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Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 by Hunter S. Thompson (1973)

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 brings together articles written by Hunter S. Thompson during his time as a political correspondent for Rolling Stone on the 1972 Presidential campaign, in which George McGovern ran up against incumbent Richard Nixon. Thompson follows the campaign through rallies around the country, the Democratic and Republican conventions, up until the aftermath of the disheartening landslide loss which saw Nixon re-elected. Thompson’s political leanings are strongly toward the Democrats, his sympathies tend to lie with the McGovern camp and he focuses much of his attention there, but he doesn’t withhold his criticisms of the troubled campaign.

“McGovern made some stupid mistakes, but in context they seem almost frivolous compared to the things Richard Nixon does every day of his life, on purpose, as amatter of policy and aperfect expression of everything he stands for.
Jesus! Where will it end? How low do you have to stoop in this country to be President?”

Thompson throws the idea of objective political journalism out of the window, and inserts his huge personality and wit into every aspect of his journey through the political landscape. The crazy energy is felt most clearly when Thompson resorts to reprinting his jotted down during proceedings notes, where it is almost as though he can’t even begin to comprehend creating a narrative or story out of the bizarre happenings in the political world. Exhausted by looming deadlines and yet driven by the excitement of all that is happening, the down to the wire reportage imbues the writing with an intense energy that is difficult to escape. Thompson makes the political game interesting – although the extremely peculiar events and circumstances that evolve throughout the campaign also contribute.

“Compared to the Democratic Convention five weeks earlier, the Nixon celebration was an ugly, low-level trip that hovered somewhere in that grim indefinable limbo between dullness and obscenity – like a bad pornographic film that you want to walk out on, but sit through anyway and then leave the theater feeling depressed and vaguely embarrassed with yourself for ever having taken part in it, even as a spectator.
It was so bad, overall, that it is hard to even work up the energy to write about it.”

For all the journalists opinions on how things should have turned out, all their speculation just couldn’t keep up with the sheer unknowable political power of the voting public. All the well-reasoned rhetoric in the world ultimately couldn’t predict the final count. Thompson’s post-election analysis – including a particularly insightful interview with George McGovern – concludes that much of the devastating loss had to do with the loss of faith in the McGovern campaign due to the Eagleton affair (McGovern’s vice-presidential candidate was revealed as having received shock-treatment for severe depression and Eagleton was forced to resign from the ticket.) and the “mood of the nation”, fuelled by growing anxiety following the “social upheavals of the 60s.” Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 is a cynical observation of the world of presidential politics which makes for an utterly compelling read regardless of your knowledge of the American political system.

Carson McCullers 1917-1967

On this day 42 years ago, September 29th 1967, the writer Carson McCullers died at the age of 50.

Carson McCullers photographed by Louise Dahl-Wolfe in Central Park, April 1941

Carson McCullers photographed by Louise Dahl-Wolfe in Central Park, April 1941

I only discovered her writing this year, something which I am eternally grateful for. I think reading this incredibly talented author at any other time in my life would have lessened the impact her writing had on me. The sparseness of her words, her evocative descriptions of the minutiae of every day life, her complete understanding of being outcast, of loneliness, and most importantly, of the struggle toward love. Her work, and the story of her life, continue to provide me with endless inspiration.

If you’ve yet to experience McCullers devastatingly perceptive prose, here is a link to a full text copy of one of my favourite of her short stories “A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud.” originally published in 1942, and available in print with the novella The Ballad of the Sad Café. I also strongly recommend her first novel, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, published when she was just 23. I am going to be reading, writing about and re-reading a lot more of McCullers in the future but in the meantime, here’s a small sample dedicated to the responsible (!) number of whiskeys I threw down last night in her honour:

And that is not all. It is known that if a message is written with lemon juice on a clean sheet of paper there will be no sign of it. But if the paper is held for a moment to the fire then the letters turn brown and the meaning becomes clear. Imagine that the whisky is the fire and that the message is that which is known only in the soul of a man – then the worth of Miss Amelia’s liquor can be understood. Things that have gone unnoticed, thoughts that have been harboured far back in the dark mind, are suddenly recognized and comprehended. [...] Such things as these, then, happen when a man has drunk Miss Amelia’s liquor. He may suffer, or he may be spent with joy – but the experience has shown the truth; he has warmed his soul and seen the message hidden there.
(from The Ballad of the Sad Café)

And as Charles Bukowski in his eponymous poem about her wrote;

“all her books of
terrified loneliness

all her books about
the cruelty
of loveless love

[...]

and everything
continued just
as
she had written it”

Book Loot: Week Ending September 27th, 2009

Brace yourself, dear readers.

