Christopher Farnsworth's Blog, page 8

The Latest News

Hey, I’m a little behind on my shameless self-promotion, so here’s the latest round, just in time for the weekend.

I was interviewed for the 80th episode of the Reading & Writing Podcast by Jeff Rutherford.

The paperback edition of THE PRESIDENT’S VAMPIRE has hit shelves in the UK, and I got a couple great reviews.

Here’s James Lovegrove of the Financial Times on Cade: An “excellent tongue-in-cheek supernatural blockbuster… the perfect thriller to take on a flight to Transylvania.”

And another by Geoffrey Wansell from The Daily Mail, which is really incredibly flattering: “…this is a tale of real horror and darkness written with verve and flair that seeps into the blood.”

Dead Memes: E.F. Hutton

I remember kids who’d make this same joke on the playground in elementary school. We had no idea what it meant, but it was on TV, so we mimicked it. It became a wide-ranging cultural reference. It was even used in Pretty In Pink by Ducky, right before he’s hurled into the girls’ bathroom by the preppies.

E.F. Hutton was a brokerage firm that was absorbed into Shearson Lehman after a check-kiting scandal in the late 80s (although ). That means there’s a whole generation that has no idea what this means. If you tried to use this as a punchline today, you’d get blank stares.

Idols, American and Otherwise

I need to say thanks for some truly terrific endorsements of the books. The first one you might have seen already (he said, not boasting at all) was in Entertainment Weekly. Actress, singer and “American Idol” winner Jordin Sparks said she was reading THE PRESIDENT’S VAMPIRE this summer. So I got that going for me, which is all right.

 I also got an amazing review of BLOOD OATH from Lavie Tidhar, the author of Osama and the Bookman series:

“The words ‘bug fuck crazy’, one sometimes feels, get bandied about too often by careless reviewers, yet I feel no hesitation in applying them to Christopher Farnsworth’s remarkably screwy series of thrillers featuring Cade, the titular President’s Vampire.”

The word “genius” is used as well, and as flattering as that is, I have to say that what I love most about the review is how much it resonates with my own ideas for Cade (which are, admittedly, bug-fuck crazy). I’ve said it before, but I wanted to put into a book everything that I loved and wanted to read. Tidhar also noted exactly the same weak points that still make me wince about my writing and my characters, which was, in a weird way, an even bigger compliment. I’m glad he saw past its flaws. Though I’m not sure I can live up to such high praise, I am really grateful.

I’m also especially grateful because Tidhar got several other people to pick up the books — like the legendary Beau Smith, he’s a hell of a salesman — and one of them was Nick Harkaway. I’ve written before about my admiration for Harkaway’s novels The Gone-Away World and Angelmaker, so I was giddy as a schoolgirl to see he was reading my stuff.

 All of this is a long, self-promoting way of saying I have great readers, and a I’m very lucky guy. Thanks.

Gore Vidal, 1925-2012

Here’s a great obituary of Gore Vidal, who was basically the diarist of the 20th Century, and who always seemed fearless no matter what he said or wrote.

Just a small favor to ask: Could all the good writers please stop dying for a while? Thanks.

 

Friday Ralphisms

Late To The Funeral

The days when I need to check the news for the deaths of friends and heroes have snuck up on me. I thought I still had several decades to go, but apparently not. Over the past couple weeks, I’ve been surprised by the passing of people I now realize I thought would live forever.

The first was Perry Swisher, and I owe him better than this long-delayed note. Perry was larger than life in every way. He started as a reporter in Idaho when many people there didn’t have indoor plumbing, and his honest and often scathing journalism got him more than a few threats to leave town before sundown. From there, he went into politics, and was one of the legislators and public officials who dragged my home state, kicking and screaming, out of the Old West and into the 20th Century. He was an advocate for civil rights, supported a massive push to improve the state’s public schools, and, at a time when most guys his age would joke about having problems with the VCR, argued for broadband Internet access as vital to Idaho’s economy.

He also, famously, once threatened to take an axe to the power cables at a public concert that had gone on late into the night. It wasn’t that the music was keeping him awake — he had to change into his pajamas for dramatic effect. But it was rude, and it was loud, and it pissed him off. It wasn’t neighborly. So he got out his axe, probably well aware he was burnishing his legend at the same time.

