Some Ecstasy from the Agony

This morning, Terry D'Auray over at "The Agony Column Book Review and Commentary" has posted a wonderful review of my novel Pyres. To quote E of the Eels: "It was more than I thought I deserved." My biggest challenge in writing Pyres was trying to "mind-meld" with female characters who bear no resemblance to me, so I'm humbled any time anyone praises the effort.

Anyway, the D'Auray review heralds the second time I've been compared to John Connelly, whom I have admittedly not yet read, even though his novel Every Dead Thing begins with an epitaph from John Donne's poem, "A Nocturnal Upon St. Lucy's Day, Being The Shortest Day," being the poem from which Connelly took his titular phrase. For reasons clear to those who've read Pyres, I would've used that same epitaph to begin my book, had not Mr. Connelly beat me to the punch. Do I hold a grudge? Of course not!

I must also admit I've not heard of this wonderful website, "The Agony Column..." until today, and this is my own internet ignorance. I'm out of every loop. What I've discovered is not only an amazing repository of reviews, but also an archive of audio interviews and podcasts that are going to keep me glued to my RealPlayer for days.

I also want to thank Amazon Top 1000 reviewer Gary Griffiths for his review of Pyres. Gary lives in Cali. I seem to be getting an inordinate amout of love from California, a state far removed from my (not to mention my characters') stomping ground. The folks at the M is for Mystery bookstore in San Marcos, CA have been amazing advocates of the book, as has Tzar of Noir Eddie Muller in his San Fran Chron review. Here's hoping the love makes its way down to Hollywood.

Meanwhile, the folks at Barnes and Noble have been far too good to me. This link will probably expire soon, but just take a gander if you're reading this and it's still Feb 2008. Scroll down, of course.

Okay, enough love. You can't ego-google and expect everything to come up roses. This guy thinks my book is suffocating, and I agree. I thought thrillers were supposed to be suffocating. I'll try better next time.

And worse: my supposed friend Craig Renfroe has publically accused me of stealing propagan... I mean property from the Paddington, London branch of the Church of Scientology. I am innocent. Kelly and Sarah are the culprits, as he well knows. I merely suggested it. I even felt guily (and curious) enough to go get a free audit, which, for the record, did not make me feel better, but now permits the Scientologists to "have a file on me," as it were. Anyway, this kind of unwarranted accusation and aspersion-casting will never bring you to a state of theta clear, as you also well know, Craig. May Xenu and the Galactic Confederacy show you no mercy.

Merry Christmas Eve

Jacob Marley rattling his chains. Phoebe Cates in Gremlins, telling her story about dad dressed as Santa, breaking his neck and dying in the chimney. Jack Skellington kidnapping Santa and delivering shrunken heads to kids. Tis the season.

Actually, I love Christmas. And you can get too irreverent. Christmas slasher movies are way out of line, for instance. That's sick. So is "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." Sick.

I don't have much to give. So here's my version of fruit cake: links to a couple interviews I did recently, or not so recently. Just thought you might like a good eye-roll.

Here's one from Chris Well's website, Learning Curve.

Here's another with Sandra Ruttan's wonderful magazine Spinetingler, JB Thompson interviewing.

This one isn't online, but it's a Proust Questionairre I filled out for my English Department's graduate student newsletter, Codeswitching.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I’m not particularly interested in happiness, and the perfection of it seems frightful.

What is your greatest fear?
Death, of course, though not necessarily mine. Okay, mine.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Edvard Munch.

Which living person do you most admire?
I would’ve said Ingmar Bergman, but he died in July.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Waiting vainly for artistic inspiration to strike.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Predictably, books. I have entombed myself with stacks of them. Please call for help.

What is your favorite journey?
Physical or metaphysical? Through Prague and through Melancholy, respectively.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Faith.

Which living person do you most despise?
Kirstie Alley.

Which talent would you most like to have?
Acoustic guitar playing, or oil painting.

What is your current state of mind?
Quiet desperation, current and perpetual.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
Skeletal remains.

If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
Well, it’d be nice to try this particular life over again, with complete foreknowledge. Starting from scratch would be too daunting—plus, can self and consciousness be transferred from one entity to another? Would I still be me if I wasn’t who I am?

What is your favorite occupation?
Benevolent dictator. No, I’m kidding. Tyrannical dictator. Did I say dictator? I mean “director,” as in movies.

What is your most marked characteristic?
Timid iconoclasm, enacted half-heartedly, merely for the sake of Devil’s advocacy.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
To quote the Eels, “I like a girl with a dirty mouth, someone that I can believe.”

What do you most value in your friends?
Healthy organs for potential emergency donation. If not that, then intellect.

Who are your favorite writers?
Vladimir Nabokov, Thomas Hardy, Joyce Carol Oates, Cormac McCarthy, James Ellroy, Denis Johnson, Franz Kafka, Toni Morrison, John Berryman, Philip Larkin, Emily Dickinson, Charles Dickens, Raymond Chandler, Dave Goodis, Dashiell Hammett, Charlie Kaufman.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Jude Fawley, of Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure. You asked.

Who are your heroes in real life?
See the above list of authors, and include these film directors: Ingmar Bergman, Jean-Luc Godard, Francois Truffaut, John Cassavetes, Lars Von Trier, Carl Th Dreyer, David Lynch, Alfred Hitchcock, Quentin Tarantino. Musicians: Stuart Murdoch (Belle and Sebastian), Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails), Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes), Sufjan Stevens, all the guys in Sigur Ros, Ian Curtis (Joy Division), Robert Smith (The Cure), Radiohead. This list has probably annoyed even the most patient reader by now, so I’ll stop. Suffice it to say that none of my heroes are heroic, except maybe Sufjan Stevens. How disappointing.

What is it that you most dislike?
Kitsch without self-consciousness, blind optimism and idealism, pandering, absence of personal accountability, politicians of all types, Kirstie Alley, self-righteous posturing (particularly of the religious stripe), grown adults who still believe in “fairness." Oh, was I only supposed to pick one?

How would you like to die?
Am I placing an order? Because I’d rather not, thank you. I’ll tell you how I’d rather not die, but you only have so much column space.

What is your motto?
It used to be a quote from Nabokov’s Humbert Humbert, “You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.” But there are undesirable implications to quoting H.H. So now it’s from the Scottish indie band Belle and Sebastian: “I’m not as sad as Dostoyevsky/ I’m not as clever as Mark Twain.” For the record, I only have a motto because my MySpace page requires me to have one. I mean, who goes around with his own motto?