Alain Robbe-Grillet, The Erasers (1953)

Robbe-Grillet, Alain, Les Gommes, Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1953
Translated by Richard Howard as The Erasers, New York: Grove Press, 1964

The Erasers at Goodreads
Rating: 8/10

Another brief review for Friday's Forgotten Books. For additional reviews please visit Patti Abbott's pattinase.

"Sometimes you go through hell and high water to find a murderer, and the crime hasn't even been committed."

Perhaps the most notable member of the group of experimental authors practicing the tenets of the Nouveau Roman (New Novel), Alain Robbe-Grillet's first novel is a fascinating, fun and frustrating murder mystery. It deals with a detective by the name of Wallas who is sent to an unnamed town to investigate the murder of Economics Professor Daniel Dupont. The murder is believed to be linked to a series of eight other murders occurring across the country over the past eight days, each at precisely 7:30 P.M. What's different about this particular murder is that there is no body, and moreover, unknown to Wallas but revealed early to the reader, is that Dupont is in fact not dead.

There are many wonderful aspects to this novel. The setting itself is incredibly well designed, and the nameless town becomes a familiar geography. Characters are colourful, at times comical and often pathetic, like the detective Wallas who is cursed with poor phrenological features which he suspects are linked to his constant failings, while he roams the streets almost at a loss as to how to investigate. The premise that his career is to be judged on the merits of whether or not he can solve a murder that never happened is masterful tragic irony. His fate is perfectly summed up by the fact that he regularly pauses in his investigations to search for a pencil eraser that he remembers well but that may not even exist. Erasers are plentiful throughout the novel, from the pencil erasers to more subtle suggestions, such as pervasive forgetfulness, changing or replacing facts and even actual events, along with the conspiracies that these nine murders were part of a series of hits conducted by hit-men, or "erasers."

The novel contains a number of recurring elements, from notions of duality to the idea that everything and everyone is mirrored. Wallas has an uncanny resemblance to the main suspect in this case, and is constantly being mistaken for that other, shadowy individual. People and objects have their twins and their alternates, as do events which are constantly repeating themselves. It is almost as though  the novel is only one link from a never-ending cycle. The bar that opens and closes the novel is described as an aquarium, so that all its inhabitants are fish living in a glass bowl, swimming around in eternal circles.

What is frustrating about The Erasers is the need for patience, particularly during the earlier pages. This is not a novel that can be read in bits and spurts; I became wholly immersed when I blocked out the world and sat reading for several hours without interruption. I don't always have the time (or the discipline) for such intensive reading, but with Robbe-Grillet I found it to be a rewarding necessity.

Casual Shorts 5: Robert Bloch, "Block That Metaphor" (1958)

Bloch, Robert, "Block That Metaphor"

Bibliography

• Gold, H.L., Editor, Galaxy Magazine, October 1958, Galaxy Publishing Corporation. pp 134-144
• Bloch, Robert, Atoms and Evil, NY: Fawcett Gold Medal, August 1962. pp. 60-69

Rating: 7/10

The extraordinarily prolific and often entertaining Robert Bloch has been continuously anthologized in various genre collections. Yet while some stories such as "Beetles" (Weird Tales, December 1938), "Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper" (Weird Tales, July 1943) and "The Man Who Collected Poe" (Famous Fantastic Mysteries, October 1951) appear and re-appear to seemingly no end, others such as "Block that Metaphor" are a surprisingly rare find. I managed to locate a copy of the original publication at the university library, who were kind enough to grant me permission to photocopy the pages of the archive-bound Galaxy journals. I've since given myself permission to post images of these copies to share with you all.

What is "surprising" about the story's rarity is that it is a great example of Bloch's fusion between humour and horror, and features a surprise ending which makes readers emit an odd sound as they struggle between the expulsion of air while laughing, to the ingestion of air in their expression of shock.

Moreover, "Block That Metaphor" is a science fiction story, a genre that Bloch, as prolific as he was, practiced only occasionally, though often successfully, having been awarded a prestigious Hugo for another oft-anthologized piece, "That Hell-Bound Train" (Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, September 1958). In fact, "Block That Metaphor" may have been eternally overshadowed by the well-received Hugo-winner, which was published in MF&SF one month earlier.

