The Cold Dish

The Cold Dish by Craig Johnson (Penguin, $14.00)

 

Being in the book business, I’m always on the lookout for the next big thing, the kind of author with so much talent and drive that anyone who buys one of their works will be back the next day to buy the rest. I’ve seen writers like Lee Child and Michael Connelly go from buzz to best seller, and I love that brief window of opportunity when I can hand sell a relatively unknown author I know will knock people out.

 

Craig Johnson is a new voice that his publisher Penguin believes can become the next Hillerman. Both Craig and Penguin have sent our bookshop posters, postcards and various promotional items (word to the wise – chocolate and money work best) in order to bring him to the attention of our customers. Johnson’s protagonist is Walt Longmire, an aging, small town sheriff in Wyoming. (The aging thing is always a poignant touch, but it can get awkward when it’s the starting point in a continuing series – those Vietnam vets aren’t going to be able to keep punching people out for very much longer.) Walt’s rather pedestrian duties are suddenly enlivened by the death of a young man who had been involved in the gang rape of a Native American girl. When a second guilty party is also killed it becomes apparent that the first death was no accident, and unless the crimes are solved the town could explode.

 

Longmire is a likeable, gruff and very decent character, a man just emerging from mourning the death of his long time wife, and the reader is drawn effortlessly into his world. Johnson skillfully immerses the reader in the rhythms and mores of the West, smoothly integrating history and folklore into the evocative landscape. Like Hillerman, he captures the dangerous beauty of the area as well as the equally dangerous tensions between the Native Americans and the rest of the community.

 

I found the middle of the book less compelling, however. Small town policing can get pretty tedious at times, and it’s challenging to present that in a way that’s true to life yet maintains the pace of the book, a challenge that Johnson’s not always up to. I also found some of the characters like the-pithy-member-of-a-minority-best-friend and the-beautiful-rich-woman-known-in-childhood-from-the-other-side-of-the-class-divide to be a little stock.

 

But the sting is in the tail, as they say, and for me Johnson’s ending more than redeemed any reservations I may have had, and in fact turned some of them on their head. He delivers the kind of kick ass, gut wrenching, truly surprising resolution that not too many writers can pull off these days, and it immediately made me yearn for Death Without Company, the next book in the series. Craig Johnson may not be the next big thing, but he’ll definitely do until it comes along.

 

See Ya,

YR PAL

UBU 

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Mephisto Waltz

Mephisto Waltz

 

Compressed into

The driver’s seat

A low mist over

The safest neighborhood

In the county

 

Holding the steering wheel

My hands an axis on the map

Framing something

Always framing

 

In the woods at this hour

A naked woman

The phone rings at this hour

The same woman

 

Still my hands frame endlessly

In this light

Green eyes turn blue

Russet hair black

 

Driving

A prick point on the map

Passing something

Always passing

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Hard

another chapter from my novel! This one’s pretty darn short…

 

12.

 

What makes you hard? Over that you have no control. Seriously, there are a few things that can’t be faked, and that’s one of them — either something is exciting or it isn’t. There are plenty of people who would chose something, anything, in place of what turns them on now. They might pretend that they chose to be attracted to amputees, or high heels or little boys, or this girl you met when you were nine and she was eight, but it isn’t a conscious decision, only an involuntary swelling of blood in both the brain and a certain lower member. When Dante sees Beatrice again in the terrestrial paradise at the gates of heaven Dorothy Sayers translates his comment to Virgil like this — "There is scarce a dram/That does not hammer and throb in my blood:/I know the embers of the ancient flame." You can say that throbbing, ancient flame comes from childhood, or genetic codes, or from some past life, or figures carved on a tablet, but the fact is that there are people who, for whatever reason always seem to make you hard and then there are people, probably even better people, who just never do. It’s verifiable reality. Most of the good things in the world and most of the bad things have come from people (eventually) hoping to get off on it. Like William Heirens, the "catch-me" killer, who could only achieve orgasm by breaking into a woman’s apartment, climaxing uncontrollably as he rifled through it.

