Skippy Dies

Occasionally, but not frequently, a book comes along that blows me out of the water. Even more rarely, this book is a contemporary novel. But when the stars align just right, a book like "Skippy Dies" appears, and I briefly feel that literature has a future.

The death of Daniel 'Skippy' Juster via donut, and the events preceding and proceeding the event, make up the narrative of the novel. More importantly, though are the characters and circumstances that lead to his final words - written in jelly on the floor of the donut shop - and the impact his death has on the world around him, from his friends to his enemies, and even his history teacher.

I can honestly say that the author - Paul Murray - captures life at an Irish boarding school perfectly (at least as far as I'm concerned, based on my experiences as an American middle school teacher). The drama and conflict between the characters is perfectly portrayed as both mundane (in the big picture) and life-changing (in their small world).

It is hard to put into words how amazing I find this novel, even (now) months after I finished reading it.

The key to this novel is its balance. It is at times laugh-out-loud-funny, but edge-of-your-seat-thrilling at others, and even kinda-makes-you-think-deep at others. None of these features diminishes the others in this book, which is often a flaw in other novels. Instead, they all build upon each other to a fantastic piece of literary artwork.

Murray effectively shows the teenage angst of trying to find meaning, purpose, and connection in life through the character of Ruprecht, whose obsession with an obscure physics concept known as M-Theory leads him to believe that he might be able to communicate with his dead roommate. Meanwhile, Murray also shows how those same struggles play out in adult life through the history teacher Howard Fallon. Though Ruprecht and Fallon - whose lives are connected, though they don't realize it - may have different symbols for their dreams, their ultimate desire remains the same.

The plot and characters and themes of this novel are powerful, in and of themselves. Topped off with Murray's prose - which can only be described as masterful and elegant - this book is as near to perfect as any contemporary novel can be, in my opinion.

Go read it. Now.

The Drawing of the Three

After powering through "The Gunslinger" (and realizing that it was all exposition for the full "The Dark Tower"), I moved quickly on to the second book - "The Drawing of the Three" - hoping to get to the meat of the series. Although I did find more action, it was still tempered with some disappointment.

Summary

When we last left our hero Roland (the last Gunslinger), he was falling asleep on a beach where he was told (by his former rival, the Man in Black) to wait for "the drawing of the three" who would help him on his quest.

As this story opens, Roland wakes up on that mysterious beach to find himself surrounded by giant black lobster monstrosities (creatively named "lobstrosities"). These lobsters surprisingly attack him, biting off the first two fingers of his right, dominant hand. It also turns out that the lobster bite is poisonous, and that Roland doesn't have long to live. To top it all off, the tide had risen while he was sleeping and soaked all his ammunition, leaving him with a guessing game of which rounds will fire and which are duds.

Yet, when hope is low, a mysterious door appears on the beach, and Roland finds that by going through the door, he can take control of a man in our modern (1980s) world - Eddie Dean. Unfortunately (because nothing can be easy for Roland on his quest), Eddie Dean is a junkie who is in a lot of trouble with the law and the mob. Dramatically (and somewhat comically), Roland saves Eddie and "draws" him into his world so that Eddie can join the quest for the Dark Tower - and bring a lot of aspirin with him.

After recovering for a few days, Roland and Eddie continue up the mysterious beach and find another door. This door leads to our world in the mid-1960s. Roland brings back the next member of his crew - the wheelchair-bound split-personality Odetta Holmes / Detta Walker. Unfortunately, as sweet and kind and compassionate as Odetta is, Detta is twice as violent and nasty. In Roland's world, the two men are forced to tie her to her chair to stay safe while trying to figure out how to control the two personalities.

