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I am not quite sure when I became convinced that Zachary Shatzer is a genius. Certainly, once I read The Beach Wizard, I knew I was reading the work of one of the great comic novelists of our time. But maybe I knew it even before that; it’s hard to remember exactly. In any case, a genius he is, and that is why I was delighted to pick up his latest novella, Dog Wearing a Bowler Hat.

The story is a straightforward one: a young man named Wilkins goes to his social club one day to find a new artwork added to the club’s decor: a painting of a dog wearing a bowler hat. Wilkins is largely indifferent to the piece, but his friends at the club have strong feelings about it. Some think it’s a masterpiece, others despise it.

Wilkins thinks little of it at first, until differences of opinion begin to tear the club apart. Friendships are ended by disagreements about the hat-wearing dog. The division ramps up further and further, escalating into a conflict that seems unimaginable, forcing poor Wilkins, with his lack of any strong feelings on the matter whatsoever, into making increasingly difficult choices.

So, that’s the story in a nutshell. Seems simple enough, right?

Heh, well, you probably know whenever I say that, I’m about to launch into one of my rambling disquisitions. Admit it, deep down in places that you don’t talk about at parties, you want me doing this sort of thing.

Mark Paxson and I have observed there’s this pattern of book hype where, (for example) Stephen King will have a new book coming out and early reviews will say, “It’s Stephen King like you’ve never seen him before!” Then, one reads the book, and finds that it is, in fact, Stephen King almost exactly as you have always seen him. Which is not a criticism of King. After all, most people buy a book by Stephen King expecting to get a Stephen King book. No; it’s just a criticism of critics, who build a book up to be something it’s not.

All of which is to say I hesitated before saying, “This is Zachary Shatzer like you’ve never seen him before!” Was I doing the very thing of which I accuse others, and describing it as something it isn’t?

It is a very funny book, to be sure, but then all Shatzer’s books are funny. That alone isn’t enough to say it is breaking new ground for him. It is also insightful, but The Beach Wizard and The Hero and the Tyrant are insightful too. That’s not what’s novel in this novella.

I finally decided that why I think this book is something different than that to which we Shatzer-heads have heretofore become accustomed: it has an allegorical quality, almost like a fable, that is not found in his other works.

Now, there is nothing I would hate more than becoming one of those people who sees symbolism everywhere. Figuring out what the green light across the bay stands for is just not my thing. And I’m not suggesting that this story must be read allegorically, or that Shatzer necessarily intended for it to be. To paraphrase Hemingway’s take on The Old Man and the Sea: “The dog is a dog. The bowler hat is a bowler hat.”

But, it is the way it is presented, the way this trivial and even absurd picture drives people into a kind of madness, that has something to say about politics, about culture, and–yes, I’ll even go there–about human nature itself.

I spend my free time as an amateur critic on the internet. I’ve seen takes you people wouldn’t believe. To this day, there are arguments on Twitter about a sci-fi movie that came out almost seven years ago and whether it is a moving and transcendent work of cinematic genius or a loathsome travesty that defames all that is noble and good in the world. As I feel about this movie pretty much like Wilkins feels about the painting, I can certainly relate to him.

Over and over, this pattern is repeated; of people fighting over things that are, at bottom, unimportant and silly. It is my fervent hope that the words “Dog with a Bowler Hat” may become a byword, a meme, which signifies when something has inspired more passion that it deserves. Shatzer’s accomplishments are many, but here may be his most amazing feat yet: he has coined a phrase which can be used to stop pointless arguments before they begin, an anti-polarization pill gilded with his usual whimsical wit.

But for it to work, of course, people need to read the book. And that, my friend, is where you come in. I know I’m constantly ordering you to read books, and I suppose you get tired of it. It must feel like I do everything but shove the books in front of you, saying “it’ll change your life, I swear,” like Natalie Portman in Garden State. But I really mean it; this one is something special. Do yourself a favor and read it.

UPDATE: the book is free on Kindle today, 4/19. All the more reason to get it!

