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Today’s post begins with a mea culpa to the author of this book, Mr. Litka. You see, I was meant to beta read this book in early March. Unfortunately, from March until last week, my day job took up a huge amount of time. Indeed, it began to turn itself into my night job as well, much to my chagrin.

And so, I only had time to read about a few pages per night. Which meant my “beta reading” became just regular reading, as Passage to Jarpara‘s release date came and went, with me still failing to finish it.

This is to my shame! I have failed in my duty. I have already given myself 20 demerits and forced me to run laps.

Now, the good news is that I did finally manage to finish Passage to Jarpara, and let me tell you, it is a wonderful story. I think it is my favorite of Litka’s Tropic Sea trilogy, and that is saying something. Taef Lang and his new wife first make a visit back to his home, where among other things, they hunker down with his family ride out to a heavy storm. (Fun fact: I read this part on a day when a major storm system was sweeping through my own neighborhood.)

After that, Taef, his wife, her sister, and her sister’s husband, set out on a trip for Jarpara, with Taef hoping to land a job at the university there. However, always seems to happen to Lt. Lang, nothing is ever straightforward. Indeed, if you’ve read the other Tropic Sea books, you may recall that Sella Raah believes Taef has a special talent, or maybe a curse, to always have interesting adventures in the vein of the fictional character from the novels he read in his youth, Zar Lada the explorer.

And speaking of Zar Lada, Taef gets to do what every reader of a beloved series dreams of: he meets the author of those books, and many other books as well. Anjer Lad joins the story late, but he might be my favorite character in the whole series. He’s a wise old writer who has traveled widely and written many stories based on his experiences. And he is on a journey to find a mysterious island, reputed to be haunted, that he had heard of in his youth.

I love Anjer, because in many ways his experience is the universal writers’ experience: he’s searching for The Story. The one that will capture all the magic and wonder of the world in words. And also like every writer, even after he’s had a truly remarkable experience to relate, he feels somehow… disappointed:

“You know, Taef, all my life it seems, I’ve been searching for something far out of our ordinary life. Island to island I have traveled looking to find more than the mere legend of the supernatural, the gods and demons, monsters and myths of the Islands. I’ve been content–well, almost content– to find just enough traces of them to use in my stories, and to keep on searching. […] And now I’ve actually found something that is truly extraordinary, out of not only everyday experience but unimagined. And you know what? As extraordinary as this is… I can’t help but feel somewhat let down.”

“I guess, if I look closely enough, all of this is based on known facts. Underneath all of this wonder, is the mundane. A logical, historical explanation. And that, I find, isn’t what I’m looking for.”

The curse of the writer! We want the magic, we want the transcendent! Always searching; never entirely satisfied, it seems. Anjer’s quest is the quest of all storytellers.

Anyway, Anjer’s qualms notwithstanding, there is plenty that is magical and extraordinary going on in this tale. It’s a fascinating blend of old-time seafaring adventure and science fiction. It has both pirates and robots in it. How many books can make that claim?

And yet, with all that, the dominant feeling it left me with is that of coziness. Litka is like Wodehouse in that his worlds always feel warm and welcoming, even when there are wars, storms, earthquakes, or possible supernatural monsters. Somehow, there is always a feeling of optimism underlying it all. A welcome relief to in a literary world full of darkness and cynicism.

It so happens that my mother is currently reading Litka’s The Girl on the Kerb after I recommended it. Talking about it with her has made me remember what an enjoyable ride it is, and again, while it is a story set against the backdrop of a mounting threat of war, it still manages to have a Wodehousian lightheartedness about it. I think it really boils down to the upbeat nature of Litka’s heroes. Like Taef Lang, Henri Hardy of Girl on the Kerb is a humble, loyal, and good-natured, and that makes the whole book feel like you’re listening to a fun yarn told by an old friend while the two of you sit down for a cup of tea.

Passage to Jarpara is another entry in Litka’s growing catalog of stories that feel as though they somehow came to us from a different, and much more pleasant, world. Come to think of it, perhaps Litka is Anjer Lad, a kindly teller of tales who just wants to be able to share a feeling of otherworldly awe with the rest of us. If so, he has certainly succeeded.

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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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How out of ideas is the modern movie industry? It’s to the point that they are rehashing ideas from HBO movies of nearly 30 years ago. And not even popular ones. Hardly anybody ever talks about this film. Well, after all, it is a product of the ’90s. Perhaps it is irrelevant to our own era. But all the same, it’s always interesting to see how the zeitgeist evolves.

The Second Civil War is a dark satirical comedy, centered around a fictional cable news network, News Net. When the film begins, the network is covering the arrival of refugees from Pakistan, fleeing a nuclear war, and admitted into the state of Idaho.

