Reviews and Comments

Weber spends a lot of time trying to tie fascism and socialism together. He disapproves of fascism; he disapproves of socialism; therefore, they are at least in sympathy with one another, if not the same thing viewed from different angles. (Maybe later parts of the book modify this stance, but I’m old and have limited time to read.)

A psychedelic/cult/folk/spatterpunk horror novel, full of mushrooms and gore and horniness. Every character is some degree of broken, and every character is at least a little, now and then, sympathetic. (Every human character, that is.) Trying to get back home to a needy cat is a worthy goal for the protagonist. Too bad tricky earth deities and a murderous cult and hallucinations and a mansplaining park ranger get in the way. I enjoyed the chapter epigraphs from a fictional mushroom guide and the diary of a bygone incompetent entrepreneur. A trippy ride.

Wonderful stories in here, some moving, some thought-provoking, a seasoning of wit and humor.

A partial biography of a life still in progress, following William Blake’s continuing influence on writers and artists (many of them queer), as well as Blake’s role in the author’s own life. Hoare gives some love and appreciation to William Blake’s artistic collaborator and wife Catherine Blake, and the book includes photos of her three known solo works of art: an illustration for the gothic novel The Monk, a surreal face Catherine saw while looking into a fire, and a portrait of William. After reading Hoare’s book, now I have to read Billy Budd and seek out the films of Derek Jarman and the art of Paul Nash and the writings of Nancy Cunard and…

Moby-Dick in an alternate world, but the whalers are the ones being hunted. Body horror, eroticism, mutiny, nature taking revenge, gods of the deep, bigotry, capitalism at its harshest, a main character with a secret (and then another, and another), a steadily mounting sense of dread—this book has it all.

So far (a little past halfway thru) I’d say this is Herman Melville meets Castle Rock. I’m enjoying it.

None of the writers in this collection came to play nice with the Nazgûl. Plenty of anger and pain and body fluids in these stories, and fantasies of revenge and fantasies of justice and tenderness and hope that even if the forces of good don’t prevail they’ll go on fighting. A couple of stories even feature repentance and attempts at making amends. Strong stomach required.

Similar in concept to the movie Inception, but this novel came first and is more firmly in the surrealist tradition. You don’t think things can get more absurd than the opening chapters, but they do. A riot of Freudian and Jungian psychology, folklore, occultism, sex, violence, and—most savagely irrational of all—the internal politics of organizations.

A novel about love, loss, memory, identity, family, acceptance, rejection (including self-rejection), clinging, letting go, how we are who we are and why. This story continues the tradition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It made me cry more than once.

Based on the episodes I’ve seen so far, the tv series stays closer to the book’s plot than the movie does, but only Highsmith’s prose brings you into Ripley’s head. That’s a fascinating and terrible place to be.

I found this book in the fiction section of the bookstore, but it’s… well, it has narrative vignettes, but I’d say it’s a work of visionary queer philosophy, with elements of satire, fable, polemic, and comfort. Maybe this book found me when I needed it, but I think it’s one of the most important books I’ve ever read. I’ll certainly be re-reading it.

This collection of Gertrude Stein’s writing was first published in 1967. The introduction describes Alice B. Toklas as Stein’s “close friend and helper.”