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Why, you ask, am I reviewing a winter-themed book in early Spring? Well, first of all, I live in Ohio, where seasons are a fluid thing. Two days ago, it was in the 70s with tornado watches. Today it was sleeting with a freeze watch. Winter and spring are as one here in the Buckeye state.

Second, this is a story I read a while ago, but for some reason I didn’t review it at the time. I forget why. But, better late than never.

Our narrator is one Whittaker Snow, a girl who loves winter and everything that comes with it. Actually, many of the characters in the story have names that correlate with their natures. This is something that our cold-loving protagonist comments on frequently. Whittaker has grand and romantic visions for her future, like any good high schooler. And, also like any good high schooler, she needs to learn to deal with disappointment when reality doesn’t match her dreams.

In addition to the arc of her story–which is short and sweet–the tale is punctuated with “fun facts” about wintertime. Like many another Bertocci tale, although the book is brief, it covers a lot of interesting territory and ideas. Bertocci has a gift for taking a simple, even mundane concept, and infusing with interesting philosophy and cleverly constructed wordplay.

Much of the other kind words I have for this book are the same things I’ve praised in other works of Bertocci’s. He is a genre unto himself, and his books deserve to be widely read.

As for me, I’m off to get ready for the solar eclipse–if we don’t get a snow storm first.

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I heard about this book from Lydia Schoch’s review and I knew right away that I had to read it. Originally, I thought I would wait until Halloween season to review it, but then I thought, “Zis is Ruined Chapel! It is alvays Halloween here!” And besides, it’s such a delightful book, I couldn’t wait to share it with you all.

It tells the story of a ghost named Lazarus Bently, who is helping an amateur ghost out with a difficult assignment: haunting a woman named Maisie. Maisie’s artistic temperament makes her immune or oblivious to most of the standard tropes associated with hauntings: objects being hurled through the air, threatening messages on the walls etc. have no effect on her. What is a ghost to do?

Since this is a short story, I can’t say too much about how it all develops, or I’d risk giving it away. But, I can say that the author packs a lot of humor and clever ideas into a very short space. It’s like a supernatural version of “The Odd Couple,” with plenty of witty lines. I especially liked the idea that the ghosts feed off of fear, and when they need a quick hit, they drop in on people who are watching the news.

You might be saying, “But it’s only 18 pages long! Can it really be worth it?” Comes the reply: yes, it can. I read it in one evening and found myself chuckling the whole time. Sure, it’s a short read, but every minute spent reading it is fun, and that’s what matters.

Ghosted is a perfect fun supernatural story to read when you want a good laugh. As usual, Lydia is right on the money!

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This book is the sequel to Litka’s seafaring adventure tale Sailing to Redoubt. It picks up with Lt. Taef Lang working at his family shop, trying his best to keep the business going while his parents are traveling, when his old friend Sella Raah appears

In short order, Taef finds himself once again involved with Sella and her sister, Lessie. The polite, humble young officer begins breaking rules and taking chances in order to help out the impulsive sisters. His task is to spring Lessie from enforced confinement on the island of Cimlye.

Now, if you read the first book, you might remember that Lessie was not very friendly to Lt. Lang, despite all the help he gave her. Cold and aloof she was, unlike her more outgoing sister.

I have to admit, I didn’t like Lessie much in Sailing to Redoubt. Frankly, I thought the way she treated the likable Lang was quite reprehensible. Admittedly, as often as not, he would let himself in for it.  And at first, Prisoner of Cimlye seemed to be shaping up to be more of the same. Why, I asked myself, is Lang insisting on getting himself into these situations?

Well, as happens in any good story, the characters grow and develop. I won’t spoil it, but I was quite pleased with the way Taef and Lessie’s relationship evolved. It made me wish I had read it right after finishing Sailing to Redoubt. Who doesn’t love a good adventure yarn; and a splendid yarn this is, that left me eager for more. And–huzzah! For another book in this series will be released in less than a week’s time. I will soon be returning to the Tropic Sea saga.

