteen years one day turned into a wine shop. It's extremely accessable and very well written.