And you can’t really call that a preference, can you? The world has no menu from which to pick and choose, it’s more like a tennis game where desire serves itself — try to return it. More than that, who you look at, who you make love to, these things eventually become you, become who you are. If you want to get French and try to get profound about a play on words you could say that sexuality is textuality, that the things that get you hard give significance to the landscape, that they bring the focus with which to read the perceived world. Either a certain image spells hard to you or it doesn’t, there’s no argument.

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POEM OF THE WEEK

contain your excitement!
 
 
(Heather in the) Smoke

 

The dirty window and

Around Heather the sunlight

Curlicue shadows still

Rising from her nose

 

And even later

A certain little exclamation of smoke

Coming from some deep place in Heather

That none of us will ever know

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Random Notes From All Over

I am really such a blind ass that never, in all these years, have I noticed anything of the entire vodoo cult, with its veneration of the snake and its thousand human sacrifices. And there my little tender Adelaide plays the part of the cruel priestess, invokes the holy snake, chokes children, drinks rum like an old ship’s captain and manages unheard of orgies!
                              — Hanns Heinz Ewers
 
 
In this way Botticelli’s vision seizes upon the ideal limits of the time in which the action is supposed to take place and from this arises an impression in his representation of the image as of indefinite duration of the said action, and in this way reality becomes dream and history myth.
                            –Roberto Salvini
 
 
Most of my fears drained away when I saw her. They always did. In those pajamas, with her blond hair loose around her face, she looked like an extremely healthy angel, a sort of celestial hockey captain.
                            –Patrick Quentin
 
 
It presumably wasn’t the drugs, per se, which caused the authorities such vindictive consternation. It was more the altered state of consciousness with which they are associated. Capitalist ideologies function by the manipulative means of keeping the collective immersed in real time.
                            –Jeremy Reed
 
 
Here there is a greater feeling of purpose and contentment, well represented by the balance struck between symbolic overstatement and the possibilities of real life.
                           –T.G. Powell
 
 
Their languid grace and dream filled eyes haunt the imagination and defy analysis.
                           –Jean Seznec
 
 
She had a dress on which did nothing to interfere with the girl underneath, and the girl underneath knew all this very well.
                            –Peter Rabe
 
 
The goddess has fled on her golden conch
The sea casts her adored image back to us
And the sky shines under Iris’s scarf
                                           —Nerval
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Child of the Stars

a chapter from my novel:
 
 

14.

 

There was an interesting, if weird book that caught my eye among the shelves of interesting if weird books in the library that Miller had accumulated. It was a Fawcett Gold Medal paperback entitled Mankind — Child of the Stars, and it begins with an examination of some strange anomalies in the theory of evolution, pointing out that only man himself seems to contradict biological law, being guilty of periods of impossibly swift advances in physiognomy and culture, certain startling mutations at very fixed pre-historical points. The authors begin their theorizing beyond the limited fossil and artifact remains with the very obscured passage of the Bible, Genesis 6:2;

And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born of them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair, and they took them wives of all which they chose.

Astute as they are, Flint and Binder don’t mention another version of this same material, in The Book of Enoch, a "lost book" of the Bible, dating from the second century BC and finally rediscovered in an Ethiopian monastery in 1773. There was a copy of it in Miller’s room though, underlined:

VI. 1. And it came to pass when the children of men had multiplied that in those days were born unto them beautiful and comely daughters.

2. And the angels, the children of heaven, saw and became enamored of them, and said to one another, "Come let us choose wives from among the children of men and beget us children."

VII. 1. Then they took wives, each choosing for himself; whom they began to approach, and with whom they cohabited; teaching them charms and enchantments, and the cutting of roots, and made them acquainted with plants.

Of course, a certain kind of mind sees UFO’s in this, slumming members of a custodial race swooping down to jazz our women like Seniors poaching at a freshman mixer. However they got here the authors posit that at some point an otherworldly beings came to earth with decisive results for civilization. You can see it from the very beginning — the snake chose Eve to talk to, didn’t he, and as far as I can tell he told her the truth. Certainly there’s Gaea, Io, Pandora, Europa, Danae, Leda, Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, even Malintzin, Cortez’s native concubine and interpreter, all the innumerable women whose attractions to the alien have altered everything. And admit it or not, it must have been some kind of allure, some beauty that drew God to the Virgin Mary — look at the paintings, it’s all there, in the most advanced parts of our unnecessarily advanced brains a beautiful woman is the only way we can understand that kind of grace.

