Book Pre-Review

I have a book to review, but I'm going to take my time on that. In the meantime, I thought I'd mention that I have begun reading another book – one that is fairly well known. The narrator (one of them) is described as 'unreliable', a term I have only recently come into contact with, though the concept has been around for a while. (Think Fight Club, though it's much, much older than that.) It seems that by telling me that the narrator is unreliable, they have taken away most of the element of surprise, but I don't imagine that the people who publish books would really do that on the back cover. So, I have to think there's still more to come.

I will say, though, that as far as unreliability goes, this narrator fits the bill so far. She's a mess, spiralling out of control and I have no idea why her roommate puts up with her, or how much longer she's going to. I'm only a couple of chapters in, after all. She has spent the last two years sinking into a level of alcoholism that would generally take somebody many more years, or decades, to accomplish.

The author describes this perfectly. I don't even know the author's name; that's what a good job she's done. I am convinced that I'm reading the notes of a real person. (Clearly, they were dictated as she could not possibly put pen to paper or work a word processor.) As I read about poor life choices and struggling to remember what happened earlier this afternoon to cause the bump on her head and the bruises across her body I begin to think about my own life. I mean, I am truly wondering when I'm going to get my act together. I long, just a little, to call a local AA branch to talk to somebody about my problem. A problem which I do not have, by the way. I hardly drink. When filling out paperwork at a new doctor's office I struggle with the question of how often I drink. There is nothing between 'one drink a week' and 'never'. I fall into that gap, somewhere.

People this easily impressionable are perfect readers, as far as I can tell. I become a part of the story to a depth that is probably not entirely healthy. Also, it means that I have to read something apologetically happy every once in a while. The last time I had a true bout of depression (a few years ago) I had been reading a book of short stories by David Foster Wallace. That man can get to you. (He got to himself, it would seem.) After going through that, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society was called for, or, something along those lines. When I don't have one of those firmly in my grasp I reach for Calvin & Hobbs. I'm writing a novel right now, and the story is not always pleasant. I doubt that I come out of that experience unscathed.

But, it's been a while. So, I am happily (or enjoying myself, anyway) reading a book that has had rave reviews and a few people whose negative opinion about it has only strengthened my desire to read it. I'll try to write about this novel as well, once I'm finished. In the meantime, I'm going to continue reading, I'll begin the other review I mentioned and I'm going to have a lie down to try to get my life together.

-- Earnie


Drivel Series - One

The world is a little bit different when seen from the other side of a 2-day headache. If you simply have a headache, then you can remember what it was like when the sound of a child laughing brought joy to your heart. Even a child crying offered hope for the world in the form of a new generation. But, after the first day has passed, the memory of what life was like (before the pain behind one’s eyes crushed one’s will to be out of bed) slowly fades away, leaving one to wonder if that was ever reality to begin with – much like the over-analogized dream that one wakes from, struggling to grasp the threads of it in order to remember the details later, when one is awake – but unable to quite retain it all amidst the persistent daybreak of consciousness that flushes out the shadows of the dreamworld and floods the day with light.

Damn metaphors. Where’s my Advil?!

Greek-ish Chorus

I mentioned a couple of days ago on Facebook that my life needs a Greek Chorus. I think I was off the mark a little bit. I think that what I really need is to get my Greek Chorus into line. At the moment, they are more like what we see in the musicals Evita and Mamma Mia. Rather than a chorus talking in unison, I have a disparate group of voices chatting higgledy-piggledy. They follow me through my days, adding color and commentary to my life. When I'm feeling down they are there to echo my emotions, a sort of musical call and response. When I'm happy, we're dancing around the room, bowing to each other and lifting our glasses. If I can't sleep, a heap of them are sitting atop bed, discussing formulas for spreadsheets.

If I'm dizzy from my meds I have a very laid back guy saying, "Dude". Sometimes I'll be doing something – something productive, let's say – and I start to get dizzy. If I'm at home I generally take a nap, but if I'm out and about there's not nap to be had. I sit still a moment and think, what was it I was doing? Then we're all in the car together, happily singing along, ABBA blaring from the speakers, driving to Jerry's Artarama to get art supplies. Or, I'll be enjoying a nice cup of coffee and think about a beautiful tree outside the window. I'll consider that it is older than the building I'm sitting in, and suddenly there's all this chatter about what the neighborhood was like 50 years ago when it was all trees and fields, and how did they select this one tree to stay and lean on the railing of the porch, when they razed all of the others to make the shopping center. Sitting next to me, head-to-head, is a handsome Hispanic man and we're looking at each other knowingly, singing about the tree and how good the drawing is going to turn out. Then I take out the art supplies that I keep with me and begin drawing. Others chime in about the depth, and the need for shade in this one area and how this area is flat and they sing (in chorus) when I begin to make it better. And then the railing coming toward the viewer and taking a sharp turn, running parallel with the window I'm looking out of. Just kind of sketched in there, not detailed like the ♪ BEAUTIFUL TREE that is just outside my window! ♫♪♪ And the beautiful drawing that I'm adding to my journal, and I'm going to be able to retire from work and write and draw and a ♫ NEW EARNIE – A Rather Earnest Painter ♪ ♫ ♪ is coming into his own in a coffee shop in this wicked little town of Austin, TX.

Not quite the award-winning piece of art that my Greek-ish Chorus would have me believe, but they lost interest after about 20 minutes.

Other times they mock me. Why am I still working at this job where everybody is so mean? (In reality, the people I work with are delightful.) Why am I still sitting in front of a company computer marking time until I die? What happened to those wild dreams, when we were soaring and laughing and the Rather Earnest Painter was going to have it all? So, what happens now? Don't ask... any more. You made your bed, now lie in it. You have three novels started, you have writing skills that you've put into a drawer. At work I sit at my desk while, dancing around me, men and women sing about what I've done with my life, and more to the point what I haven't. Where is the success that would let me own a home in two towns, a place to get away and a place to come home to? Or, did I forget to try?

All in all I have to say that I like this group of singers, this Greek-ish Chorus, better than the one I used to have... or the way they used to dress? Does one lose the voices in one's head, only to be replaced by new voices? Or, do the voices age as we do? Anyway, I used to have voices taunting me about futility and ending my life. That group wasn't quite as much fun to be around. Even then I used to dream at night about being in a musical – a happy, upbeat musical that was my life and life was good. In the darkest times my chorus was there, somewhere, just out of sight, encouraging me, singing to me. I'd lose track of them and then they'd come to me in my dreams. Now, having moved beyond that other shady crew, I have with me a lovely, if somewhat bewildering, Greek-ish Chorus.

And, we're gonna make it after all...