I didn’t buy any books (gasp! shock! horror!) so I have nothing to report on the rabid book-buyer front this week. Instead, seeing it feels as though it has been a while between reviews, I’ll quickly chat about what I have been reading. I’m working my way through Alan Warner’s Morvern Callar, which, despite it’s heavy use of a Scottish accented prose and slang and a generally downbeat demeanour, is keeping my attention. That is, when that attention isn’t being distracted by Hunter S. Thompson with Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 72. H.S.T. is managing to captivate me and get me involved in the American politics of 37 years ago with his outlandish wit and fierce mockery of the system. I’ve still got some Chuck Palahniuk books to read, but I think maybe the Palahniuk wave has crashed and I might be a bit over it? I’ll see how I feel when I finish these two books.

I started watching the first season of Mad Men this week, and the incredibly handsome Jon Hamm has me really wanting to read/reread some Jack Kerouac. Anyone else think Hamm would make a great Kerouac if someone had the lack of decency to make a film version of his life? Speaking of Mad Men, here’s me and Don Draper at an after-work rendezvous via the way too much fun on a boring Sunday afternoon at work Mad Men Yourself:

So, Don, what have you been reading?

So, Don, what have you been reading?

Ahem. Cartoon vanity and daydreams of meeting some dashing Don Draper look-a-like over a cocktail or two aside, here are some bookish articles that I found interesting this week. Douglas Coupland writing for the Guardian on his personal circumstances while he wrote Generation X:

“And so I started to write the book. I remember spending my days almost dizzy with loneliness and feeling like I’d sold the family cow for three beans. I suppose it was this crippling loneliness that gave Gen X its bite. I was trying to imagine a life for myself on paper that certainly wasn’t happening in reality. In the book there was the idea that people marooned in life could unmaroon themselves by telling stories to each other. That still seems to me to be a valid way of seeing the world. There was also the notion that telling stories was a way of coping with information overload – hence the book’s subtitle, Tales for an Accelerated Culture. In 1989, information overload meant 50 TV stations instead of 10, as well as push-button phones instead of rotary dial phones – quaint now, but back then it felt real. What was really going on with the writing of X was, I suspect, the use of storytelling as a form of creative pattern recognition from which clues to psychic survival might erupt. That’s possibly what storytelling is in a large sense, and it’s what I do for a living, the most recent evidence of which is Generation A, a follow-up to X where the cultural acceleration experienced by the characters is palpable rather than theoretical.”

Heather Dent over at PopMatters writes a reflective eulogy for Hunter S. Thompson:

“For generation after generation, Thompson rocked/rocks/will rock the dominant paradigm, describes our national character; corruption, inequality, mediocrity, freedom and fun, Fear and Loathing. His words, all the more relevant today, continue to delight and rattle us.”

Over at the New York Times, Arthur Krystal contemplates writers who appear to be terrible conversationalists.

And, finally, in my constant search for news, articles and basically anything of interest regarding Carson McCullers, Google News search turned up a review of a bar in Portland, The Press Club, which has a selection of crêpes named after authors. It appears that the owners have some good taste in literature as one of the crêpes is named after McCullers and I’m curious about how they decided that this particular combination of ingredients – “mozzarella, mushrooms, red peppers, and spinach” – represented Carson McCullers? In lieu of a ticket to Portland, I’m tempted to try and create my own version of crêpe à la Carson and report back on my findings.

Booking Through Thursday: Recent Sad

Booking Through ThursdayWhat’s the saddest book you’ve read recently?