According to the Gnostics the first thought emanating from the primordial One was Sophia, Wisdom, a goddess and in their time a whore. Why did the one become many? It’s the Gordian knot isn’t it, even in the latest Big Bang theory. Could it have been to look at Sophia? In other words the universe was created by the hidden one for the same reason most guys do anything – to get chicks.

Flint and Birden take a similarly biological approach, noting the five major sexual differences between the human female and those of other species;

…for she alone:

1. Enjoys orgasm during intercourse.

2. Is almost always "in heat."

3. Has a vaginal angle conducive to either front or back mating.

4. Posses voluptuous breasts and buttocks that are spurs to male desire.

5. Posses a hymen during virginity.

The main difference between male humans an other primates is more of a lack, an indication of how important imagination and those spurs to man’s desire are — we have no penis bone – only your head can get you hard. (That and the fact that a nine foot four hundred pound gorilla only has a three inch dick. But you can tell that from any football locker room).

All inherited from our visitors, the children of heaven. But look at what scientists say distinguishes us from apes in general — true smiles, true crying, long flowing hair, complete nakedness, flexible hands. subtly expressive faces, the ability to enjoy recreational sex — there’s all of art history right there. In other words, I guess the idea is that the beauty and sexual attractiveness of women is the key to human destiny. If the children of heaven couldn’t resist Earth women, how can we?

How about this then — according to Budd Hopkins, there are people who claim to have had alien abduction experiences, dreamlike childhood memories of being brought together for socialization with a member of the opposite sex whose name they could never remember. These dream meetings lasted for a fixed period of time, about 45 minutes, and occurred over a long period of years at six month intervals, the boy and the girl growing up together, becoming intimate in these brief, strictly enforced increments, many couples actually becoming lovers.

Then there’s the day they accidentally meet the person in their reoccurring dreams, the lover that they thought was imaginary, and they find out that, not only does that person recognize them, but has also been having the same dreams at the same times. What kind of love is that? Hopkins thinks it’s all part of a "complex breeding experiment."

But doesn’t a cosmic theory like that say more about the person who came up with it more than anything else? Did the fact that I really believed I was startled into consciousness by them, by Virginia that day in the woods or Heather in the cave that afternoon, make my psychosis universal or even from beyond the universe? Did it matter?

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The Cuckold’s Cap

The Cuckold’s Cap

 

The moon wears a cuckold’s cap

But he laughs to see us —

I in my greatcoat of imagination

And she in her sable of wonder

 

Between two candle flames

Our heads flicker, suspended

We caress each other

Like drowned bodies

In an ocean cave

Moving with the tide

 

The moon wears a cuckold’s cap

The shadow of its silver horns

Reaches through the window

Touching us, a gentle warning

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The Orientalist Part Two

The Orientalist by Tom Reiss (Random House, $14.95)

PART TWO

So what lessons can we learn from Lev Nussimbaum’s trek through the low lights of Twentieth Century history? Let’s consider the Bolsheviks who first shattered Lev’s idyllic childhood. Anyone who doubts that the Reds were criminals from the start, that Stalin was a continuation rather than a perversion of Lenin, needs only to read these pages to have those doubts irredeemably erased. The right in America has always been, well, right about the USSR, while the left was not always so, I admit, but it’s one of the few times before or since where that has been the case.

Look at the effect of a sudden, brutal war of "liberation" on a fragile, multi-ethnic area – in Lev’s time, as in our own, it quickly descended into anarchy. Of course I’m speaking about the parallels with Iraq, where as in the Bolshevik invasion of the Caucasus, a "pre-emptive" attack loosed the forces of violence, destruction and ancient enmity. The example of the new liberators was force, torture and indeterminate imprisoning – a fine recipe to create a new society. Rumsfeld was quite amused by the exuberant anarchy unleashed when the Iraqi social controls were smashed – he’s still grinning his rictus grin but the joke turned sick long ago. The idea of a "pre-emptive war," recently upheld by Bush, is frankly un-American, a sharp departure from the way ANY previous administration, Republican or Democrat, has pursued foreign policy. Given that WMD’s were not present and Saddam had nothing to do with 9/11 this war is being fought for some hypothetical utopia of the future – the end justifying the means – kind of like the way the Bolsheviks used to do things, isn’t it? War, as Sherman said, is hell, and should never be loosed on the basis of some neo-con theory or the mere desire to exhibit power, especially by men like Bush and Cheney who so assiduously avoided going to war themselves when they were young.

