The Agency Delta, by Blake Schwendiman

October 08 2006 (04:17:00)

I use gmail; I love it. One of its little features, or quirks, is a thing they call "web clips. " Web clips are little teasers about different things on the web, often news articles, new products, practically anything you might find on the Internet, which after all is simply practically everything.

Some time ago, I think early in September, one of these little clips sent me to The Agency Delta, by Blake Schwendiman, a book available online in pdf format for free. If you'd like to read The Agency Delta, visit Ms. Schwendiman's website.

I have a weakness for thrillers, mysteries, and to some extent, science-fiction. The Agency Delta is all three. It's a pretty well-done tour deforce set a few decades into the future, involving an incredibly rich leader of a giant high-tech corporation, his amazing yet unlikely discovery of a very peculiar phenomenon on the Internet, his evil competitors, and his very good friend, a man named Ramesh, who is unusually ethical.

It's a good read, very entertaining, and I am grateful to the author for making her work available for free. I'm not sure what the business model is going to be for writers in the future, but I think she may be onto something. New writers with novel-length works have a tough time getting published on paper these days. With the availability of inexpensive (even free) web hosting and software it is not a major feat for such an author to publish her work herself. How to publicize it and how to make a living are two very good questions, but Schwendiman has made a very good start.

I wish her well.

Saving Fish From Drowning, by Amy Tan

October 08 2006 (05:36:00)

Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2005. 474 pages.

Amy Tan's characters are always drawn with exquisite skill. Tan's people and their stories are believable and genuine -- even when they are completely fantastic.

Saving Fish From Drowning does not lack fantasy: Its narrator, Bibi Chen, is dead. The story of her friends' trip to Burma, their kidnapping by Karen villagers, the chaotic search for them, are told from her perspective -- that of a ghost, the unquiet spirit of the woman who was to have been their tour guide who accompanies her friends on their trip as she was meant to in life. This omniscient observer makes for a unique sort of first-person/third-person narrative.

I don't mean to make it sound as if this construct were unwieldy or in the least bit intrusive. On the contrary, it is artfully done, entertaining, and comes off as the most natural thing in the world. Of course, Tan has delved into the invention of characters from the afterlife before.

The story of Bibi's friends unlucky adventure in Burma allows us to see these privileged Americans against the backdrop of one of the most benighted countries on the planet where they might actually find themselves. Tan has done a good job of illustrating Burma's plight. She does not sugar-coat the misery of Burma's citizens nor the heavy-handed totalitarian military dictators that rule them. As contemporary commentary this novel is excellent, but this does not detract from its literary excellence or simple entertainment value.

I have again been delighted by an Amy Tan novel.

The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, by Tom Wolfe

September 17 2006 (19:36:00) ( 0 views )

372 pages. Bantam Books, October 1969.
On the cover of this timeworn paperback on loan from a friend (thanks, Doc!) is a blurb from a NY Times Review. It says "The best book on the hippies."

I'm not sure that this book is "on the hippies," but it certainly is "on" the Merry Pranksters, a loosely knit group of LSD aficionados centered around Ken Kesey in the 1960s.

Tom Wolfe's portrayal of the life and times of the Pranksters is poetic and appropriate. He uses some far-out prose tricks and insterted poetry to create the psychedelic atmosphere necessary to tell the tale of this subcultural bubble.

Kesey and his crowd were most assuredly heavy users of many drugs. Wolfe's recounting of the heroic consumption of speed in many forms amongst Pranksters and near-Pranksters is awe-inspiring in itself. Add to this the frequent, intense LSD trips, the constant consumption of cannabis, and the other psychedelic hors d'ouevres at this years-long party and one has a testimony to the durability of the human body in the face of diverse chemical assaults.

Wolfe quotes Kesey on page 4 from a letter to Larry McMurtry. Wolfe's description of the letters:

"...wild and ironic, written like a cross between William Burroughs and George Ade...written in the third person..."

From the letters:

"...this young...happily-married-three-lovely-children father was a fear-crazed dope fiend in flight to avoid prosecution...

"...Once possessor of a phenomenal bank account...it was all his poor wife could do to scrape together eight dollars...

"What...brought [him] to so low a state in so short a time?...

"Dope!"

The book chronicles the many "Acid Tests," and long road trips in "Furthur," the Pranksters' bus. It's hard to really distill what happened on all these occasions -- it's hard to actually understand even while reading it -- this was some pioneering into alternative reality mixed with dropping out. Indeed, Kesey and the Pranksters disdained (and were disdained by) elements of the contemporary subculture that you might think they'd have been friendly with. But Kesey's country ways and directness were unacceptable to the elite among the Beats, and as he told the Vietnam Day Committee's rally: "you're playing their game."

