A Dirty Job
© 2006 Christopher Moore
400 pages
Charlie Asher is the last person you might expect to find stealing into the homes of the deceased, looking for beloved possessions to make off with. He’s a typical Beta male — a timid, nonconfrontational “nice guy” who survives on intelligence and disarming kindness rather than brute strength. All he ever wanted out of life was the love of a beautiful woman and the chance to keep his late father’s secondhand store in business, but he saw someone he should not have seen — Death, in the form of a tall dark stranger wearing a minty green suit standing at his wife’s bedside in the hospital, where she has just given birth. The startled stranger soon vanishes, along with her favorite CD. She won’t be needing it anymore, for she is now dead: killed by a blood clot in her brain formed during labor. No one else sees Death, not even the hospital security tapes — but Charlie did, and now along with the demanding responsbility of taking care of a newborn by himself, he will soon be drafted into the ranks of Death.
The minty green stranger is not in fact Death himself: the “Big D” has been gone for centuries. Forces unknown compel those among the living, like Charlie and Minty Fresh (the hospital visitor’s proper name), to seek out the dying and protect their souls. The souls attach themselves to beloved posessions, and “Death Merchants” — Minty’s name for his coworkers — collect these posessions and deliver them to their new bodies as soon as possible, thus facilitating in reincarnation. It’s a dirty job, but important — for if souls are not protected by the likes of Charlie, they become food for the Forces of Darkness. Like the imprisoned Titans, these forces cannot be allowed to gain any strength, lest they invade Earth and chaos ensue. Charlie’s life, never an epitome of normalcy — not with mildly but lovably insane employees — becomes increasing strange. His neighborhood and city are soon home to sinister voices from below and menacing birds from above. Charlie is a Death Merchant in a prophetic time, one in which a great battle is predicted to be fought in San Francisco — one that will end with the rise of a new “Big D”. The Death Merchants have no real idea as for whom that might signify a victory.
As Charlie settles into his role as a father and death merchant through the next six years, the predicted battle draws closer. Physical manifestations of dark spirits are able to take to the streets of San Francisco, feeding on the souls Charlie and others miss. As dark forces are wont to do, they delight in wreaking havoc. Charlie’s daughter becomes an object of attention to two massive hell hounds named Alvin and Muhammad — and then matters just get weird, culminating in a desperate drive to the Three Jewels Buddhist Center.
For a book about death, A Dirty Job is surprisingly funny, both darkly and absurdly so. Moore’s dialog is particularly effective, and the characters here are more developed than in Lamb. A plot twist at the climax made for a delicious surprise, giving the endgame new vigor. If you’re looking for an entertaining novel, A Dirty Job will delight.
Red Emma Speaks: An Emma Goldman Reader
© 1973, 1996 ed. Alix Kates Shulman
464 pages
Emma Goldman was an incorrigible political activist and social critic during the Gilded Age, speaking out against nearly everything society held dear – the government, capitalism, organized religion, and marriage. She was clearly a woman of passion, and I bought this book intrigued by what she might have to say about a period that I am a student of.
Red Emma Speaks consists of articles and essays opining on the organization of society, social institutions, violence, and revolution. Compiler Alix Kates Shulman introduces each section of the book, giving the reader context, and Emma introduces the book proper herself with an extended essay titled “What I Believe”. The themes there are repeated and expanded throughout the book. All of Emma Goldman’s beliefs originated from a fervent belief in humanity’s potential – the belief that people can and should take command of themselves, living purposely. She did not, however, value states and nations: her belief in the human spirit is ardently individualistic. She takes arms against any institution that would in any way limit the individual from living freely – thus her passion for anarchism. Anarchism as understood and practiced by anarchists is not the absence of order, but the absence of outside, inflicted order. She, like Emile Carles, sees people as being able control and governs themselves as individuals. She sees the society’s progress as not resulting from the will of the majority, but caused by the provocations of individuals. The “majority”, the masses, are an inert thing that conform to outside pressures and accomplish nothing on their own.
Her worldview and passion are certainly interesting and well-expressed here. I enjoyed engaging with her, reading and reflecting. Her relationship with socialism was particularly fascinating: like Carles, her ideal is of anarchic socialism. Reading Carles made me realize that socialism and communism were not ideals necessarily connected with a strong state, and Goldman is a reminder of this. Socialism connects to Goldman in that it supports the equality of humanity. Of particular interest to those interested in the history of socialism and communism is her analysis of the Russian state, which she claims is not communistic at all. To her, Russia is nothing more than another class-bound state: its economy is not socialized, but nationalized. She draws a sharp distinction between any government and the society it purports to serve. Her relationship to violence is equally interesting: she seems to wrestle with it, regarding political violence as a necessary evil but then retreating given that it creates more problems than it solves. A perfect example of this is the planned assassination of Henry Clay Frick: not only did the attack on the robber-baron’s life fail to draw positive recognition to their cause, but it undermined their moral high ground.
This is a strong book, well worthy of a recommendation to students of the period and of related thought. Goldman’s is a passionate, articulate voice that provokes the reader into revaluating convention and old perceptions.