And what about Lev’s next to last stop, Berlin? It’s a rule of modern discourse that any comparison of the Nazis and the Bush regime is labeled at once ridiculous and seditious, but, as The Orientalist shows there are inescapable parallels between pre-fascist Germany and America today. Tom Reiss shows convincingly that the rise of Hitler, a thug from the start, was in part the result of an overwhelming fear of Communism. In order to defeat their own leftists the German government happily surrendered the rule of law and allowed one extreme to swallow the other – with the unexpected result that the monster they nurtured ended up consuming them too. Americans in their shock and anger over 9/11 have allowed their government to eavesdrop without warrant, detain unlawfully and even torture and murder in a purported fight against an amorphous foe labeled "terrorism." Daily and with a smug lack of apology the constitution and the laws of Congress are being flouted by an out of control administration. The idea that the draconian powers of the "Patriot" act are being used only against foreign terrorists has already been belied by the harassment and surveillance of American Muslims, opponents of the war and even a group committed to serving vegetarian meals to the homeless! We’ve allowed our fear of terrorism to threaten the very freedom we’re supposed to be defending. The experience of Weimar Germany shows that the slide to totalitarianism is slow and gradual and begins just like this. If don’t speak out now, if we don’t vote and support the moderate center and free speech we may soon not have the chance.

Another parallel is the "stab in the back" theory, i.e. that the war didn’t go as hoped not because of the ineptitude of our leaders, but because of lack of support and outright sabotage at home. This ridiculous assertion, much beloved by the Nazis about World War One, has been resurrected by the administration and their Fox mouthpieces. We now constantly hear that the electorate would feel a lot better about Iraq is only the darn liberal press would stop reporting the bad stuff that happens and just go find some good news, or rather just stick to what the government hands them. Sadly, news reports do not win wars, or else we’d have found a mountain of WMD’s and our troops would have long ago skipped home on carpets of flowers strewn by a grateful populace, as was guaranteed by the fair and balanced shouting heads of Fox news.

And what about the democratic example of both Russia and Germany? Bush has a firm, irrational belief that elections will solve all ills, that, once created, a democracy could never become a threat to the rest of the world. He must have been sleeping in class when it was revealed that BOTH Russia and Germany were democracies that slid into authoritarianism, despite their fair share of elections.

To close I’ll use a quote that Lev used in his work. It’s from Edmund Burke, the British conservative legislator, and it’s more than pertinent to Bush’s constant assumption of more and more arbitrary power for the executive branch, a power grab which is now being regularly rubber stamped by the newly packed Supreme Court:

"We have no arbitrary power to give, because arbitrary power is a thing which neither any man can hold nor any man can give. Those who give and receive arbitrary power are alike criminal."

 

SO WAKE UP PEOPLE! Look to the past and the present to save the future. Read The Orientalist today and you’ll be smarter than George Bush in no time.

YR PAL,

UBU

 

Think I’m being alarmist? Check this story out from today’s paper:

 

White House won’t rule out domestic spying

BY JENNIFER A. DLOUHY

HEARST NEWSPAPERS

WASHINGTON — Attorney General Alberto Gonzales told lawmakers Thursday that warrantless spying on purely domestic phone calls between Americans on U.S. soil is an option in the war against terror.

"I’m not going to rule it out," he said in a hearing before the House Judiciary Committee.

The testimony caused alarm among some lawmakers.

"How can you not rule that out?" Rep. Jeff Flake, R-Ariz., said later. "I think it’s a stretch to assume we gave them the authority" to conduct warrantless surveillance of international phone calls. But it’s unreasonable, he said, "that they would feel they have the authority to do domestic surveillance."