In this story of the future, humans have recently struck relations with an otherworldly race. Members of this race have the ability to pick up subvocalizations, described as those little conscious thoughts we might have yet don't fully vocalize. Furthermore, they have a tendency to take statement and expression literally. The race is deficient in (though not absent of) emotion, and are overly practical, so that the colourful English language is often lost on them. And it doesn't end there. Since members of this race have no use of noses, they instead wear different attachments in the middle of their faces depending on the situation. Attachments are often ornamental, though some have more practical uses, such as a drill or sharp blade, should the need arise.

Otherworldly ambassador Vorm, is visiting diplomat Lane Borden at the Embassy, as they are attempting to reach an agreement concerning extraterrestrial mining. A final important detail concerning these aliens is that are coated by a kind of natural armour which prevents them from being harmed in gaseous or extreme temperature galactic mining sites. It's this coating that has led to the nickname "mechs," as in mechanical beings. This meeting is being held in secret, since the general population of Earth has not quite accepted the creatures, especially since, with their knack of taking things literally, including subvocalizations, they have accidentally harmed a few members of Earth's first contact crew. Lane has quite the task ahead of him, dealing carefully with this unusual visitor with all the pressure of a mob outside the Embassy, a large group protesting the current negotiations. During all of this he must also attend to his beautiful bride-to-be, Margaret Zurich, a talented classical pianist. Though Vorm has little emotion, he does love music, so that there is potential for equal footing and mutual understanding.

But since this is a Robert Bloch story, we receive a nice little package that includes a twist that is both horrific and humourous. Though the story exists primarily for its twist ending, Bloch manages nonetheless to create a fairly well-rounded story, detailing a truly unique alien and creating an appropriate situation and its corresponding circumstances. Had the story been half its length, solely fixated on the great ending, it would likely have been forgettable, but Bloch did well in expanding it, and though the plot is nothing revolutionary, for a ten-pager it is quite fun and effective.

The page-sized drawing on page 140 is by Martinez, and details the first meeting between Vorm and Margaret, who is keeping her composure while in the presence of such an alarmingly different humanoid. Martinez captures Vorm quite well as per Bloch's description. What's specifically effective is that we don't see Vorm's face, and this idea of nose attachments is left to our own vivid imaginations. Though this scene lies in the future, the human characters are throwbacks from the 1950s. Those headphone-like objects Lane and Margaret are wearing are devices that help to block out subvocalizations, a preventative measure. Nice shadows and detail nonetheless, and the meeting selected for the story's art is appropriate, since it eventually leads to disaster.

All These Little Worlds: Stories from the Fiction Desk 2 (2011)

Redman, Rob, editor, All These Little Worlds: Stories from the Fiction Desk 2, London: The Fiction Desk, fall 2011.

For my review of Various Authors, please visit this page.
For The Fiction Desk website, please slide over here. (And if you can, please support them by subscribing.)
For the Goodreads page, take a free ride to this link.

Having enjoyed the stories included in Various Authors, and having been introduced to various authors, I was looking forward to The Fiction Desk's follow-up, All These Little Worlds (which for a few months I kept mis-reading as All These Little Words). No matter, since the anthology contains nine worlds, each in turn containing several words. As with its predecessor, this collection is a nice mixture of straightforward literary realism with some fine examples of the literary fantastic. What I've liked so far about these Fiction Desk anthologies (well, the first two at least) is the inclusion of literary fantasy (or contemporary urban magic realism, if you prefer). I've stopped reading many journals due to their lack of imagination, since practically every story starts reading just like its neighbour (this was the case with the respected yet ordinary Glimmer Train). There is much of the ordinary in literature, and not enough of the extraordinary. The combination of realism and literary fantasy is well balanced.

(As an aside, I use the term "literary fantasy" simply not to confuse with straightforward fantasy, as that word standing by itself conjures for many sword and sorcery and little hobbits.)

In one way Worlds ups the ante over Authors simply by including a novelette. A risky move for a 167-page anthology, since Lambert's thirty-pager takes up about 18% of the anthology. One bad long story can drag the entire book down 18%. That's pressure. Yet the publication does well, selecting a strong work and placing it nicely as the third story following something far lighter in tone.