Some time points:
1962: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
1964: Sometimes A Great Notion
April 1965:Kesey arrested for possession of marijuana
January 1966: The flight to Mexico to avoid prosecution
October 1966: Kesey sneaks back into the US, but is caught by the FBI near San Francisco.

What Kesey said about whether he would be writing any more: "I'd rather be a lightning rod than a seismograph." (p. 8)

Some of the Merry Pranksters:
Mountain Girl
Hassler
Paul Foster
Neal Cassady
Ken Babbs
Black Maria
Doris Delay
George Walker
Freewheeling Frank

On the Prankster lifestyle -- life "on the bus":

"...suddenly it hits me that for the Pranksters this is permanent. This is the way they live... sailing like gypsies along the Servicenter fringes, copping urinations, fencing with rotten looks... they have films and tapes of their duels with service-station managers...trying to keep their concrete bathrooms and empty Dispensa-towels safe from the Day-glo crazies..." (p. 16)

Day-glo was a fond toy of the Pranksters, its use is frequently mentioned.

Kesey's family:
wife: Faye
daughter: Shannon 6
sons: Zane 5, Jed 3

Here's a website with some Prankster history, etc.

The Murder Book, by Jonathan Kellerman

September 17 2006 (21:16:00)

Ah, yes. Another Kellerman. Another Alex Delaware and Milo Sturgis story, and absolutely fine from start to finish.

In this novel we learn about the split between Alex and Robin, which I discovered in a later novel with scant explanation. This is the penalty I pay for being a scattered and disorganized Kellerman fan.

The mystery of the "murder book" in the title, a scrapbook of ghoulish crime-scene photos sent anonymously to Delaware, takes us into Milo's past, uncovers a great deal of dirt in the LAPD at high levels (this is fiction, remember), and includes enough psychology to keep Dr. Delaware involved.

Alex and Milo in this story solve an old cold case from Milo's first months as a detective. It involves a young girl who disappears, and involves rich and powerful people in the Los Angeles area. Because of this, inquiries into the crime have been squelched in the past. But murder, as the bard said, will out, and people touched by the evil in this crime and the people around it eventually cause it to come to the attention of our two sleuths.

This was a great and entertaining read that lessened the discomfort provided by Delta Airlines in bringing me across the continent last month.

Libra, by Don DeLillo

September 04 2006 (13:29:00) ( 0 views )

I've been neglecting this project for a while -- perhaps Summer can take the blame. I finished reading Libra quite a while ago, keep meaning to write a little about it, but something always stops me.

Today, I determined to get started on this as I have other books in the pipe and before you know it I'll be seriously behind. In order to get into the mood and steal some ideas I looked the book up on Amazon.com and found some capsule reviews. The interesting observation about Libra that I gleaned from these reviews was that the book may be -- at least in part -- a study of how a novel can portray reality, or history, and at the same time be a work of fiction. One of the reviewers more or less posed the question: Why should we allow a novelist to tell us what really went on?

The essence of real mystery during my life is certainly embodied in the events of 22 November 1963. I was a bit shy of twelve years old then: not a little child but not yet quite an adolescent, either. It was very strange for me to experience the muffled drumbeats of mourning, the funeral parade for that fallen President that seemed to travel from coast to coast.

My parents were (and are) Republicans and did not like Kennedy, but they were as I recall shocked by the assassination. Little did we know that it was to be the first in an ugly string including the President's brother and Dr. Martin Luther King.

In 1963 I don't think I was at all aware of the Bay of Pigs operation. I do remember the Cuban missle crisis. Having been brought up with air-raid drills in school, and bomb shelters sporting that funny nuclear hazard symbol (it always looks like a reel of recording tape to me) my peers and I were well aware that our country's enemies had threatened to destroy us. But my understanding of all that went on in that time was very limited -- starved for information and begotten in the mind of a child.

A few years ago I read another novelistic interpretation of the Kennedy assassination in American Tabloid, by James Ellroy. Ellroy painted a picture of ruthless criinals, international spies, and politicians coming together in what was (in that story) the inevitable death of the President.

While De Lillo's characters are seldom admirable, they are not unsympathetic. His Oswald is disturbingly attractive; Jack Ruby a down-at-heel businessman in bad health, recruited to do the dirty work for the real Bad Guys.