Rep. Adam Schiff, D-Calif., called Gonzales’ testimony a "shocking admission" that shows the administration "doesn’t feel there is any limit to what they can do" under the 2001 congressional resolution authorizing military force.

Gonzales’ comments came as lawmakers continued criticism of President George W. Bush’s October 2001 decision to authorize the National Security Agency to eavesdrop on international phone calls and e-mails of Americans in the United States without first getting warrants from a secret intelligence court.

Critics have said that program violates the Fourth Amendment’s requirement for reasonable searches and the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act of 1978, which requires the secret court to approve surveillance of U.S. citizens.

Bush and other administration officials have defended the decision to bypass the court, arguing that the president has power to authorize the surveillance as part of his inherent constitutional powers as commander-in-chief and by a congressional resolution passed after the 2001 attacks that authorized the use of military force.

Gonzales wouldn’t answer questions about who reviewed the surveillance program before Bush authorized it, saying the information was classified.

"Mr. Attorney General, how can we discharge our oversight responsibilities if every time we ask a pointed question, we’re told that the answer is classified?" said Rep. F. James Sensenbrenner Jr., R-Wis.

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The Orientalist

The Orientalist by Tom Reiss (Random House, $14.95)

I’ve just read a fascinating and informative book called The Orientalist by Tom Reiss. In one way it’s a literary detective story like A. J. A. Symons’s The Quest for Corvo or Hugh Trevor-Roper’s Hermit of Peking, where a determined biographer works backward from a startling written work to track down its disguised or obscured author.

In the case of The Orientalist the novel that piqued Reiss’s interest was a romance of the Caucasus called Ali And Nino by one Kurban Said, allegedly a Muslim prince. Kurban Said proves to be also known as Essad Bey, the author of several popular travel books and biographies. But, as Reiss discovers, behind all these veils stands a man born Lev Nussimbaum, a Russian Jew.

But solving the mystery of his identity doesn’t end the fascination surrounding Nussimbaum because, although he was not born a Moslem or a prince, he was lucky or unlucky enough to be present at some of the most crucial moments of twentieth century history. He was, in fact, from the Caucasus, born in 1905 in the city of Baku, an oil rich fringe of the Czar’s empire, which he presented later (mostly truthfully it seems) as an ideal multi-cultural land where Jews, Muslims, Armenians and various tribal entities co-existed in peaceful, funky harmony, far enough from Moscow to escape most imperial interference.

All that changed when the Bolshevik revolution arrived, unleashing a storm of haphazard executions and releasing the pent up energies of sectarian strife. Lev’s idyllic home became a charnel house as successive forces gained the upper hand in an endless cycle of slaughter and retribution.

Nussimbaum and his father fled to Constantinople, where the ancient Islamic Caliphate was on its last legs and European influence and "modernization" were to change the Muslim world for ever, creating enmities which still survive.

Next Lev landed in Berlin, just in time to witness the Nazi’s rise to power and descent to savagery. His pose of Moslem aristocracy became at one a way to distinguish himself from all the other Russian refugees, an expression of his nostalgia for his birthplace, and, increasingly, a disguise to obscure his now dangerous Jewishness.

Finally, in a depressing coda, he fled to Italy, where he was know as "The Muslim" and died a slow, painful death from a rare, debilitating disease.

What’s compelling about the book is not only Reiss’s detective work and the inherent drama of Naussimbaum’s life, but also his deft analysis of the political situation and history in each of the places Lev touches down, all whom resonate in the present day. Unfortunately all these lessons of history shine a cruel light on the ignorant and frankly evil policies of the Bush administration, a group who hold their "faith" above history, and have reaped the whirlwind as a result.

But we’ll get to that tomorrow. See you then.

Yr Pal,

UBU

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Noon

Noon

 

The eclipse and glow

Whisper at the edge of

Her brave vibration glittering

Her blouse clinging at the rise

Half laughing half in the flush

Of her full circle

Casual, secret, still

Yet interestingly transparent

In the strong electric wave

And crackle that comes with her

Sliding around in passing

Unable to wonder at

The sweet understanding involved

With getting into her car

Wordless, fearless, flawless, tired

Steeled and paled

The great being becoming herself

Damply gleaming

The goddess without attributes

Wet haired at noon

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