Of the nine stories I liked eight. As part of The Fiction Desk's award for the "best" story in each of its anthologies, Worlds authors voted James Benmore's "Jaggers & Crown" as the best story in the anthology. A truly fine story among many, but my vote goes to Halimah Marcus's "Dress Code," a real surprise.

"Jaggers & Crown" by James Benmore. 7/10

On a morning just like any other, Kevin Crown is settled with breakfast and the paper and notices an unusual heading in the obituaries: "Kevin Crown 1930-2011." Naturally, reading the surprisingly short entry, Crown begins to reminisce about his career as straight man to the incomparable and risqué comedian of the 1950s and 60s, Sonny Jaggers.

The story of old-time comedic duo Jaggers and Crown is familiar, and its familiarity helps place it in the annals of the golden age of western entertainment. Yet of course the duo is fictional, but Benmore managers to create a convincing and interesting bio of the team, wonderfully brought to life through Crown's own voice. We have an alcoholic gay front man in the 1950s who is redefining radio and early television comedy, while battling demons in a bottle (and through the form of a nutty clairvoyant). The story is told in a light and straightforward manner, ending on a kind of punchline to a subplot that is worthy of early radio. What I liked most about the story is the tragedy of not Jaggers, but that of Crown. While Jaggers died young and in his prime, Crown was destined to live until an eighty year-old nearly forgotten side-kick. This is not an element at the forefront of the story, which helps to heighten its inherent layer of tragedy, as the well meaning Crown becomes the side-kick of his own life story.

"Swimming with the Fishes" by Jennifer Moore. 7/10

At the pet shop Mum gets her children a diver. His name is John. A diver is evidently a little man who lives and swims around a household aquarium. The unnamed narrator is the little girl who is totally taken by the diver, while her little brother Davy wants something a little more exciting.

I appreciate The Fiction Desk's openness to literary fantasy and the unconventional. In Various Authors we had some great selections, most notably Patrick Whittaker's great piece "Celia and Harold." While "Swimming with the Fishes" is a good fun read, it lacks something above the element of fun. The ending sort of transforms the piece into a bit of a joke, though (without revealing anything) there is the implication that modern children are so spoiled and self-involved that the life of others has little value to them. Spoiler: Davy's final act of flushing John is notable in that while the diver is a pet, he is also sort of human, and if we are to continue along this thread, how will future children respond to actual humans when they cease to be amusing? This act is foreshadowed by the story's ominous title.

"Pretty Vacant" by Charles Lambert. 7/10

Lambert's novelette features teenaged Italian Francesca, daughter of a separated and self-absorbed wealthy couple, who is sent to the UK for the summer to a boarding school filled with seemingly unwanted wealthy kids. Her mom tells her that with the recent string of kidnappings in Milan, Francesca will be safer elsewhere, yet the girl feels she is being dumped. She is soon clung to by a spoiled Spanish girl named Pilar, and befriends homeless boy Garry, with whom they plot a little kidnapping of their own, which they title "Operation Pretty Vacant," or OPV.

The term and title "Pretty Vacant" can be attributed to a variety of story aspects. We are dealing with spoiled and unseeing teenagers from different classes. Sure we feel sorry for their having been abandoned, but like their materially-driven parents they are wholly self-interested and motivated by childish emotion. These are teenagers who won't grow up, not just because their circumstances have dragged them down, but because notions of self are so ingrained that they live by childlike instinct. There is hope, however, as we learn that the mature teacher Elizabeth was herself once an abandoned teenager yet has managed to survive and work in an environment designed to help others.

"Room 307" by Mischa Hiller. 6/10

At a hotel restaurant a married man with a new set of twins is dining alone. Waiting for his supper to arrive he phones his wife, who surprisingly brings up their recent difficulties related to the absence of intimacy. Soon thereafter a beautiful woman enters the restaurant and asks to sit with him; it is clear he is married and all the male gazes are fixated on her. Soon he is aware she might be flirting with him, and a battle between his needs and his love ensues. "Room 307" takes its time to build up and appears directionless at times. Clear, concrete writing, however, keeps the reader in the story to discover a piece about relationships, primary needs and the notion of selflessness.