Oswald's astrological sign was Libra, at least according to one of those reviewers I mentioned earlier. I'm no astrologer, but I do know that Libra has something to do with balance. How that works in this story is beyond me, but it's an interesting thought. Oswald as portrayed in Libra is anything but balanced. The book is a tragedy, presenting irresistible forces that move hapless characters to perform acts that they are seemingly powerless to avoid.

In Libra we follow Oswald through much of his short life. His mother is a study in dysfunction, an overbearing yet under-protective force in the young man's life. We follow him in to the Marine corps and then to the Soviet Union where he sought refuge from Capitalism and a country that rejected him as an outcast and a freak. He marries, becomes somewhat disillusioned with the People's Paradise, and returns home to the USA.

Meanwhile we are treated to an interwoven narrative about the other players in this tragedy.

"Nicholas Branch sits in the book-filled room ... the room of theories and dreams. He is in the fifteenth year of his labor ..."

Branch is researching and writing the definitive CIA analysis of the Kennedy assassination, a book that will never be read. His depressive, soundless labor makes a loom on which this story can be woven.

"American kitchens... where a man named Walter Everett, Jr., was sitting, thinking ... He was thinking about secrets."

Everett, known as Win, lives in sundrenched suburban silence with his very compliant wife Mary Frances, and his daughter. Everett is a somewhat psychologically damaged retired CIA agent. Together with other disenchanted warriors cheated of the assassination of Castro, he is lead toward the unspeakable -- but the hint grows stronger and stronger as the story progresses. These shady characters are awkward and frequently seem very stupid in their actions, but nonetheless move history forward to the demise of the President, and Oswald.

Libra is a quiet, thoughtful book about a violent obscenity. De Lillo is a student of America; he strives to capture our sanitized world, the calm surface of our culture under which pulses limitless mayhem unleashed on anyone or anything that goes against its stubborn will. His language is elegant, spare, polished to brilliance -- he wastes no words. Libra is not comforting, but it is fascinating, and not to be missed.

Crazy, a Father's Search Through America's Mental Health Madness, by Pete Earley

June 08 2006 (23:19:00) ( 0 views )

I've been putting off writing about this book because it's so very difficult to even think about its topic, and even more to write about it.

It is difficult to find words to adequately disparage the state of mental "healthcare" in this nation. If you doubt that there's a problem, I invite you to any large city. Walk around and ask why there are homeless people on the streets. Speak to any police officer, anyone who works in a hospital, jail or prison. Ask her or him if they have problems dealing with the mentally ill.

Pete Earley is an accomplished investigative journalist and writer whose life has been touched intimately by mental illness. His son suffers from bipolar disorder. Early's experiences trying to get help for his son inspired him to investigate the treatment of people with mental illness in this country. He did a thorough job, and the result is mostly disturbing.

One of the most frustrating aspects of having a loved one with such a disorder is that no matter how obvious or egregious their behavior and delusions may be, there is no good way to get them into treatment if they resist. And it is not unusual for a person with delusions, paranoia, mania, or depression to resist treatment. Indeed, many who suffer with these diseases feel that there is nothing wrong with them. It's the old joke, "I'm right, and the world's wrong." Furthermore, the effectiveness of treatment is inconsistent and undependable, which has led some patients to conclude that they are better off avoiding the "system" entirely.

Early's research includes a brief history of the last few decades during which we have seen the deinstitutionalization of the mentally ill, and its consequences.

"Tragically, deinstitutionalization [was a ] disaster. ...patients were discharged without any effort.. to link them to ... services -- if, in fact, there were any. President Kennedy's promise of $3 billion to create a safety net turned out to be a cruel lie... Congress never got around to financing community health centers.

"Chronically mentally ill patients -- psychotic and bewildered -- began appearing on street corners..."

The book is a very well written, unsettling chronicle of what we have done and not done about the people among us who suffer from disorders of the brain. Earley touches upon the many inadequacies of the legal system, the general ineffectiveness of the "healthcare" system, and the incredible apathy that this nation exhibits toward this entire subject.

We may look the other way, or cross the street, to avoid a deluded person wandering by, talking to voices we can't hear. We may think that it is a problem that "other people" have. But every one of us is touched by this in some way. The sheer numbers of mentally ill people around us -- both diagnosed and undiagnosed -- should be enough to make this a certainty. But -- as Earley reminds us -- what exactly makes any of us "sane" people immune? Who can say that he or she will never suffer from a mental illness? And if that happens, how then will we feel about this problem?