With food running low, ammunition running lower, and the danger higher than ever, the three continue up the beach until it nearly disappears. There, they find the third (and final) door. Entering it, Roland enters the mind of Jack Mort - the man whose actions led to Odetta / Detta losing her legs and to Jake entering Roland's world. Roland prevents Mort from killing Jake (leading to a time paradox which, I'm certain, will lead to trouble later), and, after grabbing some more ammunition for his guns, makes Mort jump in front of a subway train. The death of Mort in our world fuses the two sides of Odetta / Detta into a single personality - Susannah.

Now a healthy trio, Roland, Eddie, and Susannah continue into the foothills in search of the Dark Tower.

Analysis

This second book of the "Dark Tower" series provided a lot more concrete, understandable action tan the first book. Unfortunately, most of this action is perpendicular to the plot, not moving it forward in many significant ways. At the end of the book, I did not feel that Roland was any closer to the Dark Tower (or really understanding the nature of the Tower) than he was at the beginning. The only major change is that at the end of the book Roland has company on his quest.

Still, there were a few important facts established through this book:

1. Roland's world is connected to ours. But these connections are not necessarily restricted by time. (So, time passing in Roland's world does not affect time passing in our world).

2. Roland admits that he his compelled to find the Dark Tower, although he still is not clear (or, at least, does not reveal) what motivates him to do so.

3. Jake did not necessarily die (and so, was not necessarily drawn into Roland's world).

4. Roland knows that he might have to sacrifice Eddie or Susannah on his quest. And he's not afraid to do so.

5. Roland only has one usable hand, and so will need to rely on others to survive. (In other words, Eddie and Susannah are not necessarily as expendable as Roland thinks they are.)

6. Roland has a very foggy past (partly due to his foggy age). And I'm absolutely certain that events from his past (which we haven't learned yet) will come into play as the adventure continues.

I'm having trouble writing a much deeper analysis of this, simply because I don't feel that there was much else in this book worth analyzing. Like a cartoon character trying to run, but really just spinning his legs, a lot happened in this book without the story moving forward.

The good news is that the book did keep me entertained, and I'm going to keep reading the series. It definitely seems like things are really about to take off for Roland (and his new posse). In the end, King has masterfully woven another tale, even if that tale feels hollow in the face of the larger context of the novel.

On to "The Waste Lands"...

The Gunslinger

Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve always gone to Steven to get my haircut. And as long as I can remember talking to Steven about books, I’ve known that Steven is a Stephen King fanatic. As I started to grow more mature in my reading, Steven’s influence flexed its grip, and I began reading Stephen King as well. Although I’ve read several of King’s novels – including the massive undertaking “The Stand” – I’ve never attempted his series of novels “The Dark Tower.” This all changed when I got a haircut two weeks ago. Steven said he had something for me, and then brought out a bag from Pei Wei filled with the first six books of “The Dark Tower” sequence. Although the bag weighs at least twenty pounds, without representing the entire text of the series, I dove right in, beginning (obviously) with the first book of the series (which is, coincidentally, by far the shortest).

“The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger” begins the epic quest of Roland, the last Gunslinger. As we meet him, he his chasing “the man in black” across a desert in some sort of western-fantasy world. Apparently, Roland has been chasing him for a long, long time and has very recently been catching up. In the first part of the novel, Roland walks into a trap the man in black has set up in a know-nothing town, and the only way out is to, quite literally, kill every person in the small city (including his own lover). Further on, at an abandoned way station in the desert the Gunslinger encounters a boy – Jake – who apparently died in our world (at the hands of the man in black) only to re-awaken in Roland’s world. The Gunslinger allows Jake to join his quest, and the two miraculously cross a seemingly endless desert to arrive at the mountains – with the man in black now in sight. The pair encounters a malicious oracle who suggests that Roland will have to kill the boy if he wants to catch his quarry. As Roland and Jake pursue the man in black through the caverns of the mountain, they are attacked by Slow Mutants (human like creatures with distorted features who glow in the dark) and narrowly escape. With the cavern’s exit within reach, the man in black blocks their egress, and Jake clings desperately to the side of a rail-bridge. Roland has to choose between the boy and the man in black and, painfully, chooses the main in black. The novel ends with the man in black revealing that their dying world is just a single grain on a piece of grass in an even larger universe – all part of an infinitely large and small chain of worlds. Roland is set off on his quest to find the Dark Tower (a nexus between the many worlds) and to face off against The Beast who guards it.