"Dress Code" by Halimah Marcus. 8/10

New private school English instructor Linus is having some difficulty coping, not with his class but with the consequences of the recent Casual Friday dress code the female students are abusing. We discover, however, that Linus's coping lies beyond the mundane tribulations of a high school teacher, that he has always been coping, with women and with life. The one person he feels who can, in a sense, save him, or give him some kind of purpose, is the seemingly non-conformist student Amanda. However, just like any sixteen year-old, and despite her maturity, keen sensitivity and bright future, she is nonetheless caught up with being a teenager, and Linus's focus becomes utterly misguided. The highly social conscious teenagers are clearly beyond Linus's understanding, and his unconventional yet accidental approach to his class's curiosity costs him a good deal.

A very fine story with strong character delineations, it quickly grasps my vote for best story of this issue. At times comedic, the story borders on the tragic, illuminating the very real hyperbolic misunderstandings between generations and between students and instructors. More than that, however, the story is about an outcast in a world that has rejected him, and his tragic inability to find an appropriate way to return.

"The Romantic" by Colin Corrigan. 5/10

Martin is a former printing press worker who, after an accident at the plant that cost him his left arm, lives in a small cottage writing poetry. Bad poetry. Verse upon verse of bad poetry. About love and daffodils and sunrises and such. He meets a heartbroken Connecticut traveller at the local pub, and will soon come to an unfortunate awakening. The bad poetry is hilarious, but the story loses a little with some of its own weak, abstract prose, such as "Details begin to float into position about her face, like strokes of water colour adding definition to her presence." According to his bio, Corrigan, a filmmaker, is hoping to translate "The Romantic" into a short film. I'd be curious to see it.

"After All the Fun We Had" by Ryan Shoemaker. 4/10

A high school official explains how he went to great lengths to maintain student enrollment. I have never been a fan of stories that act as semi-comedic rants, or of any kind of ranting, so this one isn't for me. There were a couple of amusing moments, but to me it's a question of style and approach, and this is one approach I can do without.

"'Glenda'" by Andrew Jury. 6/10

Recently separated Charlie now spends his free Saturday evenings with his former mother-in-law "Glenda," a boisterous woman he can only picture in quotation marks. Oddly though, their relationship is evolving rather positively, and Charlie realizes he's beginning to look forward to her visits. While I often claim stories should be shorter, I wanted this one to be longer and to follow the progress of character and relationship evolution. The story is a good combination of drama and humour with great character focus.

"Get on Green" by Jason Atkinson. 7/10

Little Tonya wants to "get on green" today; essentially to get onto the positive roster at school. But good behaviour doesn't come naturally to her, and the pressures of adult expectations and her mother's struggles have their adverse effects. A great read, surprisingly touching with a good mix of the hopeful and the defeated.

Henry Morrison editor, Come Seven / Come Death, 1965

Morrison, Henry, Come Seven / Come Death, New York: Pocket Books 50122, April 1965. 147 pages


This is for Friday's Forgotten Books. For more forgotten books, please visit Patti Abbott's pattinase.

Though a fairly obscure book, it was covered for FFB two years ago by Randy Johnson at Not the Baseball Pitcher.


When I was a kid my parents invested in a small apartment building. They didn't own it for very long: the area was sketchy, the work was just too much, and a large number of tenants turned out to be problematic. Among the problems were midnight moves; people jumping back rent by moving out in the middle of the night. The only advantage to these midnight moves is that tenants were forced to leave some belongings behind and my parents had to content themselves with rent replacements, such as furniture, a kitchen knife they still use, assorted miscellanea, and of course books. Lots of books. From first edition Nancy Drew titles to Harlequins from the 1970s, along with a wide assortment of mystery paperbacks. Many of these paperbacks we later sold to second hand shops, which I now regret as they are (or might be) collectables. Among those was this tiny anthology I hung onto and have finally gotten around to reading.

The anthology is an interesting mix, a selection of the great mystery detectives from the 1950s brought together in the mid-1960s. The stories are original to the anthology, no reprints, and clearly some of the veteran authors either had fresher ideas for their aging detectives, or took the project more seriously than others. Which is to say there is quite a discrepancy between the quality of the different stories.


"The Guilty Party" by Richard S. Prather. 7/10

"There are days you feel euphoric for no particular reason; there are babes who make you feel euphoric for particular reasons." A heart-stoppingly beautiful woman walks into detective Shell Scott's office asking him to look at this thing under her bed, "a little funny metal thing." Scott, melting at the sight of this woman, is prepared to do anything for her.