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As I write these words, my Twitter feed is abuzz with talk of Dune Part 2. I have not seen this film, and it may be a good while before I do, as Dune Part 1 left me underwhelmed. Besides, I’ve never liked it when they split one book into multiple movies. And we all know what started that practice…

What does it say that the best idea the film industry can think to use for a blockbuster science fiction film is a nearly 60-year-old book that has already been adapted for the screen multiple times?

Are no new stories being told? Has the creative fire simply gone out of civilization, leaving us only with the ability to make increasingly shoddy copies of old masterpieces? Has the modern entertainment industry gradually supplanted our ability to innovate with a constant remixing of familiar stories that generate predictable cash flows for the massive corporations that churn out this material, while simultaneously siphoning the dynamism and vitality from them, in much the same way that over time, sports and games evolve into predictably boring affairs, as continual refinement of technique bleeds the spontaneity out of them? Was that last sentence entirely too long?

The answer to all these questions may well be “yes.” And yet, on the other hand, it may also be “no,” which brings me at last to the actual subject of today’s post, which is an original tale of adventure on a distant world.

The Last Ancestor is a science-fiction novel, telling the story of 17-year-old Garrett Nestor, a human settler of the planet Yxakh, to which his people have fled from persecution on Earth. Garrett along with his mother and little sister, live in the human colony of Canaan, which is currently at peace.

I say “currently” because previously they had fought a war against the inhabitants of Yxakh, a species of bipedal dog-like creatures which humans refer to as “Growlers.” You’ll notice I didn’t mention Garrett’s father in the description above; that’s because he died heroically fighting the Growlers.

However, now an uneasy truce exists between the human settlers and the warlike native inhabitants. Indeed, Garrett has even made friends with a young Growler named Ghryxa. Garrett and Ghryxa enjoy hanging out and exploring the nearby caves, while teaching one another about each others’ cultures and traditions.

So far, so good. What could go wrong, eh? Well, since the essence of drama is conflict, naturally, Garrett and Ghryxa soon find themselves caught in the crossfire between the humans and the Growlers, as well as an inter-Growler religious conflict! Not a pretty place to be in, especially given the Growlers’ tendency to settle things violently.

Speaking of violence, there are plenty of good action scenes in this book. Just look at the cover, and you’ll get a sense of the thing. It reminded me quite a bit of the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs, and his modern day stylistic heir, Henry Vogel. It has that same pulpish sense of fast-paced adventure.

But there are deeper themes here as well. The book has strong religious overtones, but not in the heavy-handed way that is commonly associated with religious fiction. No, here it is woven deftly into the story, and seems like a natural part of the characters’ personalities. (The book’s subtitle is a sort of clue here, but I’ll say no more than that.)

It’s quite well done and clever. The author goes to some lengths to build the world, including inventing a rather large vocabulary for the Growlers. There is a helpful appendix that explains many of these terms; always useful in books like this. Garrett and Ghryxa are both quite likable characters, and the device of using messages from Garrett’s late father as epigrams for many of the chapters was an inspired idea.

My only complaint about the book was that the ending felt abrupt. Of course it’s part one of a series, so clearly the idea is to get you to read the sequel, which I will probably do. So, in that sense, maybe this is a feature, not a bug.

All told, this is a fun adventure yarn; the sort of story that hasn’t been fashionable for a while, and yet people inevitably enjoy whenever they stumble across. Anyone who likes Sword and Planet adventure stories ought to check it out. And, let me add, it would make for a fine movie.

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“Like deep-burrowing, mythological worms, power lines, pipelines and pneumatic tubes stretch themselves across the continent. Pulsing, peristalsis-like they drink of the Earth and the thunderbolt. They take oil and electricity and water and coal-wash and small parcels and large packages and letters into themselves. Passing through them, underneath the Earth, these things are excreted at the proper destinations, and the machines who work in these places take over from there.

Blind, they sprawl far away from the sun, without taste, the Earth and the thunderbolts go undigested; without smell or hearing, the Earth is their rock-filled prison. They only know what they touch, and touching is their constant function.