The book as a whole wasn’t sad, but there was one chapter in Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List which really got to me. Just hit a bit too close to home. A character, Robin (male) is describing his friendship with Robin (female) who wants to be more than friends. It is male Robin’s only chapter in the entire book, and it is written in a frantic stream-of-consciousness style. Here is where we get a bit personal. A few months ago I lost my yeah kind of a douchebag but still my best friend due to similar misunderstandings and this chapter just managed to really hit that nerve. Perhaps not universally sad, but definitely sad at the time that I read it.

“[...] I just want to do shit like talk to her and drink with her and sit and do homework with her, because when we do shit like that, it’s not nearly as boring as it is when I do it alone, because every now and then she’ll grunt or laugh and I’ll say, What? and she’ll come up with the most random shit, which totally makes me think she’s the greatest, only I don’t want to sleep with her. And Gerald, he was saying, Dude, you know there’s a word for that kind of relationship, and I was like, Please tell me what it is because this is killing me, and Gerald was smiling and taking a big drag before he said to me, Friendship, man–that shit’s called friendship.”

And just to make this post a little lighter, here’s a song I manage to get stuck in my head whenever anyone mentions crying, tears or hot boys from New Zealand – “Hurt Feelings” by Flight of the Conchords. They never fail to cheer me up when I’m down:

Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan (2007)

Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

I generally avoid teen literature/young adult literature, most of the time I don’t find it particularly engaging, relevant or intellectually stimulating. A friend and I both read and loved Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist last summer. (And then we also went and saw the movie at the Moonlight Cinema – botanical gardens, twilight skies, comfy beanbags and a picnic, that was a really great night.) Nick and Norah was effective because it captured that anxious adolescent romantic energy, without any unnecessary moralizing or simplifying. So when it comes to the teen literature genre, I am willing to make an exception for Rachel Cohn and David Levithan’s collaborative efforts.

This time, they tackle the messy, often complicated, notion of friendship and love. Naomi and Ely have lived in the same building since they were young, they have grown up together, shared everything. Their friendship begins to collapse when Ely breaches the “No Kiss List” and kisses Naomi’s boyfriend. The story is told, unlike Nick and Norah which was told entirely by the titular characters, from the perspective of a number of different characters, all involved in the aftermath of the broken friendship.

“I knew for the first time that when you say a couple is splitting up, it’s not just the relationship that’s splitting. In some way, everyone involved gets split up, too. Each of my moms was splitting. Each of Naomi’s parents was splitting. Naomi was splitting. I was splitting. And the reaction to that—my reaction to that—was to hold on as strong as possible. To try to hold things together. Because to let go would be the end of everything. To let go would be a murder of what once was.” (Ely)

Where the novel succeeds is in understanding the delicacy and colossal importance of friendship in the lives of young adults. The relationships between all of the main characters feel, for the most part, true to life. The multi-narrator technique allows us to see how each individual sees things, the disparity with how other characters interpret events, and how this leads to conflict. Particularly touching, out of all the narrative strands, is Bruce the Second’s coming to terms with and confronting his sexuality. This issue is dealt with a supreme sensitivity and never feels overwrought.

“It is not easy. Things that matter are not easy. Feelings of happiness are easy. Happiness is not. Flirting is easy. Love is not. Saying you’re friends is easy. Being friends is not.” (Ely)

At times it is difficult to understand or empathize with Naomi’s frustration with Ely, her reasoning isn’t clear. She has feelings for Ely despite knowing he is gay, but can’t manage to grasp that their life together is never going to be anything more than friendship. Although she is clearly confused and hurt by Ely’s actions, her actions seem to be driven by an unyielding tenacity to her impossible idea of how things should be. Her emotional and personal revelations are inadequate in comparison to the changes that the other characters are going through. Her burgeoning relationship with the young doorman Gabriel at times feels a little forced, just so that she can have her happy ending.

Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List displays an awareness of the heightened emotional response in situations of confrontation and conflict in friendships, and there is real compassion for the struggles of the characters, even when some lack complexity and urgency.

Book Loot: Week Ending September 20th, 2009

Book Loot: Week Ending September 20th, 2009

Book Loot: Week Ending September 20th, 2009

A very small loot indeed this week!