Prather's noir is stylish, the prose floating on well constructed witty sentences. The characters are simple, though appropriately so for such a whimsical piece. The only disappointment is that the ending is not as good as the beginning, and the solution to the mystery itself is clear early on, especially considering there is only one suspect. This isn't too problematic, though, as the story is not about the mystery but is instead invested in the comedy, and does a fine job at that. Reading this story for a second time was just as entertaining as the first. I wonder if this story has seen much light since leading this little paperback.

"The Corpse Maker" by Harold Q. Masur. 6/10

When New York defence attorney Scott Jordan's petty thieving client Bertram Heckler doesn't show for his morning hearing, Jordan rushes over to his apartment and discovers the small-time crook beaten nearly to death. In a few hours Jordan encounters a second near-corpse, a dead man, and a number of crooked individuals. And of course there's the requisite beautiful dame. A good little mystery, fast-paced and told through the charms of tough guy DA Jordan. There's also an amusing early reference to LSD: "What's that?" Jordan asks. "A drug used by psychiatrists. It's called instant analysis. Cleans out the subconscious like lye in a sceptic tank."

(Masur was a regular contributor to the top mystery magazines of the 1950s-1970s, including Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine. For Hitchcock, or more appropriately, for Random House, he ghost-edited a couple of hardcover anthologies following the passing of Robert Arthur, including Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Stories to Be Read with the Lights On (1973). While I generally like Masur's short stories, I never thought he was as good an anthologist as his predecessor Arthur.)


"The Memory Guy" by Henry Kane. 5/10

Peter Chambers is helping rising actress Rosanne Hamilton with some phone calls she's been receiving, calls threatening the life of her father, Judge David Hamilton. Meanwhile, the judge has threatened to disinherit his daughter, demanding she leave the stage or he will bequeath his fortune to two colleagues, including her recently separated husband George Hudson, known as "the memory guy" due to his photographic memory.

Kane's story points so clearly to the mystery's solution that, as I was reading, I was immediately piecing the parts together. Like one of those giant piece jigsaw puzzles for kids, the ones with only six pieces that you know where to place each component only by glancing their way. The idea is ok but it's lazily constructed and certain parts feel rushed that's it's simply not a very good read. Oddly, and irritatingly, the story blurb on the back cover even gives the ending away. Perhaps the person responsible figured out the mystery on page one and assumed it was so evident that it was not a solution but a piece of the puzzle.


"With Frame to Match" by Frank Kane. 3/10

Detective Johnny Liddell receives an early morning visitor, a blonde bombshell who asks him to help her brother who is being framed for murder in a nearby small town. So Johnny has his way with said bombshell and heads off to the small town to stumble into some organized crime. And he does in fact stumble into it, since rather than investigating and figuring things out detective-like, someone tells him what's going on. Then we get more exposed breasts, full ones, and some fighting with fists, knives, guns and an open window fifteen floors up. (For whatever reason this small town has some tall buildings.)

Not a good story. The emphasis on voluptuous blondes and redheads with cascading hair and full breasts with a sort-of mystery conveniently tossed in does not make a good story. I know it's 1965, but the fact that Liddell sleeps with the blonde sister when she's terrified for her brother's life is tasteless. Liddell is, in this story at any rate, not much of a detective, just a womanizing, weapon-wielding tough guy. And the "frame to match" business is poorly executed; essentially Liddell speculates that the witnesses who signed off on the the blonde's brother's photo, pinning him with the murder, signed the back of the photograph unaware that it had been stuck to photo of the real killer. Yet this isn't proven, just tossed in as a theory which everyone's supposed to lap up 'cause he's the hero of the story. Sigh.

If I'm ever falsely imprisoned, please don't call in this guy.


"Too Much Like Murder" by Jonathan Craig. 8/10

"Perhaps--like so many other unpleasant things in this life--it will just have to run its course."

Neal Cranston is murdered in his basement, and Detective Pete Selby is called in to investigate. A wealthy and reclusive man, Cranston spent his time repairing old jukeboxes and nickelodeons. He was also a soft man, much to the disgust of his proud brother Howard and his spiteful wife Elaine. Yet for a reclusive man there seem to be innumerable suspects, like the pretty model Bonnie Lambert, her jealous and obsessive admirer Wayne Ferris, Elaine's lover bartender Vince Miller, and the mysterious Roy Stark.

