Quotes From Stuff I Like - Gardner

I found some quotes from stuff I like jotted down in a notebook the other day and thought I'd share some of them with you. Here's the first batch, a small, numbered, single-barrel batch.

On Becoming a Novelist, John Gardner

p. 42. Teaching creative writing, one constantly hears students say of their work, “I am trying to show . . .” The error of this is obvious once it’s pointed out. Does the twenty- or twenty-five-year-old writer really have brilliant insights that the intelligent reading public (doctors, lawyers, professors, skilled machinists, business men) has never before heard or thought of? If the young novelist’s answer is an emphatic yes, he would do the world a favor by entering the ministry or the Communist party. If I belabor the point, I do so only because the effect of English literature courses is so often, for a certain kind of student, insidious.

p. 43. One of the great temptations of young writers is to believe that all the people in the subdivision in which he grew up were fools and hypocrites in need of blasting or instruction. As he matures, the writer will come to realize, with luck, that the people he scorned had important virtues, that they had better heads and hearts, than he knew. The desire to show people proper beliefs and attitudes is inimical to the noblest impulses of fiction.

The Everlasting Man **

** The Everlasting Man, G. K. Chesterton, 1925

I read this book because The Number One Son has been raving about it for years. Well, he can have it. (In fact, I stole it off his shelf, and as soon has he gets back from his trip, I'll sneak it back on his shelf.)

Chesterton is a genius, and master of the paradox, as can be seen in his Father Brown stories, which are excellent. I'm told this book was dictated, which could account for the turgid style, but that is no excuse. If you want folks to read 200+ pages of small type, like I did, you owe it to them to edit the thing after you dictate it.

Worth reading if you like this sort of thing, which I probably did back in the day, seeing as how I read all 5 volumes of the collected works of Francis Schaeffer and other similar stuff a few decades ago. Not my kind of reading any more, however. I'm less patient as I have less time left to read.

Tom Waits

From the Songs you won't hear on the radio files:

I first saw Tom Waits on Saturday Night Live in 1977 doing Eggs and Sausage. Interesting, but not my vibe at the time. (Here's a funky accapella version I've never heard before. With French subtitles, no less. Like, I dig it, man.)

The first time I was blown away by Waits was when I heard Tom Traubert's Blues on the radio in the late 80s. The song was released in 1976, but it took a decade to get to me. Hey, I was busy.

Our feature song from Waits for this issue is Hold On. (Sorry, ebedding disabled.) The video leaves out my favorite verse.

God bless your crooked little heart / St. Louis got the best of me / I miss your broken china voice / How I wish you were still here with me / Well, you build it up and wreck it down / And you burn your mansions to the ground / When there's nothing left to keep you here / When you're falling behind in this big blue world / You got to hold on

To get Mr. Wait's vibe, check out this live version of The Piano Has Been Drinking on Fernwood Tonight followed by some sardonic couch chat.

Waits has done his share of psycho videos and (in my humble but accurate opinion) completely unlistenable music, like half of the Bone Machine album, which won a Grammy, go figure. (I can't find examples online of the truly horrific parts.) But his moody stuff, like Alice [lyrics] and Invitation to the Blues [lyrics] (with some nice banter and a side of Johnsburg, Illinois), is leviticusly deuteronomous, the coughing fan notwithstanding.

Havah ***

*** Havah, Tosca Lee, 2008

After thoroughly enjoying Tosca's first novel, Demon, I eagerly anticipated her second, Havah: The Story of Eve. It does not disappoint.

I don't know how she writes like this. There were passages that reminded me of Lewis's Perelandra, and I don't make the comparison lightly. And then there's the story of Cain and Abel aka Kayin and Hevel.

Everybody knows what's coming. I can't imagine how daunting it would be to sit down and try to make fresh such an ancient story. But Tosca does it, which should not be surprising, given how she handled the fallen angel in her first book. It was great to read, nonetheless. Dayum, this chick can write!

I forgot to ask her what's coming next. Whatever it is, it's going straight to the nightstand as soon as it comes out.

UPDATE: XDPaul is right. Here's what Tosca says about her next work: Agent of prophecy, patriot rebel, betrayer of God. Coming in 2011: The story of the most reviled man in Christendom, Judas Iscariot… as told in his own words.

The Night Watchman ***

*** The Night Watchman, Mark Mynheir, 2009

I met Mark in 2003 at a publishing trade show. He handed me his card and said he was a cop who wrote novels. Cool, I said, and that was that. But we ended up hanging together over the years at various shows. Very cool guy with some incredible stories.