Sand and Foam
© 1926, 1943 Kahlil Gibran
112 pages
A few years ago, I read Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet after being stirred by some of his words available through a quotations site. It proved to be an enriching read, and I have maintained an interest in reading more of his works since. I was able to do that this week when reading Sand and Foam, a collection of aphorisms initially published in 1926. Unlike the Prophet, which set its poetry and sayings within a general plot, Sand and Foam is a straightforward collection of small sayings, most of which consist of only a line. There are exceptions, as is the case above. The aphorisms have a mystical feel about them: Gibran never speaks directly, but through poetry. Worship of truth, beauty, and love are common in the book, which is appropriate for Gibran. He is a deeply religious man, but in a universalistic sense. This particular printing contains illustrations by Gibran, typically of the human form. This is a must-read for those who enjoy Gibran, but recommended generally. The book may be read online here.
Letters from a Stoic
© 1969, 2004; translated by Robin Campbell
253 pages
Seneca’s appearance in The Humanist Anthology piqued my interest, so I purchased Letters from a Stoic soon after finishing it, specifically the Penguin Classics edtiion translated by Robin Campell. Seneca’s letters, along with Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations and Epictetus’ Enchiridion, comprise the only Stoic texts that have survived the march of time. The letters are Seneca’s side in an extended exchange between himself and his friend Lucilius. They are often written in resposne to Lucilius’ questions or complaints to Seneca as he pursues the philosophical life, but often Seneca takes up the stylus to muse upon a subject and share his reflections. His musings — and resulting lectures — typically result from happenings in his own life, and almost all reflect teachings and values from the philosophy of Stoicism inside them. Seneca acts a teacher to Lucilius, encouraging him to practive philosophy more actively and expand his horizons. He often quotes from Epicures, the father of a school the Stoics held in opposition to themselves, in an effort to show Lucilius that wisdom is not held in monpoly by just those we admire. Campbell’s translation is quite readable, and the letters as a whole convey a sense of Seneca as being an observant and stern old man full of advice and more than few wry comments. He comes off as a bit grumpy at times, but that is a subjective matter and never detracted from his words.
The letters are more varied and greater in volume than the Meditations or The Art of Living, and I suspect that the format — personal letters — will make it easier for readers to relate to Seneca than to the other Stoic writers, although Aurelius and Epictetus both provide more information on Stoicism proper than does Seneca. Epictetus teaches its fundamentals, and Aurelius constantly reminds himself of them, but Seneca takes Lucilius’ knowledge of Stoicism for granted and advises him on practicing the wise life. I’ve been reading through the letters a little at a time for several months now — off and on — and have enjoyed them greatly, making this an easy recommendation. If you are interested in reading some of his works, Heisodos at “Works and Days” has been commenting on individual passages for some time now. We appear to be using the same translation.
Related:
The Motorcycle Diaries: Notes on a Latin American Journey
© Ernesto Guevara (Ocean Press 2004)
175 pages
“Along the roads of our daydream we reached remote countries, navigated tropical seas and traveled all through Asia. And suddenly, slipping in as if part of our fantasy, the question arose:
‘Why don’t we go to North America?’
‘North America? But how?’
‘On La Poderosa, man.’
I know very little of “Che” Guevara except that he is regarded as a revolutionary, idolized and hated by many. When I saw The Motorcycle Diaries on a reccommended reading list, I decided it might serve as an introduction to the man. The story begins before Guevara does the things for which he is so famous: at this point, he is but a student nearly finished with his medical education. He and his friend decide to drive their motorcycle La Poderosa northward: The Motorcycle Diaries is the chronicle of their journey, written after the fact and augmented by Guevara’s musings on how his perceptions have changed. As the two journey up the western coast of South America (through Chile and Peru before traveling east to Venezuela), they are taken by both the beauty of the land, the hospitality of strangers, and the misery of working conditions for many, particularly miners. Although Guevara’s political sentiments do not appear often, when they do they are expressed with a strong passion. Most memorable are his opinions that the time has come for politicians to stop talking about their accomplishments and actually do something to help the working people and that the United States’ interference in the affairs of nations like Chile must end if the people of those nations are to prosper. As said, I do not know much about Che the man and found the book to be of most inference when he waxed poetically about the landscape or described the living conditions of people.
The book should be of obvious interest to those interested in Che Guervara, as well as to those interested in living and political conditions of South America during the time.
Into the Wild
© 1997 Jon Krakauer
207 pages
Well over a year ago, perhaps closer to two, a friend of mine asked me if I had heard the story of Christopher McCandless, a young man who left society to live off the land in the Alaskan wilderness, perishing in the course of finding whatever it was that pulled him out there. At first his story had no interest for me, but a year later — after reading Walden — I was very much interested in reading the accounts of people who lived lives free from society, either on the road or in the wild. Into the Wild and Jake Kerouac’s On the Road are the only books I know of (presently) that are themed in such a way.
Krakauer presents McCandless’ story well, not only going into Christopher’s background but recounting the lives of people who have perished in similar ways. Krakauer attempts to find their motivations, drawing from accounts of the lives of these men and others like himself who felt a similar call but survived. McCandles himself seems to be possessed by a need to throw himself into the wildness of life and prove that he is worthy of it. He views taking on the wilderness – as he does for many months before hitch-hiking into Alaska — as a spiritual challenge. Krakauer lavishly describes the natural background McCandless and others journeyed through and and died in. He relates strongly to McCandless, seeing him as a kindred spirit – and for him, to understand McCandless’ life and death is to better understand himself. He thus treats his subject sympathetically, but is quick to reproach him for being unprepared.
Into the Wild proved to be a stirring read. While I have no interest in “living off the land”, I’m sympathteic to his desire to be immersed in the glorious beauty of nature. His story gripped me, and the effect he had on the lives he encountered often shocked me. Whatever your opinion of his life and death, this is a story worth contemplating at the very least.
Reading Freely 