I was glued to this story, its various characters and convoluted relationships. What appears to be a fairly straightforward mystery, with Selby seeking out suspects and interviewing them in due course, transforms into tragedy, and the end is worthy of its suspenseful investigation. I know Craig was big in his time but this is probably the first of his works I've read, and having read it I will make a note to seek out more. Hopefully this tragic piece has made its way into an anthology or two.


"The Shakedown" by Richard Deming. 6/10

Manville "Manny" Moon meets friends at the classy El Patio resto club just when a man is being tossed out. Unfortunately the consequence of this act manifests in a bomb being later tossed in through a window, killing a patron. Moon spots the culprit as he flees, and suspects that the affair is part of a recent shakedown in which a crime syndicate is extorting money from neighbourhood restaurants in return for protection.

Though the story is a fairly straightforward mystery, the denoument is quite good, another piece of noir tragedy. Fisticuffs and beautiful women play their parts, but their parts are necessary and not over-the-top.


"Baby Sister" by Stephen Marlowe. 4/10

Chester Drum is in Cannes on vacation when he is hired by expensive prostitute Caroline Thevenin to shadow her baby sister. Thing is, innocent sister Gabrielle recently walked in on Caroline and learned at sight of her sister's profession, and in her shock and dismay has been spending Caroline's savings on drink and gambling. The shortest of the stories in the little anthology, "Baby Sister" is quite forgettable. There is nothing remarkable, original or unexpected that occurs, the plot structure is a little sloppy with all the backtracking as to how Drum got involved with Thevenin. And the last line made me groan.

Joe McKinney, Dead City (2006)

McKinney, Joe, Dead City, Pinnacle Books (Kensington Publishing), November 2006 (below, right)
___________, Dead City, Pinnacle Books (Kensington Publishing), October 2010 (further down, left)

Rating: 6/10
Joe McKinney at Goodreads.

Well in advance of the no longer recent zombie rage I was hooked on the celluloid dead, but only recently have I ventured into the world of zombies in print. The walking dead is a great concept, adaptable to a variety of socialist agendas, everything from consumerism and environmentalism to the facets of expanding urbanism, while being outrageously violent, vile, and often exciting. My foray into print zombies has been a little lukewarm, my initial excitement walled up by disappointment. John Joseph Adams's anthology The Living Dead proved to be a mixed bundle, the scale unfortunately tipping toward the negative side (with a few strong stories, though, including Dan Simmons's notable "Last Year's Class Picture"); Brian Keene's The Rising is now notable only for being among the worst books I've ever read (see my review at Goodreads); J.L. Bourne's Day by Day Armageddon was entertaining, but nonetheless average due to its flat tone and the fact that the narrator refuses to give his allies their own voice. With zombie literature I was hoping for some fine satire, social criticism and dark perspectives on the instinctive nature of human behaviour. Clearly I was hoping for too much.


Recommended some time ago on a couple of discussion boards, Joe McKinney's Dead City was a good balance between trashy zombie novel and social criticism. The novel is the first part of a series titled Dead World, and was followed in 2010 by Apocalypse of the Dead (Pinnacle Books).

Nothing earth-shattering, McKinney nonetheless manages to fuse his book with violent urban zombie adventure and a few scattered comments on the decline of modern society. There were elements I liked and elements I liked less, but I appreciate his attempt to cover so many elements common to zombie fiction. Besides the violent action and social touches, we are given a narrow geographical setting, philosophical brooding, scientific speculation, episodic scenarios, varied characters of varying race and gender, character tensions, dialogue, family drama, a range of arsenal, slow deaths and quick deaths, and slow zombies and quick moving zombies. (I wonder if he followed a checklist while plotting the text.) Surprisingly the end result is not a mess, and though my reading slowed up somewhere around page one hundred, it soon picked up again and I genuinely enjoyed the read. Moreover, on top of everything we are even given closure (which I assume opens up again in the wake of its sequel).