This is Mark's fourth novel and the first in first person. I think he's found his voice. I read his first three when they came out, but they weren't the type of thing I normally read. This one, on the other hand, is exactly the kind of thing I read. And the best writing, so far. (Which is good. You don't want your writing to get worse as you go along!) It reminded me of Kaminsky's Lew Fonseca stories, a little. And that's a good thing.

I think this is a series, and I'm eagerly looking forward to the next one!

Not For Sale ***

*** Not for Sale: The Return of the Global Slave Trade--and How We Can Fight It, David Batstone, 2007

This book was a bit of a shocker. When somebody says slavery and America, you immendiately think, that was over a century ago. Get over it. Turns out it's right now, and right here. And also other places, all over the globe. Check out the website NotForSaleCampaign.org.

Pilgrim's Progress **

** Pilgrim's Progress, John Bunyon, 1678

Yes, I know it's a classic. I am sufficiently independent of thought to not feel intimidated by classics or obligated to like them. I am not like the character in Robertson Davies A Mixture of Frailties, of whom he wrote:

During the first day or two she attempted to get on with War and Peace, but found it depressing, and as time wore on she suffered from that sense of unworthiness which attacks sensitive people who have been rebuffed by a classic.

I'm not a sensitive person, I guess.

I realized I haven't reviewed the audio books I've listened to this year, which gives me some more fodder for Thursdays.

I found this book diverting, and listened to it mainly while working, since I like to multitask. But allegory wears thin for me after a while, and soon I got weary of all the doctrine and moralizing. Your mileage may vary.

Andy Mazilli

From the Songs you won't hear on the radio files:

Five or six years ago, when I was living in Honolulu, I went to the SF Bay area on business. I dragged Pierre, a co-worker from Montreal, to JJ's Blues in Santa Clara to hear the moving guitar work of Laura Chavez, who was playing with the Lara Price band. [Note to self: Do a Songs You Won't Hear On The Radio episode on Laura.]

Short discursive paasge: I first heard Laura by chance. I bought a Baby Taylor at the Guitar Center across the street from JJ's Blues and noticed a Texas band was playing that night. I came back. The warm-up band was Lara Price and Laura Chavez blew me away. Her work on Little Wing brought tears to my eyes. At that time she was 18, still in high school, and her parents were at the gig. I chatted with them and learned more about her background, teaching herself blues from SRV and other records when her guitar teacher wouldn't teach her to play blues.

So I dragged Pierre to hear this guitar goddess. We got there in time for the open mike and a guy got up and played some of the most raw Hendrix-influenced guitar I've ever heard. I talked to him between sets and learned his name was Andy Mazilli. Later on he approached our table with a turqouise Mexican Stratocaster and tried to sell it to me for $200, saying he hadn't eaten in a day or two.

I didn't, and still don't, have any use for an electric guitar, and I told him flat out I wasn't interested. Pierre made interested noises. I repremanded him, saying, "Look at this guy. He's serious. He's hungry. Don't play with him. You're not going to buy this guitar." "I might." "What, you going to put it in the overhead back to Canada, with no case?"

At this point Mazilli cut in and said, "OK, how about a CD?" I said sure. He left and returned with an Office Depot CD he had burned himself on his computer. He asked my name and signed the CD itself with the phrase, "Thanks for your support."

I listened to it in the rental while driving around town that week. According to the liner notes [a little photocopied square of paper tucked into the Magic Maz poster he folded into a CD holder] it was recorded in one day in a studio with a pickup band for $100. It sounds like it. On the song Too Much Pollution, a string breaks in the guitar solo at 4:22. Maz tries another lick, but it's thrown out of tune. He switches to creating a rhythm with deadened strings and wah-wah pedal for the rest of the song, scat singing after the lyrics to the end.

It also sounds like a guy who had mainlined SRV and Hendrix for decades. But it had a raw, free quality that resonated with me. Jail Farm is my favorite. Raw and sloppy, but personal and fluid. For me it really comes down to passion and authenticity and not to technique and polish. Passion trumps precision in my book.

I later learned he had played with such greats as John Popper, Joan Osborne, Greg Allman, and Kim Wilson. Check this quote from John Popper. "I think Andy Mazzilli might be the best guitarist I know in New York City."

I was working on the Songs You Won't Hear On The Radio series and thought of Mazilli for the first time in years. I did some searching on YouTube and found some live recordings for your dining and dancing pleasure. I also discovered that Mazilli evidently died in 2007 at age 40. RIP Maz. You are not forgotten.