Idaho governor James Farley, who is seeking re-election, decides to close the state border, claiming they are already flooded with immigrants. Although publicly he poses as a hardline anti-immigration conservative, in his private life the governor actually enjoys many pleasures from outside of the U.S., most strongly evidenced by the fact he is cheating on his wife with a Mexican-American News Net reporter.

The President, acting on the recommendation of his advisor, Mr. Buchan, issues an ultimatum by which Gov. Farley must open the border. In a bit of a humorous twist, they move the deadline so as not to interfere with the finale of a TV soap opera, showing that their decisions are driven as much by a desire for ratings as anything else.

Meanwhile, News Net continues to cover the evolving situation with increasing fervor, and both the president and the governor–or at least, the governor’s hapless advisor–watch the television coverage closely, their actions driven in response to what is said about them on the news.

Gradually, other states begin to join in on the side of Idaho, pledging their own National Guard units to come to the embattled state’s aid. Soon, it becomes a political football to be kicked around in the increasingly Balkanized U.S. Congress. As one News Net report (played by James Earl Jones) describes the legislature, it’s become a “political bazaar” where different factions brazenly feud with one another.

(I am reminded of a line from another late ’90s movie: “The Republic is not what it once was… there is no interest in the common good.“)

Or, as the News Net reporter muses when talking with a militant Congressman: “I rode the buses back in the ’60s to bring people together. Seems pretty unfashionable nowadays.”

The situation continues to escalate, exposing all the various fault lines of division that exist across the country. Meanwhile, the reporters of News Net continue to both watch and make the news, selling each new flashpoint in the conflict with a gee-whiz graphic and punchy headline.

There are also all sorts of minor characters who add flavor to the story: from the tough-talking Army general and his old rival who leads the militia, to the cynical on-the-ground reporters who constantly threaten to quit only to be dragged back in, to the social activist who quickly brands anyone and everyone who disagrees with her as a fascist.

Maybe the best performance of all is Joanna Cassidy as Helena Newman, the co-anchor for the News Net coverage. She doesn’t have a lot of screen time, but her reaction as matters come to an increasingly serious crisis is one of the most memorable scenes in the whole film.

Ultimately, like most wars, once everything has built to a certain point, a simple accident is enough to light the fuse and create a violent reaction. We don’t see much of this, but we see enough. The film ends with James Earl Jones’s character giving one more melancholy reflection, and then a final, darkly ironic line plays as the end credits roll.

The cast in this is incredibly good: besides Jones and Cassidy, you have Beau Bridges in an Emmy-winning performance as Gov. Farley, the late, great Phil Hartman as the President, and James Coburn as his cynical advisor. Each character adds something; even those with relatively little screen time.

I have two minor criticisms. First, there’s a ridiculous amount of swearing in the dialogue. Now, I’m certainly not averse to profanity when the situation calls for it, and the nation plunging into civil war does call for it, but there is just so much that it feels gratuitous. It should have been reduced by about 30%, so that when people do curse, it carries real impact. But, this was the ’90s, and I think it might have seemed edgy at the time.

The second criticism is that one of the characters gets a basic fact about the first U.S. Civil War wrong. It almost makes me wonder if it’s a deliberate error, but somehow I don’t think so from the context. I can’t say exactly what it is, but let’s just say it’s rather jarring.

Other than these two minor points, I have to say this film holds up remarkably well as a satirical look at U.S. institutions and culture, all while giving us plausible, well-rounded characters, as opposed to mere puppets representing various ideologies. The characters feel real, which makes watching the disaster play out all the more poignant.

Of course, back in 1997, this must have all felt so far-fetched and extreme as to be almost absurd. Hence, why the film was presented as a comedy, albeit a very bleak one that loses any semblance of humor in the final few minutes.

But that was then, and this, moreover, is now. Have things changed? Oh, certainly they have changed! Have they changed in a way that makes this movie feel dated? Do the issues it raises now seem like the provincial ideas of a bygone era? Can we, the citizens of 2024, look back on this and laugh at it as an overwrought fever-dream that even in its time was unduly cynical and paranoid?

Or…?

Well, it would be pointless to suggest various other reactions one might have. You can watch the film yourself, and make up your own mind, if you so choose. I’m just reviewing it so you know it exists; what you do about it is up to you. To paraphrase something another cable news channel (not unlike News Net) used to say: “I report, you decide.”

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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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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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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.

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Over on Twitter, I asked for recommendations of little-known books that deserve more attention. Richard Pastore answered the call by recommending this one, a post-apocalyptic tale from the 1950s.

While reading it, I thought to myself that there is an easy way to summarize this book: “Catholic Fallout.” This describes it remarkably well, in my opinion, but since I’m guessing few of my readers have played any of those classic RPGs, more elaboration will be necessary.

