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.

The Miernik Dossier **

** The Miernik Dossier, Charles McCarry, 1973

I'm not big on spy novels, but I like the occasional well-written specimen. I'm particularly fond of Wm. F. Buckley's Blackford Oakes novels, which I'll re-read one of these days.

Back when I was writing Hell in a Briefcase for Phil Little, he frequently mentioned Jason Bourne. I'd seen the movies but not read the books. Since I'd never written a thriller, I decided it would be a good idea to read these seminal works, starting with The Bourne Identity. The first paragraph of which goes like this:

The trawler plunged into the angry swells of the dark, furious sea like an awkward animal trying desperately to break out of an impenetrable swamp. The waves rose to goliathan heights, crashing into the hull with the power of raw tonnage; the white sprays caught in the night sky cascaded downward over the deck under the force of the night wind. Everywhere there were sounds of inanimate pain, wood straining agasint wood, ropes twisting, stretched to the breaking point. The animal was dying.

I wish I were kidding. We're not in Kansas any more, Toto. We're out where the Bulwer-Lytton buses don't run, raving like Eddie on acid.*

Not that I'm one to gainsay millions sold, movies made, fame and cash (especially the cash) to be garnered. If I knew I would make that kind of cash writing that kind of trash, I'd write it all day in bucket loads. But no man is guarranteed tomorrow, or best-seller status, regardless what he writes.

But we're not talking about Ludlum (not anymore, we're not), we're talking about McCarry, who is no Ludlum, thank God. With accolades from the likes of Richard Condon and P. J. O'Rourke (for crying out loud) I figured it was worth a trial spin. I grabbed a few Paul Christopher novels, but research showed I was missing the first in the series, so I shelved them conveniently out of reach until I could snag The Miernick Dossier, which I did last month. A plane trip (which is a story in its own right) afforded the opportunity to dig in, and I did.

This book, McCarry's first published novel, gets 3 stars for intruige but is downgraded to 2 stars because of the narrative style. It's literally a dossier, a collection of documents written in different voices and styles. It's done well, but the self-imposed restriction of his choice prevents the kind of character development that would have made this book truly enjoyable.

However, I did like this line from the title character: The wretched will always find something they do not undertand to die for.

We shall see how the next one goes.

*Edward George Bulwer-Lytton is the author of the infamous starting line, "It was a dark and stormy night." The full opening sentence went thus: "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness." I'll give Ludlum this. Like Bulwer-Lytton, he got a semicolon in the first paragraph. Good on ya, mate!

The Closers ***

*** The Closers, Michael Connelly, 2005

Another Bosch book. It's been a while since I read one. This one has some interesting twists and is as addictive and consuming as the others. Bosch hasn't lost it. Don't miss it if you can.

Roto Rooter Good Time Christmas Band

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

I spent a lot of time trolling through cutout racks in the 70s. I discovered this gem in 1975. Took it a year to make it from LA to Fred, Texas. The album featured an incredible trombone-laden, barbershop quartet version of Purple Haze that revolutionized my life. They closed with this version of Happy Trails that Van Halen later ripped off.

Noted for obliterating classics like Swan Lake (Swamp Lake) and Hungarian Dance No. 5. Here's their redition of the Flight of the Bumble Bee aka Bumble Bee Boogie.

How about the Beer Bottle Polka?

Catching Up

I finally got my quota of screenplays read for the Austin Film Festival, earning a Producer's Badge. Last year it got me into a party where I chatted with Danny Boyle of Slumdog Millionaire fame for 10 minutes or so. (Yes, that's me shamelessly name-dropping.)

And I got my own screenplay finished (the 6th draft, at least, who knows how many more I'll do) and submitted to the competition. And I've finished reading two books. (Reviews coming in due time.) But I have to tell you where I was last night.

I had a chance to chat with Roy Blount, Jr. at a Writer's League of Texas fundrasier. (Yes, that's me shamelessly name-dropping again!) They were taping Wait, wait . . . don't tell me in the Bass Auditorium and his sister is on the Writer's League board, so I guess it made sense for him to do a little talk and book signing as a fundraiser for the WLT while he was in town. He's authored 20+ books and is the president of the Authors Guild, pioneering the settlement with Google, which, as part of its scheme of global domination, has been practicing wholesale scanning of books for the past decade or so.

I got there a bit early, having stopped by Habana House to pick up my free monthly cigar. I loaded up on refreshments and stood alone at a white-table-cloth-covered bistro table. The next thing I knew, I was joined by Roy and Susan. We chatted a bit and I enlightened him about the joys of StupidInternetTricks.com, because, like, who wouldn't want to know about that?

Mary Gordon Spence kicked things off with a very long and hilarious introduction and Mr. Blount (as his close friends like me call him) followed with even more hilarious set of stories, interspersed with information and analysis of the Google settlement, which I signed onto and thanked him for pushing through.

Overall, the evening rocked. And I now have another book in the To Be Read shelf.

Half Price Books

As I've mentioned before, Half Price Books rocks.

The Woman wanted to check it out on Mother's Day, and who was I to deny her? We walked away with 15 books for $55 including tax. One of the books (a biography of Wodehouse) was $14, so you're looking at 14 books for $40 including tax. Hot dang!