He was a friend, and he took the time to school me in politics and journalism when I needed it desperately as a reporter starting out at Boise Weekly. We’d argue occasionally — especially about the fight to bring nuclear waste into Idaho for storage — but I was always aware I was coming to these gunfights unarmed. And though Perry could yell and shout, he’d always show up again, and grumble, “Come on, Farnsworth, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

He was the genuine article. Smart, tough, honest, and brave. I’m grateful he took the time to tell me a thing or two about a thing or two.

***

Just this week, I was surprised again by the deaths of two other writers — men I didn’t know, but who had very big impacts on me at very different stages in my life.

Donald J. Sobol, who wrote the Encyclopedia Brown series of mysteries, died on July 11. I admit, I haven’t kept up with the adventures of Leroy Brown the way I once did, but for a while, I devoured every one of the books as soon as I could find it. I still have the original box of paperbacks my mom got me as a starter set. For those who were unlucky enough to go through childhood without reading these books — there may be one or two of you out there — the premise was simple. Encyclopedia was an unbelievably smart kid who helped his father, a small-town police chief, solve cases. And on his own time, he ran a detective agency out of his garage. He made me believe that justice could be served for 25 cents a day plus expenses.

Encyclopedia exists in a special, unchanging corner of the universe. He has not been supplanted by Wikipedia. Inflation has not affected his rates. His friends still do things like go to soda shops and race soap-box derbies. And I’m glad for that. I once pitched an Encyclopedia Brown script to a production company that held the rights to the stories. (Nothing ever came of it, which was pretty much the usual result for my pitches.) I was thrilled for the chance, but I didn’t really see any way to improve the idea. To me, having Encyclopedia bust drug smugglers, or break into crime-solving raps, or, God forbid, go full Watchmen and have to deal with the grim and gritty underbelly of Idaville would be completely beside the point. His mysteries were all manageable ones. The crimes he confronted were ordinary, and they were proof that most crooks were just not very bright. Encyclopedia showed me that being smart was not a liability: it was an adventure in an otherwise mundane world.

I’m glad I kept my original books — they were some of the few that survived my college-age purge of everything I loved when I was a kid. Now I know I’ve got them, and can pass them on to my daughters, who will hopefully feel the same love, even if they have no idea why this kid doesn’t just use the Internet.

***

Photo of Alex and Jasper by Tao Ruspoli

I only heard yesterday about the death of Alexander Cockburn, and was shocked to discover his age when I read the first line of the first obit. Seventy-one. It didn’t seem possible. He had nothing but energy on the page.

A proud radical, Cockburn loved argument. His endlessly fluent, laughing prose was a far cry from the dour and miserable leftist stuff that I read in college. While other writers complained and moaned about the unfairness of it all, the big mean insults of the patriarchy or the hegemony and the need to put everything in brown paper bags which were of course the most ecologically sound form of packaging, Cockburn’s words were slashing, bright, and above all, happy. He was having an absolutely great time pissing off the powers that be, and had no patience for anyone, left or right, who stuck like mildew to bad ideas. As Paul Rubin says here, he spared no one.

He has been much compared to his one-time friend Christopher Hitchens. Like Hitchens, he could argue endlessly and eloquently. But Hitchens was a much more public figure. As James Wolcott says in this remembrance of Cockburn, they were both literary celebrities once, dating heiresses, showing up at the best parties, all that. But Cockburn took off for the hills, and founded a radical newsletter while living in Northern California. He still never lost his talent for pissing people off. There was something in his views to offend everyone, no matter where I’ve lived, from the deeply Republican territories of Idaho to the well-off, politely liberal Westside of L.A. He supported Ralph Nader and scorned Gore for a corrupt fool. He argued vehemently and passionately against Bush’s wars and the drug wars, but was also suspicious of abortion, and considered Clinton a smiling huckster. He supported a flat tax and never once apologized for being a socialist. He was called an anti-Semite and an apologist for Stalin. His latest heresy was arguing against global warming. (Which, while I disagree, did not really surprise me. I remembered that he also argued against recycling as a way to scam people into sorting trash for free for private corporations.)

In short, there was something for everyone in his work, and it was always a pleasure to read him. This is one of his last speeches on the current health of the American experiment. He has harsh words for Obama and Romney and kind words for Gerald Ford and calls for the death penalty at one point, and yet, he’s funny and gracious and human. (He and Perry would probably have had a blast together, if they had ever met.) More of us could use more of what was in him.

My Top 10 Simpsons Episodes

For no good reason:

10. “Raging Abe Simpson and His Grumbling Grandson in ‘Curse of the Flying Hellfish,’” S7, episode 22.

