The Role of JAMES ADLER in my fiction
It was ten years ago, so the writing prodigy James Adler, an Austrailian, must have been but thirteen years old when he wrote me, having read and loved my Driftless trilogy. He asked what I was writing and I told him about the little novels and he asked to see them and I sent him Kramberger with Monkey and Voices After Evelyn and Skulls of Istria and Adriatica Deserta, all in word format. He replied about a month later and said they were all good enough, but when was I going to write something big? That got my hackles up–I recall we had an exchange about hackles, what they were, when they had been imported to Australia and the fact that they caused more havoc on that big island than cane toads–when to establish his credentials–he was now 14, he sent me a novel he had crafted himself, a drawing of a middle aged woman on a telephone on a cover of a novel, typed, called It’s Danny. It was about a phone call a family received from the troubled and disruptive Danny, and was a masterpiece of dark comedy. I was utterly amazed. I asked if he had sent it out and he told me had absolutely no interest in writing for anyone but his friends and would never sully himself by publishing. Since then I have read at least five of his novels, all of them masterpieces, particularly Your Ape, a novel of 600 or more pages of a complexity that I cannot begin to describe but rivals Pynchon at the very least in its jubilance, sinister atmosphere, and extraordinary wordplay, not to mention many extended comic scenes that remain imprinted on my brain as if I had lived through them. So during the course of our correspondence an idea was born, I can’t say specifically how, that I write something big, and thus The Manifold Destiny of Eddie Vegas was born, and with some ideas from the young Adler sprinkled in, executed to the point where it has become my best work of fiction.
James Adler will not send me a photo, nor do I have his permission to write this, but I think deep down he will appreciate this. I owe the resurrection of my writing career to this young man.
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Thanks for the like, Michael. Someday I'll tell you the whole story.
Intriguing... He's not, perchance, related to Nathan Adler?
NA is a fictional creation in 1. Outside by David Bowie. I was probing whether or not JA is a fictional device in your work.
gee Paul, how to proceed in a way that preserves my intent yet rewards your insight? James Adler does exist. But...
So, then. My Driftelss Trilogy was sold to a French publisher, every US writer's dream...but they put out little paperbacks after publishing trade size, and intended to sell two of mine at all the little shops and stations, etc. Big times, right? They went bankrupt before that happened. I have a copy of the tiny books, but just one each. They did no sell well after the first one. They were hardly reviewed. They have long been out of print. I am using the corona/samizdat to publish writers long screwed and tomorrow the first will be available. David Vardeman's An Angel of Sodom (and 13 shorter stories). Next will be the George Salis world version of his novel Sea Above, Sun Below. But a gap opened, and so Salis has no need now, so I thought, why not bring back The Driftless Trilogy. And so I am. But I want to do all the things a writer can do to declare his or her independence, and so on the front cover there is a brilliant, short blurb from James Adler, who is an actual Australian human of 23 years and wrote the blurb, which I upgraded to a degree, having been a fine blurborian for decades. James said, but people will look for me and find nothing. So I wrote that bit the other day in a bit of a rush, just to get him on the googlespheresaga. And the cover artist is the best in the business, Jason Snyder, who did Voices After Evelyn, taking a percentage of potential profit. On back, instead of blurb of book we have actual blurb of man. A friend spoke to me on whatsapp what he thought he would tell an interviewer about me. So the author is blurbed. Then a lengthy disclaimer is used to give a sense of the books, and the photo is my old pic of me from behind, statue of Jimmy J of Dublin facing, me grabbing his nuts. And now I shall have the book I want.
Well, that's a Rabelaisian narrative, right there... I was right to be intrigued! Ah, yes, small presses and their disappearing acts. It's not an easy life outside the literary mainstream.
No, but if done well, it can be maintained. THe trick is not to try to make a living off it. Kaya Press, publishing mostly Asian diaspora lit has done great and been alive over 20 years.In my case, the trick is to keep expenses very low, yet have nice covers and a good printer, and aim just to meet the printing costs.
I think with such modest goals we will manage. The disgusting shit with Riverboat makes for a good origin story for corona/samizdat, and I picked up the Vardeman book today and it's beautiful. And VERY small.
