Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from August, 2012

Books of Note

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

Yah, yah, I know, I’ve been lollygaggin’ and work-shyin’ and leaving all my lovely spammers in Tamil Nadu with nothing on which to post spam but old reviews. I’ve not even been all that busy, except when it comes to slapping on weight and destroying some neural connections, both of which I’ve done with glazed-eyed indifference and robotic monotony. Still, I feel I owe it to GDR to at least put Shantaram to bed before I buy (whoops, sorry, already done) and read his next book, The Mountain Shadow, which even now is winging its way to my door by the magic of Amazon Prime Same Day DeliveryTM.
It turns out that GDR was indeed a bit of a knob. He robbed building societies in Australia, always dressed in a three-piece suit and minding his Ps & Qs, and only targeting those with adequate insurance. How he knew which did and didn’t have adequate insurance is not mentioned. On the back of this, or maybe it was the other way around, his wife kicked him out and he lost contact with his only da…

Driving Jarvis Ham by Jim Bob

I had a very enjoyable weekend this weekend past, spent drinking and then recovering with some friends with whom this had not been done in quite a while. One of them is a former radio presenter from Coventry (he’s from Lincolnshire, but the radio station was in Coventry) who regaled those present with tales of performer misadventures, including Ginger from The Wildhearts, and amongst others (discretely, if not discreetly), Carter USM.

[The knowing amongst my readers would spot immediately to where I’m off with this little prologue]
In return for these interesting revelations, another of the party, himself a Wildhearts fan (a British band who interestingly offer their website in both English and Japanese) nodded knowingly as he offered an anecdotal riposte about his friend who baked a birthday cake for Les Fruitbat Carter.
[Eeep! In the drive for proximal glory I may have wandered, but shall endeavour to pull this back in]
Which in turn reminded me to ask both if they’d read either of the…

Nevermore by William Hjortsberg

For a number of years I was mistaken in the belief that Hjortsberg's only contribution to the morass of the Western literary tradition was 1978's frankly awesome Falling Angel, intriguingly brought to the big screen as Angel Heart in the 80s by Alan Parker with Mickey Rourke as Harry Angel (names not so awesome, admittedly) and convincingly evil Robert De Niro as Lucifer incarnate. Now, I learn that not only has he finally completed a monster biography of Richard Brautigan called Jubilee Hitchhiker (for more on my own personal love of Brautigan, shared via the brains of the world's most eccentrically lovely people, visit The Brautigan Book Club), but that he has also dabbled in sci-fi and been consistently dribbling other literary content onto the bib of public opinion for many years!
As a former bookstore manager, I should be ashamed. But you clearly don't know me if so you think, as I am not.
This, written in 1994, is a work that, more than just a little, put me in min…