The story begins with a young monk, Francis, holding a vigil in the desert. When a mysterious wanderer passes by his outpost, Francis uncovers a fallout shelter from the past nuclear war, which holds artifacts which appear to belong to “the Blessed Leibowitz”–an engineer from the pre-war era who, after surviving the nuclear holocaust, joined the church and strove to preserve knowledge during a Dark Age called “The Simplification.”

Francis’s discovery of the relics paves the way for the beatification of Leibowitz, and ultimately, after many years, the young monk makes his way to New Rome for an audience with the Pope himself.

Time–measured in centuries–passes. Technological progress begins, and with it comes a kind of renaissance, as well as feuding tribes and political machinations and scientific progress. All the while the Order of Saint Leibowitz carries on.

More time passes, until society has developed computers and off-world colonies. And, most significantly, nuclear weapons have returned, and the Order is once again faced with preserving their traditions and teachings in the face of horrific devastation.

The book, in short, is not really a feel-good tale. But it does include two of the hallmarks of 1950s and ’60s zeitgeist: space travel and nuclear war. In that sense, it’s very much a work of its time, and that, of course, is one of the great things about Vintage Sci-Fi Month: the opportunity to look back on what people of the past thought were the burning issues of the day.

Ah… perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of words. But, never mind! The techno-optimists of the era were enthralled by space travel, the techno-pessimists obsessed with nuclear armageddon. It’s clear enough that Miller, in addition to being a Catholic, was definitely in the pessimist category. And this is rather understandable when you learn he fought in World War II, and was present at the destruction of a Benedictine Abbey at Monte Cassino. It haunted him, and that comes through clearly in the text, as the cyclical destruction of all efforts to build civilization is perhaps the central theme of the book.

Usually, I don’t like generational epics. Stories that span huge swaths of time tend to leave me feeling distanced from the characters. Call me simple if you like, but I generally prefer my stories to follow one character, or group of characters.

However, while this book spans centuries, it definitely worked for me. Each set of characters was so carefully-drawn that I could relate to all of them, and get involved in their struggles. Which in turn made it all the more poignant when their time came, as it always does.

All right, I’ve tap-danced around the issue long enough; I can’t put it off any longer. This book involves some very weighty moral and religious ideas, and does not shy away from taking a stance on certain issues. How one feels about this may color one’s perception of the entire story.

I, however, am in no position to pontificate about such matters. I have my opinions, as everyone does, but in the grand scheme of things, I am just a thirty-something blogger who has probably consoomed more Content than is really healthy. It is not for me to sit in judgment of the philosophy of a man who led the life that Miller did, and saw the things he saw, as though I am somehow “above” him. Nothing is more obnoxious than to judge the past without at least being willing to ask how the past would judge the present.

So, yes; the last third especially might be off-putting to some readers. Nevertheless, I encourage approaching it with an open mind and an understanding of the author’s experiences. Seen in that light, it is an especially haunting and gloomy story, but one which I recommend to all sci-fi fans.

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Richard Pastore recommended this book to me when I asked for suggestions regarding “the best” Halloween book. Well, while it’s an inherently subjective concept, I’d have to say that this is about as Halloween-y of a Halloween story as there can be.

The story is narrated by a dog named Snuff, the familiar of Jack the Ripper. Jack, along with many other figures of classic horror lore, are engaged in something they refer to as “The Game,” which is sort of ritualistic competition spanning the month of October, in years when the moon is full on Halloween. Gradually, it becomes clear that the objective of the game is a ceremony which will either summon or defeat the Elder Gods.

In other words, it’s Universal Monsters meet Cthulhu. That’s right; we’ve got Larry Talbot, Dr. Frankenstein and Count Dracula here, but also references to H.P. Lovecraft’s world of Yog-Sothothery. Frankly, I have no idea how I never heard of this before now.

This might sound like a mere pastiche, and in the hands of a lesser writer, it easily could be, but Zelazny makes these classic characters his own. The fact that the story is told by Snuff, and focuses heavily on his interactions with the other “players’” familiars. This perspective makes the old characters feel fresh and new.

I read this shortly after Richard mentioned it to me in late September, because I wanted to finish it in time to write this review. But, I think the ideal way to enjoy it would be to read a chapter each day in October, since each chapter covers the events of one day, all building towards the final rite on Halloween night.

I especially like the way Zelazny carefully teases out the mystery. Snuff is clearly familiar with “The Game,” having played it many times before, but he never just gives an info-dump on how it all works. Rather, we have to piece it together gradually, following the hints of mystical artifacts and allusions to arcane rules. This is easily the best book I’ve ever read that hinges on a twist of magic wand law.

Richard was right, this is an excellent book for the Halloween season, and I’m grateful to him for recommending it. I was a little reluctant to read it, because I typically dislike stories involving Jack the Ripper and the like, but Zelazny handled it well. I’ll probably be re-reading this in many Octobers to come.