9. “Homer Vs. The 18th Amendment,” S8, episode 18.

8.

7. “Lisa The Beauty Queen,” S4, episode 3.

6. “Whacking Day,” S4, Episode 20.

5. “Cape Feare,” S5, episode 2.

4. “Homer at the Bat,” S3, episode 17.

3. “Marge vs. The Monorail,” S4, episode 12.

2. “Sweet Seymour Skinner’s Baadasssss Song,” S5, episode 19.

1. “Last Exit To Springfield,” S4, episode 17.

Honorable mentions: “Itchy & Scratchy: The Movie,” “Homie The Clown,” “Krusty Gets Kancelled,” “Summer of 4 Ft. 2,” “22 Short Films About Springfield,” ”The Secret War of Lisa Simpson,” and “Lisa on Ice.”

I’m writing this list because it occurred to me the other day that I’ve stopped watching “The Simpsons.” This is probably not a big deal for most people, but I used to get twitchy unless I could see at least three of the four reruns that Fox aired on a daily basis. Now I’ve realized I’ve missed an entire season — including the Neil Gaiman guest appearance (!) — and I haven’t suffered the slightest withdrawal pains.

It’s a sad commentary on my life, I know.

But now that I’ve got a little distance on what was once an obsession, I decided to write a post about all the eps of “The Simpsons” that inspired my once-compulsive watching. And this is it. This is my desert island list. (If I were to be stranded with a custom-burned DVD, DVD player, HDTV, and sufficient provisions and electricity, of course.) Longtime Simpsons fans will not be surprised that most of the episodes are from what I lovingly refer to the magic seasons, three through five. “Last Exit to Springfield” makes almost every Simpsons fanatic’s top ten list, so no big shock there, either. (“Dental plan!” “Lisa needs braces!” “Dental plan!” “Lisa needs braces!”)

But I divert from the purists by including two from seasons seven and eight, even if they are ranked lower than the others. And my second-favorite episode isn’t even written by John Swartzwelder, who is perhaps the quintessential Simpsons writer. Looking at the actual top 10, in fact, Swartzwelder gets credit for only three of the episodes. Don’t get me wrong. I love Swartzwelder’s ability to seamlessly insert the completely absurd into an episode — like the concept of a whole town that celebrates the slaughter of reptiles in “Whacking Day.” That slight touch of the surreal made the show as great as it was in the magic seasons. But it turns out I’m more of a sucker for the sentimental, sappy endings, like the hug between Skinner and Bart at the end of “Baadasssss Song” or the moment when Lisa forgives Homer at the end of “Beauty Queen.”

Recommended Reading: Friends and Well-Wishers Edition

If you’re taking a leisurely five-day weekend to celebrate the Fourth of July, you’re going to need something to read. And I’m assuming you’ve already read all the adventures of everyone’s favorite patriotic vampire. So it’s time for you folks to branch out a little.

If you’re looking for something scary, then I suggest the latest collection of short stories from my friend and teacher John Rember. Sudden Death Over Time is set almost entirely among the academics at a tiny liberal arts college as they struggle to find their own reasons to live. And while that might not sound like the stuff of horror, in places it is absolutely terrifying. John’s prose is as mercilessly lucid as ever, and he wrestles with the existential questions most of us prefer to avoid without strong chemicals. My personal favorite was the piece about the professor who’d personally taken charge of the college’s stash of deadly materials accumulated in the glory days  of the Cold War, when you could get plutonium and biotoxins through the mail. You can order the book direct from the publisher here.

Coming To My Senses: A Story of Perfume, Pleasure, and an Unlikely Bride is by Alyssa Harad, another refugee, like me, from the great state of Idaho. I admit, I haven’t read this yet, but Alyssa was always a gifted and ridiculously smart writer, so it’s worth checking out. It hits July 5, and sounds fascinating. After thinking of herself as primarily a bookish intellectural, she discovers an unknown sensual obsession in perfume just before she’s about to get married. Think Eat, Pray, Love without the entitlement issues. Wouldn’t be surprised to see this hit Oprah-like levels of success, so get your copy now.

Yet another Boise native, Stephanie Reents just released The Kissing List, a collection of short stories about the early days of semi-adulthood: the escape from grad school; the first, crappy apartments; and the inevitable collisions with love and mortality. Filled with effortless, elegant prose and surprising moments of grace.