Oh, 3 for 2 Popular Penguin deal, you’re just too good! My copy of Brideshead is a bit battered – but it’s also a Penguin orange edition, from 1951. 1951! So, a replacement/extra copy was much needed. I started reading Dunces a few years ago, but never got around to finishing it, I think I had to return it to the library before I was done. And, I don’t think I’ve ever been as ecstatic over a book as I was when I received a review copy of Douglas Coupland’s upcoming release in the mail. Very exciting!

Generation A by Douglas Coupland (2009)

Generation A by Douglas Coupland

Generation A by Douglas Coupland

Generation A is the story of five previously unconnected individuals living some time in the near future in which bees are extinct. They become minor celebrities, and their lives begin to change and merge after they each get stung. I make no secret of the fact that I am a huge fan of Coupland’s writing. He manages to pick out the seemingly minor aspects of our culture and imbue them with humour, cynicism and hope. Despite his more recent output not nearly reaching the heights of his early 1990s work, a new Coupland is always something to look forward to.

In Generation A Coupland manages to capture the essence of the isolation of virtual existence. Connections are made, but they are temporary. All of the characters here are technologically savvy – engaging in new forms of web 2.0 memes, creating fake commerce sites that become instant internet sensations or playing World of Warcraft – however, rather than the utopian ideal of this new form of communication bringing them into the greater social fabric of the world, it isolates them. Julien, a young French student who never attends class frequently describes his disgust and hatred of the physicality of the world, as compared to his “ideal reality” in World of Warcraft.

“I saw how each of us led lives that were deeply isolated in their own ways. I think the modern world isolates people – that’s its job – but there are so many different ways to be lost and there was a unity to the texture of all our lives when the stingers went in.” (Diana)

The introduction of a powerful fictional drug – the phenomenally successful Solon – which induces in its users a sensation of contented solitude further drives the message against social isolation while simultaneously critiquing the current appetite for potent medication, both legal and illegal. These themes, however heavy and contemporaneously relevant, are immersed in Coupland’s traditional prose style, heavy on references to common pop cultural experiences and illuminating humour.

“When I was still pretending to go to the Sorbonne, I took a class called Heroes and the Monomyth. The moment I started attending, I simply stopped caring about grades or anything else. I decided that knowledge comes from real life and from travel and interacting with others. So I decided to spend all of my awake time playing World of Warcraft. How amazing to see all that mythology acting itself out in real time, fuelled by genuine human sentience!” (Julien)

Coupland focuses on how shared experience can create a genuine desire for social, human connection, and how the act of telling stories figures into these connections. As the five are brought together in a unique, twisted form of group therapy under the guidance of scientist Serge, their act of transforming their current situation via the method of reframing them into fictional narratives allows them to come to a greater understanding of themselves. Generation A acts as a suckerpunch of a wake up call to contemporary society, while offering a cast of colourful characters and some unexpected plot twists. Cynical, but with a strong sense of hope that things can (and must) change.

Generation A will be released in Australia on October 1. Many thanks to the good folk at Random House Australia for providing me with a review copy.

Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon (2009)

Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon

Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon

Inherent Vice

This review is going to begin with a very uncool admission. Make that an unhip admission. I’ve never read any Thomas Pynchon before Inherent Vice. Frankly, the idea of doing so terrified me. Maybe it’s not even the supposed difficulty of Pynchon that scares me, but how intimidating his ardent fans are. I mean, check out this complete, thorough wiki-style guide to every single reference in Inherent Vice. That takes some dedication. So, even though the story of Inherent Vice has intrigued me for a while now, I still approached it apprehensively.

Set in Los Angeles with the glory days of the revolutionary sixties behind him, Doc Sportello is a hippie detective who is drawn into a mysterious world of ex-cons, corrupt police, inspired property developers and ex-gambling addict limousine drivers. Approached by an ex-lover with a story about a suspected plot to kidnap her billionaire boyfriend, Doc heads into the unknown with only his wits and a steady supply of mind-altering drugs to guide him.