Of course, that’s all merely the main story. Through the course of a few flashbacks and “firelight stories,” we learn a lot about Roland’s past (though many mysteries are also raised in the aftermath). For example, we learn that he grew up in highly regimented and caste-regulated society. This court resembles, loosely, Arthurian legends, although the noble knights are replaced with gunslinging cowboys. Yet, sometime between Roland’s childhood and the “present” of the novel, there has been a devastating war and that world is “dying,” leaving Roland as the last true Gunslinger. There are lots of references to Roland’s father being cuckolded, a vicious trickster named Marten, and a beautiful woman named Susan – but these references remain murky.

The world that King establishes in the first of “The Dark Tower” books can be best imagined as a hybrid between Clint Eastwood’s early westerns (lots of isolated towns, desolation, dirt, and sweat) and King Arthur’s court (class structures, knights and maidens). This comparison is practically invited by the reference to a wizard from our world named “Maerlyn” (think: Merlin). There are also elements of traditional quest stories and poems – notably “The Odyssey” of course. Also, apparently the name Roland is a reference to a Robert Browning poem (but, at this point, I’m too lazy to care about the allusion beyond what is mentioned in the afterword to the book).

There is a strange connection between our world and Roland’s world. The boy Jake somehow leapt between the two worlds. A gas pipe at the way station in the middle of the desert seems to connect the two worlds. There’s even a strange subway-like terminal that Roland and Jake walk through in the middle of the caverns of the western mountains – although the remains of those working at the station have apparently been dead for a very, very long time.

Our protagonist – Roland, the last Gunslinger – provides an interesting point of discussion. He is not necessarily sympathetic – heartlessly choosing his own ambition over saving the boy Jake. Yet, at the same time, we find it hard to judge him. Although we quest with him for 216 pages (at least, in the edition I read), we hardly get to know him. Sure, we know that he was the youngest boy ever to earn the title “Gunslinger” and that something bad went down between Marten (the man in black’s master) and Roland’s father – but, to be honest, that’s all we really find out. We never even quite find out why he’s chasing the man in black – and that goal alone makes up the main conflict of the novel.

Considering that there are at least six more books in this series (more, if King keeps adding to the epic), I’m finding it hard to judge here the value of the entire sequence of novels. Ultimately, “The Gunslinger” provides mere exposition for the longer series, while also allowing us a little glimpse into this strange (but fascinating) universe. I just hope that the rest of the series picks up the pace a little bit, because “The Gunslinger” was painfully slow at parts. At the very least, I can see how “The Gunslinger” provides a lot of food-for-thought for a fantasy reader and gives a rich and unique universe for Roland to wander through on his quest for The Dark Tower.

(The next book in the series: “The Dark Tower: The Drawing of the Three”!)

Everyman

I picked up Philip Roth's 2006 novel "Everyman" at the Newport Beach Friends of the Library bookstore a while back for a mere single dollar. After reading this book, I wish I still had my dollar.

A little background: When I was an undergraduate, the name Philip Roth was tossed around a lot as one of the great contemporary American writers. I picked up and read his book "American Pastoral" and was completely underwhelmed. I didn't get it. I didn't see what the big deal was. I flipped through it again, thought about it, and still couldn't figure out why people were so enamored with that book. At that point, I just let it go and postulated that I would try it again later.

So I went into "Everyman" with a lot of trepidation tempered with a lot of hope. Trepidation because my mind still ached with the disappointment of my first attempt. Hope that maybe this book would hook me more than the first and that it would finally all come together for me. Unfortunately, it was about halfway through the book that the hope died.