Here's the haul. My purchases ($36):

• Wodehouse: A Life, Robert McCrum. P. G. Wodehouse is probably the most under-acknowledged writer of the 20th century.
• John Gardner: Literary Outlaw, Barry Silesky. Gardner's Grendel blew me away, 192 pages of genius.
• Story, Robert McKee. It's a screenwriting classic. I guess I better read it.
• The World Is Flat, Thomas L. Friedman. Enjoyed Beirut to Lebanon. Can't wait to pick this one up.
• Marriage Lines, Ogden Nash. I'm not much of a poetry guy, but it's only 108 pages. How painful can it be?
• They Shall See God, Athol Dickson. River Rising rocked my world. Aching to start this one.
• The Bookman's Promise, John Dunning. Finally getting around to the 3rd in this very entertaining series.
• The Miernik Dossier, Charles McCrarry. Last year I picked up 2 of his books based on the jacket copy, but wanted to get in on the ground floor (first in the series) so I've been holding off reading them until I got this one.

The Woman's purchases ($15):

• The Collectors, David Baldacci
• Stone Cold, David Baldacci
• Death of an Expert Witness, P. D. James
• Shroud for a Nightingale, P. D. James
• Devices and Desires, P. D. James
• The Murder Room, P. D. James
• The Lighthouse, P. D. James

She's a Baldacci fan. (I've never read him.) She got the James books because they were all on clearance for $1 (she's a sucker for a deal) and I told her I would eventually read them. Maybe when I retire, after I finish Agatha Christie. (Amazingly enough, I've only read one Christie. I'm saving her to savor when I have the time to lounge for a year on the deck with a refreshing beverage and read incessantly.)

As you can see, she got almost half the books, but spent less than a third of the money. Maybe I'll just count this toward Father's Day.

Conflicts

Like last year, I'm reading scripts for a film festival which cuts into my recreational reading. These days, the elliptical is surrounded by stacks of screenplays, not novels.

Unlike last year, I'm also entering the competition. I'm working on my third screenwriting project. I have three weeks to get the sixth draft done before the deadline. We shall see. Overall, it means I'm seriously behind in my reading.

So, when you see another review from me, you'll know that I finally submitted my entry and waded through the pile of other entries I have to read. (In case you're wondering, I'm reading in a different category than I'm entering. Everything's on the up-and-up.)

Feels Like Home

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

You may not recognize the name Randy Newman but there is no question you've heard his songs. After years of writing hits for 70s stars like 3 Dog Night (Mama Told Me Not To Come, Never Been To Spain), Joe Cocker (I Think It's Going To Rain Today, You Can Leave Your Hat On), and Harry Nillson, and having hits of his own (Short People, I Love LA), Newman turned to writing movie soundtracks (A Bug's Life, Toy Story, Monsters Inc., Cars). I mean, who hasn't heard You've Got a Friend in Me?

Back in the 90s, Newmna wrote a musical adaptation of Faust. Feels Like Home was written for Bonnie Raitt to sing. (Sorry, the only Bonnie version I could find was this General Hospital fan video. But you don't have to watch it. Just listen.) It was also covered by Linda Rhonstadt and Chantal Kreviazuk and appears on the How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days soundtrack.

The female covers are great, but there's something irrevocably poignant in Newman's plaintive, mush-mouth voice expressing such transparent vulnerability.

This song is so powerful, not even a ukulele cover can completely destroy it.

And, as a bonus, here's a live recording of a lesser known but equally powerful Newman song, I Miss You.

Ed: How is it that I wrote this twice without realizing it? I featured the exact same song in Feb!

A Thousand Splendid Suns ***

*** A Thousand Splendid Suns, Kaled Hosseini, 2007

The Woman dragged this home last year and I finally got around to reading it. I read and enjoyed The Kite Runner, and saw the movie, which was well done and, amazingly, less graphic than the book. I started in on A Thousand Splendid Suns and for the first few chapters got to thinking that it didn't quite measure up to his first attempt.

After some reflection, I decided that it was the beginning that was the problem. Here's how The Kite Runner started out:

I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near a frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.

Wow. But there's more.

One day last summer, my friend Rahim Khan called from Pakistan. He asked me to come see him. Standing in the kitchen with the receiver to my ear, I knew it wasn't just Rahim Khan on the line. It was my past of unatoned sins. After I hung up, I went for a walk along Spreckels Lake on the northern edge of Golden Gate Park. The early-afternoon sun sparkled on the water where dozens of miniature boats sailed, propelled by a crisp breeze. Then I glanced up and saw a pair of kites, red with long blue tails, soaring in the sky. They danced high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills, floating side by side like a pair of eyes looking down on San Francisco, the city I now call home. And suddenly Hassan's voice whispered in my head: For you, a thousand times over. Hassan the harelilpped kite runner.

I sat on a park bench near a willow tree. I thought about something Rahim Khan said just before he hung up, almost as an afterthought. There is a way to be good again. I looked up at those twin kites. I thought about Hassan. Thought about Baba. Ali. Kabul. I thought of the life I had lived until the winter of 1975 came along and changed everything. And made me what I am today.

Dang. In 5 sentences, 88 words, he's hooked us. What did he see in the alley?

With the next 232 words he sets another hook. What does Khan mean, There is a way to be good again? And buries the first hook deeper.

Just one of those is enough to keep you going through a slow spot or two. Both of them are like a one-two punch. No way you're going to set this book down before you know the answers to those two questions.

By comparison, A Thousand Splendid Suns doesn't set a hook. He just starts telling a story. It's a good story, but the attention can wane even in a good story, especially if you're on an elliptical trainer.

Eventually the story gains enough complexity, nuance and momentum that you're not likely to abandon it. But I loved The Kite Runner because from the first paragraph it was never in question. I was going to finish that book.

My take is that Hosseini's second book is as good as his first, but the opening of the first was better. This is still a great read and I recommend it.