Much to my surprise, Inherent Vice is accessible. Not only is it accessible, it is compulsively readable – I found it difficult to put the book down and walk away. The storyline, while taking the usual twists and turns of detective fiction, is relatively straight forward. The references Pynchon makes are, for the most part, not too obscure, relying mainly on facets of popular culture. Doc himself is all too similar to the Dude from The Big Lebowski – owing probably a lot to the Dude like drawl of Pynchon himself in the book trailer. The writing is vivid, yet at the same time, faintly nostalgic:

“In every window, one by one as Japonica crept by, appeared a hippie freak or small party of hippie freaks, each listening on headphones to a different rock ‘n’ roll album and moving around at a different rhythm. Like Denis, Doc was used to outdoor concerts where thousands of people congregated to listen to music for free, and where it all got sort of blended together into a single public self, because everybody was having the same experience. But here, each person was listening in solitude, confinement and mutual silence, and some of them later at the register would actually be spending money to hear rock ‘n’ roll. It seemed to Doc like some strange kind of dues or payback. More and more lately he’d been brooding about this great collective dream that everybody was being encouraged to stay tripping around in. Only now and then would you get an unplanned glimpse at the other side.”

Doc is a likable character, honest about himself and his habits, honest, perhaps too honest, in his business and able to maneuver the murky underworld of Los Angeles crime in a marijuana haze while never seemingly truly comprehending the danger present. The other characters are a curious group of ever-morphing criminals and surfers and stoners and police. The antagonism between the local police celebrity, Bigfoot Bjornsen, and Doc is hilarious, some of their banter is really, really funny:

“Odd, yes, here in the capital of eternal youth, endless summer and all, that fear should be running the town again as in days of old, like the Hollywood blacklist you don’t remember and the Watts rioting you do—it spreads, like blood in a swimming pool, till it occupies all the volume of the day. And then maybe some playful soul shows up with a bucketful of piranhas, dumps them in the pool, and right away they can taste the blood. They swim around looking for what’s bleeding but they don’t find anything, all of them getting more and more crazy, till the craziness reaches a point. Which is when they begin to feed on each other.”
Doc considered this for a bit. “What’s in ‘em lingonberries, Bigfoot?”

The plot, while knotty, never becomes entirely incomprehensible, as even Doc has a loose hold on what is or isn’t happening. It’s really an intensely enjoyable, paranoid trip. It almost gives me the necessary courage to tackle Pynchon’s other monolithic tomes.

Almost.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (1985)

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

The Handmaid’s Tale: Offred is a national resource. In the Republic of Gilead her viable ovaries make her a precious commodity, and the state allows her only one function: to breed. As a Handmaid she carries no name except her Master’s, for whose barren wife she must act as a surrogate. But Offred cannot help remembering subversive details of her former life: her mother, her lover, her child, her real name, women having jobs and being allowed to read, fun, “freedom.” Dissenters are supposed to end up either at the Wall, where they are hanged, or in the Colonies, to die a lingering death from radiation sickness. But the irrepressible Moira shows Offred that it is possible to cheat the system.

A short break from Palahniuk mania for the minute, and instead, some classic feminist dystopian fiction. In The Handmaid’s Tale, the narrator, Offred, is a Handmaid, a surrogate, live-in fertility vessel. She occupies the lowest position in the household of the Commander, she is given no voice, and no freedom. Her sole occupation is to assist the Commander and his Wife in producing a progeny.

She remembers, partially and quietly, her past life, her friends, her child, her husband and the political path that led to her current situation and the creation of the Republic of Gilead. She repeatedly reflects that after her, the future Handmaids won’t be able to remember anything from before, their reality as Handmaids will be the only one they know. This idea was profoundly effective, the idea that you need to have some grasp of alternate possibilities in order to hope. While Offred does hope, dream and remember about how things were before, and how things could be, she is ultimately oppressed by the new system. She can remember all the freedoms she took for granted in the past – of reading, studying, working, walking the streets without supervision – but the idea of these alone, purely because of the system in place, does not set her free. It almost becomes frustrating, because for every possible way out, the new political/social system seems to have a method of preventing it. Offred herself, however, never frustrates the reader because we recognize the brutality of a system which denies her her rights. The first person narration allows the reader to see her as an active subject, as a woman with thoughts and feelings that wildly contradict the social structure. Hers is a quiet subversion.