Such is the deep-buried joy of the worm.” –-Roger Zelazny, The Dream Master

Every now and again, in the bookish circles of Twitter, I’ll see this tweet referenced:

This is an exaggeration for comic effect, but sometimes it is true. It is especially true with a book like The Dream Master, which I picked up after enjoying Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October.

This book is absolutely nuts. There is a plot, to a degree, involving a man who helps shape and understand people’s dreams by means of a simulation machine. But that part of the story is only loosely threaded through bizarre and surreal images like that in the passage quoted above. I already forget, if indeed I ever knew, what that has to do with the story proper. But when you write something that good, it hardly matters.

It took me a while to figure out, but the book is actually structured like a dream. You know how dreams are: you’ll be at the office Christmas party, only your boss doesn’t look like your boss, and then suddenly you’re trying to break into a haunted house with the aid of Mitt Romney. It all makes sense when you’re dreaming it, and sounds insane when you remember it later. (And yes, I have had this exact dream.)

This book is like that; full of symbolism and weird changes of voice and perspective that call to mind simultaneously The Waste Land, the works of C.S. Lewis, and the more esoteric elements of the Dune universe. It is, in other words, a complete fever-dream acid-trip of a book.

Which is not to suggest that it is bad! Not at all. Indeed, I often think the best books, or at least the most memorable ones, are those that make you feel like you are teetering on the edge of madness. What fun is a book that merely describes the humdrum and everyday? If we accept the description of reading quoted above, then by golly, when I stare at my tree-slices and hallucinate, I want it to be something extraordinary.

And throughout The Dream Master, there are fragments like that; haunting, prescient, visionary glimpses into concepts that seem less dream-like now than they must have in 1966. Why, why is it, I ask you, that so many of these sci-fi dystopias of past literature seem to feel so uncomfortably close to our present-day reality? I am again reminded of Clarke’s Childhood’s End, and the idea that the appearance of the aliens in ancient human folklore meant that they “became identified with [humanity’s] death. Yes, even while it was ten thousand years in the future! It was as if a distorted echo had reverberated round the closed circle of time, from the future to the past.”

The idea of the future coming back to haunt us in the past–now there’s an idea that would be not at all out of place in Zelazny’s nightmare-world! No, no; this book, despite being in many ways exceptionally strange, is also endlessly fascinating, deeply unsettling and even, in some places, rather funny. I recommend it; just don’t go in expecting a linear narrative.

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Imagine a series about a school for sorcerers. Imagine that it involves an evil sorcerer, returned from a death-like state by his cult of followers. Now imagine that this sorcerer takes over the sorcerer school, and starts using it to instruct young magically-inclined persons in the ways of dark magic.

But! All is not lost. For there is a hero, chosen by prophecy, to fight back against the evil wizard and his minions.

This is of course a perfectly screwball premise for a zany comedy, and who better than Zachary Shatzer to do such a silly concept justice?  This is the third book in Shatzer’s Sorcerers series, and perhaps the craziest one yet. By this point, the Incompetent Hero’s penchant for triumphing through his own stupidity has become so well-known that various factions actively try to to harness it for their own ends. And he rarely disappoints; bumbling his way through multiple assassination attempts, barracuda attacks, and other assorted misfortunes that will come as no surprise to readers of the first two books.

Last year, I reviewed the book The Stench of Honolulu by Jack Handey, which Shatzer considers the funniest book he has ever read. I realize now that his Sorcerers series is very much in the same vein, with much of the comedy coming from the self-absorbed and careless main character spreading chaos wherever he goes.

I don’t know if Shatzer plans to write more in this series, but if he plans to keep it to a convenient trilogy form, then I must say that I think this one ends in a way that seems entirely appropriate for the buffoonish protagonist. After his more ambitious The Hero and The Tyrant, this volume is like a light-hearted satyr play. The premise I outlined above might not work as (for example) the culmination of a serious and sprawling story, but as a wacky comedy, it is just the ticket.