My preferred elements included the focus on police procedure, and the personal character elements which heightened the overall drama. McKinney was once a police officer and is clearly comfortable writing from the point of view of a young cop trying to survive a zombie uprising. The knowledge of everything from weapons, police vehicles and police procedure make the read interesting and somewhat educational. In fact, protagonist and narrator Eddie Hudson is believable as both cop and brand new father. The attention to Hudson's concern for wife and son are not at all sappy, but are rather welcome in the midst of zombie gore. What makes Dead City a good read is that despite including so many elements, nothing is really overdone (except for maybe the death of a certain cop early on). In fact, I would have been happy to read less action and more character-driven narrative. Yes, even in a zombie novel.

I couldn't quite buy much of the scientific speculation, shared primarily through high school science teacher and all-around nerd and jackass Ken Stoler. I cannot believe that the zombie virus places its infected in an animated stated while keeping host body alive, especially since so many were shot to pieces and continued walking. Blood loss alone would have killed the human, let alone having organs blown away. Even the advanced decaying process described would kill the infected through so many other means that the "dead" would never manage to walk.

"I have the terrible feeling that what we're seeing out there is the failure of our community, that all of that death is simply the manifestation of our lack of place, a sense of who we are and what we mean to each other." McKinney's philosophic treaty is broad and a little general (and it should read "one another"), but I appreciate his attempt at placing the epidemic in some kind of social context. Some additional ideas from other characters would've been welcome. Hopefully we get more of this in the second book.

A few things I would have done without. The early references to zombie movies mar the suspension of disbelief as they place the story in a fictional context. Moreover, if the characters are familiar with the dead of Romero and others, they would immediately shoot at the zombie heads rather than their chests. Anyone familiar with the genre would instinctively go for the head shot.

SPOILER ALERT. There are some missed character opportunities, particularly with Channel 9 reporter Sandy Navarro. There is a three-way tension built into the story when the sexy reporter appears, and I was getting psyched up for some character tension amid the urban chaos, yet it doesn't go anywhere, and when the three drive off from their meeting, Sandy becomes a non-character (as though leaving the church turns her into a zombie), and she sits quietly in the back seat until she's devoured. Literally.

While the first person narration is surprisingly good, with consistent and fluid sentences, the dialogue is at times weak, particularly with the bantering between cops Hudson and Marcus. The humour also doesn't work as it feels forced.

Finally, the occasional typos and grammatical errors were irritating. Copy editors should learn the proper use of lay and lie.

The good outweighs the bad and at some point, when the mood grips me, I'll likely pick up its sequel.

Blogging: Comments

I enjoy receiving comments and emails, whether they are thankful, informative, chatty, critical or merely pointing out blunders. It's nice to think there's a community out there getting acquainted through one another's articles & posts. The sharing of knowledge and information, thoughts and ideas, is important, and the internet allows for quick and easy sharing. It's also nice to know you are being not only read, but that your writing is generating some form of thought.

Since I started this blog I've kept comment options open to all. I believe in freedom of speech as well as freedom and encouragement of response or rebuttle. Anyone should be able to respond to my articles regardless of their affiliation; no one should be a member of blogspot or google or any organization or institution. I'll deal with the spam (I've received only two spam posts, promptly deleted); I don't think I'll ever be popular enough for the efforts of spammers to pay off so I don't think my blog will ever be inundated, and what individual spammers wish to waste their time with is up to them.

Recently I received my first hate comment. I appreciated the time the author took to read my article (I assume he read one), and then to comment on it. The great effort he mustered up in order to articulate so effectively and so elaborately his feelings for my blogging. His words will remain with me for hours, even days to come. He wrote in that inimitable, poetic style, the brief yet effective words, "you suck." All in lower case. Such wisdom, such accuracy; he is likely a minimalist, and his brief comment carries between the lines (or I should say characters) such depth. Such passion. There is little mystery behind the note, though. It wasn't a comment on my article but a slur aimed directly at me. I monitor my blog visits and the activity during the days prior to his post points clearly to the author's identity. I'm certain the comment had nothing to do with the Tales from the Darkside post he tagged it to. I won't post my speculation, however, since I don't wish to embarrass him (most definitely a he), nor do I wish to embarrass myself in case I am wrong (a possibility, let's not kid ourselves).