When I was at the University of Riverside’s Palm Desert MFA program, (#humblebrag) I got to meet a writer I’ve admired for a long time, Steve Almond. He was gracious about my fanboy piddling all over his sneakers, so I suggest you pick up his new collection of stories, God Bless America, or any of his seriously funny, smart and occasionally sex-drenched work.

Or you can do yourself a favor and read anything by Emily Rapp and be amazed by her ability, her strength, and her breathtaking honesty. (Seriously, I write about vampires to avoid thinking about the stuff she confronts in just a few paragraphs.)

Then there’s Tod Goldberg, whose work will break your heart repeatedly. (Bastard.) His acclaimed novel, Fake Liar Cheat, is back in print, and available for your greedy fingers again.

After all that, you might be in the mood for some lighthearted mayhem. Fortunately, my friend Cody Goodfellow has got you covered. His book, All-Monster Action, destroys the entire planet in a war fought between weaponized Godzillas and bioengineered freaks, and it is ridiculously fun.

Finally, there’s Glen Duncan’s Tallula Rising, the sequel to The Last Werewolf. It’s brilliant. Read both books if you haven’t already. Then read everything else he’s done. Duncan is one of the greatest prose stylists I’ve ever read. Werewolves and vampires are just the bacon and hot fudge on top of the sundae.

As it turns out, there’s nothing like monsters fighting monsters to take your mind off — or maybe illuminate — the great struggle of humanity to simply live through all the joy and pain the world serves up to us, every day.

Okay. That should hold you until at least next week. Get reading.

Friday Read: Saturday Night Dead

Here’s something to distract you on a Friday afternoon. (And if you’re at work, it will look like you’re very seriously examining something on your computer.) It’s a short story I did a while ago called “Saturday Night Dead: The Oral History of SNL During The Zombie Outbreak.” It combines two of my abiding obsessions, zombies and “Saturday Night Live.” I know Seth Grahame-Smith mashed up zombies with Pride and Prejudice, but I’ve never been that highbrow.

Anyway. It might be in poor taste. It might be funny. You can read it here on the site, or you can download a PDF for free from Scribd. All I ask is that you don’t try to sell it or otherwise rip it off. Hope you enjoy.

Hulk-O-Meter Redlining Again

If you only look at the world through the windows of the Internet and 24-7 news, you’ll spend a lot of time in a hateful, sad place. (Yes, I am aware of the irony of blogging this.) So I’ve been trying to limit my screen exposure lately, just like I do for my daughters.

But occasionally, I can’t avoid the TV at my gym, or I get sucked into the latest atrocity via my newsreader feed. And then I feel a raging fury dwelling within me, and I usually spend a lot of time rethinking the merits of the death penalty.

This is what set the Hulk-O-Meter off this morning:

An 18-month-old toddler was ejected from an SUV after it rolled during a police chase. Her father — and I’m using the word in the loosest, biological sense of the term — allegedly stole a girl’s purse, and then took off. The toddler was flung from the vehicle when it rolled, and then — taking her tiny, hesitant, toddler steps — chased after the SUV when it started to leave without her.

I swear to God, I see murder flash before my eyes when I think about that.

I think about my own daughters and the looks of bewilderment and betrayal on their faces when I do something that hurts or disappoints them. I think of the trust they extend to me without thinking, without hesitation. They have faith in me, because they are supposed to have someone they can count on, completely and absolutely. And that is the way it is supposed to be. Parents are supposed to be the first response and last line of defense for their children. We may not be perfect, we might occasionally lose our tempers or fail to buy the present or the ice cream cone, but we are supposed to be worthy of that trust.

And that is why, even after she’s been dumped from a rolling vehicle by the one man she should be able to trust with her life, the little girl gets up and runs after him.

That level of betrayal — that sort of stupid, thoughtless, and selfish variety of evil — makes my hands shake.

I realize there is very little that’s ironic or smart or original in this sentiment. (The snarky Internet commenter who lives in my head comes out and says, in a Comic Book Guy voice, “Oh, he’s against child abuse, how bold.”)

This is another reason I’ve passed by so many of the daily outrages lately. There are plenty of people willing to condemn and to comment, and I don’t need to add to the chorus. I may not be the Christian I once was, but I try to remember that everyone faces a hard struggle, and the greatest challenge there is in these times is to be kind.

But this is just too goddamned much. This is exactly the kind of behavior that should be met with all the outrage we manufacture for things like the plot holes in Prometheus, or the latest political circle-jerk,  or, as I saw when I left the locker room, Kelly Ripa shrieking about cleanliness in ladies’ rooms.

So yeah. Hulk smash.