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Most of you know I hold P.G. Wodehouse in high regard. He is perhaps the greatest English comic novelist of the 20th century, and I never tire of rereading his classic Jeeves & Wooster novels. He had a gift for humorous prose that defies imitation.

And yet, you will notice I’ve never reviewed a book by him. Mostly, this is because the prospect of doing so is almost intimidating. What can I, a mere blogger, say about such a titan of literature? Better people than your humble reviewer have found themselves in awe of Wodehouse.

But, I’m going to review this short story because (a) despite being a Wodehouse fan since the age of 11, I hadn’t heard of it until last year, which means it’s pretty obscure and (b) because Wodehouse himself considered it one of the funniest things he had ever written. Which is really saying something, coming from the man who wrote Right Ho, Jeeves.

And finally, (c) it’s a bit offbeat by Wodehouse standards. You know me, I love anything that’s weird, different, out-of-the-ordinary, outré… you get the idea. And this book is certainly different than typical Wodehouse. For starters, it’s a ghost story!

Well, kind of. The protagonist is a novelist named James Rodman, who writes hardboiled thrillers. He is living at the home of his late aunt, Leila J. Pinckney, who wrote light romance novels. Rodman regards his aunt’s genre with contempt, considering it full of sappy clichés and cloying sentimentality.

But, in the cozy atmosphere of Honeysuckle Cottage, Rodman slowly begins to feel as if something is casting a spell over him. It starts with him writing a love interest into his latest novel; something which he abhors. And then, a young woman shows up on the doorstep, and he and she experience a “meet cute” right out of a Leila J. Pinckney novel!

As time goes by, Rodman starts saying and doing things that a Pinckney hero would do: picking flowers for the woman, and even reading her poetry. And here, I must quote verbatim:

“James had to read to her—and poetry, at that; and not the jolly, wholesome sort of poetry the boys are turning out nowadays, either—good, honest stuff about sin and gas-works and decaying corpses—but the old-fashioned kind with rhymes in it, dealing almost exclusively with love.”

I’m pretty sure that’s a T.S. Eliot reference. You love to see it.

Speaking of references, Wodehouse apparently intended the story as an homage to Henry James, who is mentioned briefly in the text, and whose brand of psychological mystery is very much in line with the kind of strange experience that Rodman finds himself undergoing.

So, what happens? Does Rodman succumb entirely to the mysterious power of Honeysuckle Cottage? Well, even though it’s almost a hundred years old, I can’t bring myself to spoil this one. The ending is simply too good; you have to read it for yourself. You can find it in the collection “Meet Mr. Mulliner,” which is in the public domain.

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If you don’t know by now that I’m a fan of Adam Bertocci’s fiction… well, I guess you’ll just have to read this review, and then you will.

Crappy Valentine’s Day is about a young woman in New York City who just wants to have a nice day. Not a romance or anything; just a pleasant day at home. But those hopes are dashed when her boss calls and asks her to come into the office to run a focus group session. As fate would have it, it’s for a dating service.

What follows is an interesting discussion of the different expectations men and women have for each other, as well as Bertocci’s hallmark, the emptiness of the careers most millennials find themselves in.

But Becca’s day doesn’t end there; not by a long shot. Valentine’s Day still has some surprises in store for her, and not just because of her cat, Boots, either.

This story is like a companion piece to Bertocci’s wonderful Samantha, 25, on October 31. That one is a more in-depth treatment of a young millennial adrift in the city, (as well as a cat with an attitude) but this book also has plenty of his trademark wit and charm.

If you haven’t read any Bertocci, despite my prior exhortations, then this is a good introduction to his style. And if you are a devoted Bertocci-head like me, this feels like a visit from an old friend. Either way, I recommend it.

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I have fallen into a rut lately. Every book I’ve reviewed in January was sci-fi, and while all of them are worthwhile, the last thing I want to be is predictable. As Natalie Portman says in the great romantic short film True, “There are times when life calls out for a change. A transition. Like the seasons.”