It is easy for me to see how important it is that we address the plight of the mentally ill in a meaningful way, since I have people close to me who suffer. I see the inadequacy of care, and the lack of understanding in society. I work for an organization that provides behavioral healthcare, and see the immense resistance it encounters while trying to do its work. As a nation, as a state, we are not willing to pay to take care of these people -- instead we pay billions to deal with the consequences.

We cannot afford to be complacent -- anyone may be the next person to be touched by mental illness, and may become woefully aware of the awful mess we have created.

I urge you to read this very interesting book, no matter what you think your level of involvement is. Whether we look at the question from a spiritual or pragmatic viewpoint, we are "our brother's keepers."

Here is a terrific review of the book at Blogcritics.org.

Searching for the Sound, My Life With the Grateful Dead, by Phil Lesh

June 28 2006 (22:01:00) ( 0 views )

In the attics of my life I remember buying a Grateful Dead LP that had, among other things, "The Golden Road to Unlimited Devotion," "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl," "Cream Puff War," "Viola Lee Blues," and a picture of Jerry Garcia wearing an Uncle Sam stars-and-stripes tophat on the cover -- oh wow... I was in love and it never ended. On through the years. I'm no Dead expert, and the 'net abounds with such, but I had the Skull and Roses, Workingman's Dead, American Beauty, Europe '72, Wake of the Flood, and Go to Heaven. I've been to a few GD concerts, although it's a long long time ago.

Sometime in the early 1990s I was driving through Seattle on my way home from a day on the road as a sales rep. I was wearing wool slacks, a dress shirt, maybe a tie, shiny shoes, the whole salesman outfit. I had samples, catalogs, order forms, paperwork and a cellular phone. I don't remember why but I went past the Seattle Center. I was only dimly aware that the Dead were in town doing a concert, and at that point in my life had little interest in going to such an event. With age my tolerance for crowds and random noise has really deteriorated.

I drove past sidewalks loaded with young and old people dressed in tie-dye and denim. Many hundreds of them. Long hair, headbands, suede vests. Girls in long cotton dresses twirling, crazy hippies with hand drums. Sandals, incense, and what's that smell? I had the strangest feeling of being thrown back into 1967. Dead Heads were everywhere. There were people there younger than me that looked like I looked when I was their age. And I'm sure if any of them looked at me in my air-conditioned car and Establishment uniform they thought the kind of thoughts that I would have thought back in the Summer of Love. It was a funny feeling.

And then not long afterward, again as I drove along on a business mission of some sort, came the sad news of Jerry Garcia's death. Now, I know that that was 9 August 1995, as it was very easy to Google. (When exactly that concert was is not so easy, but there are those of you out there who will look it up.) And it really, really hit me. It was physical.

I am not one to be involved with celebrities, but this was Jerry, and it was different. I loved the sound of his guitar, I loved his voice, and I loved the Grateful Dead. Sure, my love had taken a back seat as I became preoccupied in the rush of "adult" life and "important things." But it was still there, and I knew it was there when I heard that Jerry was gone. My sadness surprised me, and as I listened to the obligatory tribute plays of his songs on the radio I couldn't stop the tears. There I was, a middle-aged fat salesman peddling automotive products on the Freeway, crying for one of my rock 'n roll heroes.

Phil Lesh has written a 333 page book chronicling his time with the Dead, which is pretty much the whole life of the band. Phil joined Jerry, Pigpen, Bob Weir, and Billy Kreutzmann way back in the time of Haight Ashbury to form what became arguably the most innovative, quirky, loved, improvisational rock 'n roll band in the electric music movement of the late 20th century.

Lesh tells us of the early days of crazy camraderie, travels with Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters, and the early involvement of Owsley as their sound technician. He takes us throught the whole story, through the 70s, 80s, and 90s. "What a long, strange, trip it's been."

His writing is only a little bit self-conscious. Phil is obviously a nice guy that I'd enjoy knowing and he's a fabulously good musician. The fact that he produced this book and that it is, after all, very readable and thoroughly enjoyable, is quite an accomplishment. And it's just un-polished enough to make me doubt that a "ghost" writer was involved.

The edition of the book that I read was a Back Bay Books paperback, and it includes two photo sections, which are delightful.

If you have enjoyed the Grateful Dead and have any curiosity about them, I'd strongly recommend you find a copy of this book. I found it to be a very pleasant nostalgic side-trip for a 54-year-old hippie with nearly no hair.