Having read that missive I decided not to let just anyone post on my blog. I can't help it if some people choose to be rude and unintelligent, let alone uninspired in their expression to tell me what is really on their minds. I can however help to lessen, though minutely, rudeness and stupidity from spreading over the world wide web. Blocking anonymous commenting will likely lessen such uncreative and uninspiring responses. There is enough of it on the internet, and enough of it in the world, and I'd rather not be a catalyst in adding more.

But then I changed my mind. Thanks to allowing anonymous commenting I've received some good, productive comments, including two people pointing out errors I've made (one in a Darkside character's name, and the other concerning the death of Mr. Charles W. Runyon, whom I was pleased to learn is quite alive). Thanks to such astute observations, people are helping to improve on my articles by taking the time to correct me. I truly appreciate such devotion.

Besides, the great thing about hosting a blog is that I have the ability to delete whatever comment I wish to. In a year and a half I've deleted three: two spam and the slur that prompted this post. I will never delete a post that points out an error I have made; indeed I welcome these as they are appropriate and necessary for the sake of accuracy. I don't think I'm playing at Big Brother by choosing to eliminate some comments; I am not altering information nor am I doing it for the sake of self-interest, otherwise I'd keep only the praise and correct my errors without acknowledging the worthy correctors. I will, however, make a note when I do delete a comment, and hence leave a ghost of the unwanted, just to remind myself of the kind of society the internet is, and to keep hoping that the winds of change will make the world wide web a better, more respectful place. Some might say I am an idealist, but maybe it's just that I suck.

If the author of that statement wishes to post something of value, even anonymously, please go ahead. If that author is shy, then send me an email. Please feel free to contradict anything I have said, but have a point, make it clear, and I might end up even agreeing with you. Proper spelling is a plus.

Otherwise you'll get deleted.

Briefly: John Fowles, The Collector (1963)

Fowles, John, The Collector, London: Jonathan Cape, 1963. (pictured right)
_____, The Collector, London: Pan Books, 1972. (my edition, pictured below)

The Collector at Goodreads
Rating: 8/10

Despite being a great novel, I was slightly disappointed with John Fowles's The Collector. The novel tells the story of social outcast butterfly collector Frederick Clegg who, after having come into a considerable sum of money, kidnaps young art student Miranda Grey and keeps her captive in his basement. The first part of the book is told through Clegg's point of view, while the second is told through Miranda's, with a brief return to Clegg at the end.

The novel is great in its treatment of character and how it plays with the readers' sympathies. Clegg is an unusual kidnapper as he does nothing to hurt Miranda, but rather fawns over her, tolerates her every mood and does his best to please her, though with the exception of giving her her freedom. Despite being clearly disturbed and doing something terribly wrong, he is not "evil" the way in which we imagine kidnappers to be. During his narrative we grow to like Miranda, who is a spunky and intelligent twenty year-old. I was rooting for her to get the best of Clegg in their little game of outwitting each other, or rather of Miranda trying to outwit Clegg's obsessively careful game of warden. I found the first part fascinating because, though I was rooting for Miranda, it was all told through Clegg's point of view.

Jarring is the point of view shift half-way through, yet it is meant to be jarring (like this sentence). Now we are reading Miranda's journal, and our impression of her soon changes drastically. She is an unbelievably arrogant woman who thinks highly of herself and looks down without hesitation on others, including Clegg. Like Clegg she too is the collector of the title, as she collects and examines and catalogues the people around her. Of course there is no physical collecting on her part, though she has learned to keep herself captive amid her arrogant and narrow world view; there's no pinning of wings and keeping anything under glass, yet her sharp mind and sense of self allows her to pin people metaphorically, and examine them through the glass of her eyes. While I was still rooting for her to escape since Clegg's crime is greater and more accessible, she was no longer the spunky Miranda that we meet through Clegg's point of view.

My disappointment in the novel is fairly basic. I was so involved with Clegg's point of view that the switch to Miranda was not overly welcome. While I did get into Miranda's story, it lumbered on and became a little repetitive. Fowles makes his arguments clear and there was no need to have so many lengthy spiels in her diary, or so many scenes devoted to Miranda's playboy mentor G.P. Once I'd finished the novel, however, I found myself liking it more than when I was reading these sequences, at times wanting them to end quickly. With The Collector Fowles has given us a fascinating read incorporating two characters that are simultaneously likeable and despicable, and a finish which, though a little predictable for our time, is nonetheless quite disturbing.