Also hugely effective is Offred’s recollection of the systematic removal of women’s rights that occurred with the political changeover. Almost overnight, women are forbidden access to their own money, they are fired from their jobs. What is most chilling about this, is it feels as though it is entirely possible. It doesn’t seem so alien and impossible.

“We lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn’t the same as ignorance, you have to work at it.
Nothing changes instantaneously: in a gradually heating bathtub you’d be boiled to death before you knew it. There were stories in the newspapers of course, corpses in ditches or the woods, bludgeoned to death or mutilated, interfered with as they used to say, but they were about other women, and the men who did such things were other men. None of them were men we knew. The newspaper stories were like dreams to us, bad dreams dreamt by others. How awful, we would say, and they were, but they were awful without being believable. They were too melodramatic, they had a dimension that was not the dimension of our lives.
We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom.
We lived in the gaps between the stories.

Dystopian science fiction with a decidedly feminist twist, The Handmaid’s Tale offers a chilling glimpse of an all too possible future.

Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories by Chuck Palahniuk (2004)

Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories by Chuck Palahniuk

Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories by Chuck Palahniuk

Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories: Chuck Palahniuk’s world has been, well, different from yours and mine. The pieces that comprise Stranger Than Fiction prove just how different, in ways both highly entertaining and deeply unsettling. Encounters with alternative culture heroes Marilyn Manson and Juliette Lewis; the peculiar wages of fame attendant on the big budget production of the movie Fight Club; life as an assembly-line drive train installer by day, hospice volunteer driver by night; the really peculiar life of submariners; the really violent world of college wrestlers; the underground world of anabolic steroid gobblers; the harrowing circumstances of his father’s murder and the trial of his killer – each essay or vignette offers a unique facet of existence as lived in and/or observed by one of America’s most flagrantly daring and original literary talents.

The Palahniuk binge continues, this time branching out to his non-fiction work in the collection Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories. Like much of his fiction, here Palahniuk is interested in the strange, the weird, the off-beat, from Olympic wrestling try-outs to life on a submarine to events of his personal life during the production of the film adaptation of Fight Club. The book is divided into three sections, People Together – brief glimpses into how people congregate and form community around different activities and interests, Portraits – interviews and monologues with famous, or not so famous but nonetheless worthy individuals, and Personal – brief sketches of small moments in the authors life.

“This is your life, but processed. Hammered into the mold of a good screenplay. Interpreted according to the model of a successful box-office hit. It’s no surprise you’ve started seeing every day in terms of another plot point. Music becomes your soundtrack. Clothing becomes costume. Conversation, dialogue. Our technology for telling stories becomes our language for remembering  our lives. For understanding ourselves. Our framework for perceiving the world.”
- from “You Are Here”, about writers pitching their story ideas to film producers at conventions.

The quality of the pieces is uneven, ranging from the mildly intriguing, to the downright boring, and toward the end, humourous and touching. Palahniuk’s strong narrative voice seems to be largely absent here, except in the more personal essays. Many of them read like magazine fodder, spat out just before deadline. While the subject may well be interesting, there is little effort made to engage the reader. Some commentary from Palahniuk, some attempt at insight would have been effective. The fascinating, sometimes outrageous nature of the material is supposed to speak for itself, but for the most part, it does not. My favourite pieces were of Palahniuk’s experimentation with anabolic steroids in “Frontiers”, the hosting of a party of psychics and skeptics in a haunted house in “The Lady” and a tender portrait of a woman and her dog who search for dead bodies in disaster areas in “Bodhisattvas.”

When Palahniuk tears down the façade of controversial, transgressive author tough guy and is open about himself and how he views life is where the articles become truly engaging. Unfortunately, these are limited to the final thirty pages of the book. More of this, letting his personality and unique perspective on the oddities of modern life, could have created a work of non-fiction equally as engaging and entertaining as his fiction work.