Here's a cut called Guitar Payne that gives you the flavor of his playing. Finding My Way Back To You Thorn Bird Jam.

The Last Templar **

** The Last Templar, Raymond Khoury, 2005

Back in the 90s I read The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco's first novel. It was great. So I read his second, Foucault's Pendulum. It's a mesmerizing maisma of counterfiet conspiracy theories disturbingly come to life, in a sort of Our Man In Havana fashion, only with bigger words. And, as all good conspiracy books do, it harkened back to the Templars. In fact, Khoury gives a nod to Eco on page 74.

"You know what Umberto Eco said, right?" "No." "'A sure sign of a lunatic is that sooner or later, he brings up the Templars.'"

Liking what Eco did with the Templar vibe, I saw this book on the bargain rack in a weak moment and thought perhaps I'd give it a whirl. To cut to the chase, it's not as bad as The DaVinci Code, but it doesn't miss by much.

Khoury is no Eco, but then, who is? Even so, New York Times bestseller status notwithstanding, a book that uses the world clambered even once is suspect. When it uses it somewhere around a dozen times, occasionally twice on the same page, we're talking about some regrettable writing.

On page 14 my fears were confirmed when I read this paragraph about Tess, the female lead:

People just noticed her, period. They always had. And who could blame them. The seductive mass of curls that framed the warm green eyes that radiated intelligence usually triggered it. The healthy thirty-six-year-old frame that moved in relaxed, fluid strides confirmed it, and the fact that she was totally oblivious to her charms sealed it. It was too bad she'd always fallen for the wrong guys.

Well, of course she did. And why wouldn't she? Doesn't everyone? Especially female protagonists in romance novels and conspiracy thrillers? And then this on the next page.

She could hear traces of chamber music and tracked it to an all-female string quartet tucked away in a corner, sawing away energetically but almost inaudibly at their instruments.

And if Tess can be unreasonably beautiful while falling for the wrong guys, why couldn't the quartet be "sawing away" at their instruments? Why, indeed?

Despite such a discouraging beginning, I clambered through the whole freaking thing, all 523 pages. It's a story of religious fraud and a massive secret suppressed for centuries by the Catholic church that could destroy Christianity as we know it. Hmm. Where have I heard that before?

Add in a 20-page exposition on the Templars 1/4 of the way through, a 30-page religious argument 3/4 the way through, and a purple storm sequence worthy of the opening pages of The Bourne Identity, and what's not to like?

***SPOILER ALERT. But the thing that annoyed me as much as the writing, if not more, was the main message. Suppose an authentic historical document were discovered that conclusively and indisputably proved that Jesus, by his own admission, was just a man with some good ideas and that the Church invented the Son of God idea to retain power over the masses. The conclusion of the book is that if such a document were discovered, it would be better to destroy it and let the world continue to believe a lie. Devout Christians (in this case, the male protagonist and a cardinal from the Vatican) and agnositics who see the good the church does (the female protagonist) would endorse such an action. I may be completely delusional, here, but I think that most devout Christians are seekers after truth and would rather deal with the truth than base their life on a lie. Well, I would at any rate, so the premise did not ring true with me. SPOILER ALERT***

If you're stuck on a plane for several hours and you find this crammed between the seats, it would be a toss up between reading it or catching some sleep. Your mileage may vary.

Welcome to the Monkey House ***

*** Welcome to the Monkey House, Kurt Vonnegut, 1998

Back in the 70s I fell for a chick who didn't fall for me. I know, a real heartbreak. That's the bad news. The good news is that as a result, I found The Woman, who always was and always will be the chick for me. And, the other chick and I still remained friends, although via the US postal service at considerable geographic distance, which is the best way to do things with former objects of one's affections.

A year or so later she turned me on (via handwritten letter, a complete anachronism now) to Kurt Vonnegut. I immediately went out and bought a 3 book boxed set and delved into his early stuff from the 50s and 60s. My favorite was Player Piano, his first published novel which he graded as a B novel (on a A-D scale).

It's been many years since I've read Vonnegut. I snagged this collection of short stories from The Number One Son after I proposed a new song-writing project. We shall see if anything comes of that.

But on this we both agree: this book is killer diller. And we both came to the same conclusion, that the most powerful story in the book is Adam, the penultimate story. Holy freaking cow is all I can say. There's other good stuff here, too, but by all means, read that story.