A sort of collection of Borges’ dross, put into a book that begins with a short-prose section, ends with a poetry section. I found the prose much more evocative and pleasurable than the poetry, which seems more weepy and unnecessarily formal than the prose.

A book of mostly haikus:

Most analysis
of Death remains This-worldly—
Is Death Ever Now?

Bow-
Wow—

A long narrative poem about one Emily that flirts with all manner of fairy tales, from Alice in Wonderland to Snow White to Wizard of Oz, re-interpreted in a bloody, macabre tone.

Honestly, I thought this book would be a lil more immoral - somewhat closer to Story of the Eye or Delta of Venus - than I found it to be. After all, the guy didn’t do anything particularly immoral, in my view. Still, I did enjoy the strange juxtaposition of desire with class, race, lifestyle differences—even if the interstices aren’t directly explored.

If you’re a Jewish boy who grew up with a lot of sexual guilt and masturbated tons and still masturbate a lot, this book’ll show you you’re not alone. The dude really does whacks off a great deal - which I find difficult to relate to in the sense that I’ve never pursued anything - sexual or otherwise—with such single-minded, dilligent focus. I just haven’t the energy or razor-edged intent, though I s’pose self-pleasure is a better monomaniacal pursuit than most.

Hemingway’s novels always makes me want to say fuck it all and pick up and move to Paris. Except I know there’s no way I could enjoy it the way he did—I’m not rich, and I’m not white, which makes it relatively tough to blend into the crowd and have real, un-self-conscious fun in it.

I love Paris in books; I liked it okay in real life - though I did really love the nutella crepes and put on a few pounds while there a few years ago -

Somehow, I’d always thought that this book’d be written from the point of view of the lover, but no—It’s written in third person omniscient, mostly focusing on Lady Chatterley’s thoughts and feelings.

Most of you prolly know the book caused quite a stir - including an obscenity trial - when it was first published for what were then considered explicit sex scenes, with liberal use of scary words like fuck and cunt.

The novel begins bleakly, ends hopefully—

Diane’s a beat and New York School-influenced poet, who perhaps most notoriously had an affair and a child with LeRoi Jones while he was married to Hettie and before he became Amiri Baraka. “Roi” is oft mentioned in the earlier poems:

I wonder often what it is that you are doing—
How much of it is pride, or ambition
As we so easily say.
I remember the message I gave Freddie for you
That I would see you again at the end of this
(Meaning my marriage and yours)

—from section 3, “Note to Roi” in “Ode to Keats”

Though now she’s been married to at least 3 other men, had 5 or so children—

Many of the poems I like are the humerous ones, like “Nightmare 2,” when after trying to get a slimy worm out of her kitchen for hours, she gets the job done for her:

Whereupon looking down again I saw a line of sleek roaches was
marching the worm away and singing Onward Christian Roaches.

Considered a sort of anti-Victorian novel, The Way of All Flesh tells the story of one Ernest, the son of a clergyman who slowly claws himself toward an intelligent atheism, through the viewpoint of his playwright godfather. As good literature does, I found myself relating and recognizing so much of the thoughts, actions, and reactions of both Ernest and the godfather. Amazing how religious oppression, guilt, and shame - as levied on innocent children of the evangelical - transcends geographical, cultural, and historical boundaries so effectively!

The book also gives you a gripping account of an upper-middle-class sort of life in Britain at that time, complete with its complicated societal, political, and economic mores that shape the lives and personalities of people thrown into it. Upper middle class is a term used loosely here, as lineage and “breeding” play a bigger role in determining the social strata than simple wealth.

I enjoyed The Way of All Flesh about as much as I did Any Human Heart- a more contemporary bildungsroman of sorts from a similar stratum of British society. I guess I enjoy novels that contend big cities, both my own metropolis and others -

Apparently, Andy Lipkis, founder of the LA-based nonprofit TreePeople, has a children’s book written ’bout his life, appropriately titled Tree Boy!

This I learned while reading Edens Lost and Found: How Ordinary Citizens Are Restoring Our Great American Cities, a companion book to the 4-hour PBS series by the same name.

Written by Harry Wiland and Dale Bell with Joseph D’Agnese, Edens Lost And Found devotes a chapter each to four cities — Chicago, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and Seattle — then highlights noteworthy eco-intiatives undertaken by grassroots folk in these urban areas.

More of my review here.