And, what better time than the beastly month of February to turn my attention to romance books? This one caught my eye because of its title, and when I read the sample and found the author defines post-modern using a quote from The Simpsons, (“post-modern is weird for the sake of being weird.”) I knew I must read it.

The book is narrated by one Nick Ryder, who, you will note, is also listed as the author. More about this later. The Nick Ryder we meet in these pages is a lonely divorced father of two, whose only joy in life seems to come from running a film club that screens obscure movies once a week. He is desperate to find a woman–or more precisely, The Woman. You know, The One; the Soulmate. But it never seems to work out with any of the women he knows.

Part of the trouble is that Nick is kind of shallow. I mean, really, he uses a numerical ranking system to evaluate all potential mates. And he finds almost all of them wanting in one area or another. Also, with literally every woman he meets, the first thing he describes is the size of her breasts. (Again, assuming this is a character, he’s not supposed to be admirable, not even by his own lights.)

And yet, at the same time, perhaps Nick’s problem is that he is not shallow enough. That, at least, is the opinion of his neighbor Stephane, a tall, good-looking Frenchman who is a regular Casanova and treats women as light diversions. His view is that Nick needs to quit trying to find an emotional connection and “just have fun.” This does not come easily to Nick.

But when he meets an intriguing woman who calls herself Goldie at the film club, he falls under her spell, and soon they begin dating. Or something like dating. Well, they go places together, and share meals, and talk, and have sex. Whether any of this constitutes dating is something they debate.

Their relationship is not exactly a smooth one. Goldie certainly behaves quite irrationally a lot of the time, as our narrator is quick to point out. Then again, the narrator himself is not exactly well-acquainted with rationality either.

Of course, love is not rational. Human beings are not rational creatures, and if we were, it is entirely possible the whole species would go extinct. Perhaps our irrationality even provides an evolutionary advantage; did you ever think of that?

Still, not in this case, because Nick and Goldie’s relationship is just too insanely volatile to last. Also, there are too many secrets they keep from each other. Indeed, the deception and self-deception are so thick there are times that I couldn’t be sure whether something was a continuity error or just the characters not being honest with each other.

Which is not really a criticism of the book. Affairs of the heart are some of the hardest to explain, and the author accurately captures the whirlwind of confusing emotions that come into a play in a romance. The book conveys this well, maybe even too well, as the emotional whiplash can be almost as exhausting to read as it would be to experience.

This book is listed under “Humorous Fiction” on Amazon, but I have serious questions about that categorization. True, parts are very funny, especially early on; but the second half is almost harrowing in how it depicts a failing relationship, and the laughs are few and far between at that point.

And then there are the extremely explicit sex scenes. Personally, I prefer the good old-fashioned “they headed to the bedroom” and leaving it at that. I don’t really need the full play-by-play and color analysis treatment. Others may feel differently, of course.

So, all in all, I’d say it’s more of an erotic dramedy than humorous romantic fiction. Then again, those categories only showed up once a book has been purchased. They weren’t displaying until I bought a copy.

That’s right: I might actually be the only person who has ever read this book. Seriously, there are no reviews on Amazon. Nor on Goodreads. Nothing about the author, either; and seemingly no attempt whatsoever was made to market this. And, given that the author’s name is also the protagonist’s name, I kind of suspect it’s a pseudonym. (If it’s not a pseudonym, then, well I’m not sure what to think…)

In short, it is about as unknown as it gets; seemingly having lain undiscovered for over eight years, waiting for some lunatic looking for offbeat romance books to come along. I tell you, it’s things like this that make it all worthwhile!

Seriously, though: this book is quite good. Especially now, in a time when I think anyone who is single must be experiencing a sense that all romance is post-modern, by definition. Relationships in the modern world are one of the things that technology has made more difficult, rather than less.

I do recommend the book. Even with all its issues, from the unlikable protagonist to the uncomfortably graphic sex scenes, from the odd quirks of continuity (or are they quirks?) to the strange problems with chapter formatting. No, even with all that, it’s still worth reading for those who like literary fiction.