Briefly, "Everyman" begins with the funeral of the unnamed protagonist, attended by a scant few people who came to pay respects to a man to whom they connected but not necessarily attached (such as his two sons from his first marriage). The book then backtracks and jumps around to various episodes throughout his life which provide insight into his broken relationships with the people at the funeral.

I guess my biggest problem was that I felt no sense of attachment, or pity, or sympathy, or anything for the protagonist. He was a philanderer, a misanthrope, a malcontent, and, ultimately, a cranky, whiny, sick old man. I understand the idea that as the "everyman" he is an imperfect being, acting on his impulses, but I still could not dig out any flake of interest in his life. It's not that I was taking some sort of moral stance against this character (consider my half-decade interest in the semi-perverse Leopold Bloom of "Ulysses"), but I never felt like accepted any control over his life. Many of his internal monologues blame others or ask others to consider his perspective, but he never tries to consider anyone else's feelings.

From a literary analysis perspective, the book was weak. The "begin at the end" structure of the novel is unimpressive. The various chunked episodes are too choppy and disconnected (although, consider life - isn't that how it is?). The protagonist is static and flat, and the minor characters are somehow flatter than flat. Nothing clicked together or jumped out as being of any literary importance. Instead, it seemed more like a formulaic novel written by an aspiring creative writing student than a potential masterpiece by an iconic writer.

I guess I just felt that the book was merely a book, and not some sort of intellectual or moral challenge - and not that I require that of all my books, but I do of books that come wrapped in such mystique and renown. But, if the book merely exists as a forum for fiction, I'd rather spend my time reading some genre works.

Sorry, Philip Roth. Maybe I'll try "Portnoy's Complaint" or "The Human Stain" in a few years. But I'm not sure I'm ready to go out with you again yet. Perhaps we should see other people.

You Don't Love Me Yet

After a heavy read like "Blood Meridian," I tried to ease up a bit and read something a little more lighthearted. Glancing at my shelf, I saw a book I had found in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble, got excited about and bought, and then instantly forgot about - Jonathan Lethem's 2007 novel "You Don't Love Me Yet."

The book follows a few months in the life of Lucinda Hoekke, tracing the rise and fall of her unnamed band. As the novel begins, she is working for an abstract artist answering and documenting phone call complaints. In her free time, she jams with a band which seems to have a lot of potential (in terms of character), but which hasn't written a breakthrough song, or even played a gig. One day she gets a call from a complainer (a recurring complainer, in fact), and she falls in love with him. During the conversations of their affair, she picks up on several unique phrases - such as "monster eyes" - which inspire her to help write some lyrics which eventually become the bands strongest song. The band gets their first gig at a failed art experiment which morphs into a real party and gets them some positive attention Unfortunately, the complainer was also at the party, and leverages his creation of many of their lyrics into making the band let him join. The complainer then sabotages the band's radio appearance, and they miss their big chance. Yet, in the end, everyone is paired off and happy.

(Oh yeah, and somewhere in the book is a subplot about the guitar player kidnapping a kangaroo from the LA zoo and the zoo denying it to save face.)

The book's biggest limitation was the inability to actually hear the band. Very little is ever even said about how their music would sound - there is a distinct lack of sensory detail for the reader's ears (if that makes sense, somehow).

I remember that there was a lot of negative feedback for Lethem when the book came out. And not undeserved, I can confidently say. This novel pales in comparison to his other novels, and isn't even in the same league as his masterpiece - "The Fortress of Solitude."

But, on the other hand, this novel never really aspires to be that type of book. So how can we complain when it doesn't achieve it? It's more like the outline for a romantic comedy with a twist-of-Lethem (mostly in the names of the characters). It

I can say that it was a nice, smooth read, and that it didn't require a lot of thinking - unlike "Walden" and "Blood Meridian." I can't say that it belongs on the same shelf as those books, though. It doesn't. It just doesn't.