Muzzlers, Guzzlers, and Good Yeggs

So, I come home last night and open my mailbox to find two treats. The first being an 1894-1895 Montgomery Ward catalog. And the second, the second I’ve been salivating over since I found out it existed thanks to somebody on Facebook (and, sorry, can’t for the life of me remember who): Muzzlers, Guzzlers, and Good Yeggs by Joe Coleman.

From the product description:

Muzzlers features five stories: “You Can’t Win,” which adapts the memoir of the same name by Jack Black, the notorious early 20th century con-man, thief, opium addict, convict and author; “Boxcar Bertha,” which is about the depression-era female hobo who is driven to prostitution, only to be led to salvation by an unwanted pregnancy; “Carl Panzram, #31614,” which depicts the life of the notorious serial killer and rapist who declared, “I hate the whole damned human race, including myself” and who expressed his thirst for murder right up to his own execution; “The Final Days of John Paul Knowles,” a.k.a. “The Final Days of the Boston Strangler,” which is equally a story about Sandy Fawkes, the woman who narrowly escaped being Knowles’ seventeenth victim; the last story in the collection is “The Wages of Sin,”a brief manifesto on human suffering and the people and institutions that perpetuate it (priests, scientists and military, e.g.). With the exception of “The Wages of Sin,” which serves as a kind of coda to the other four stories presented, each piece is written in the first person, putting the reader into the minds of each subject. Muzzlers, Guzzlers, and Good Yeggs is presented in a handsome, compact format that resembles a Big Little Book, though one strictly for grown-ups.

It’s a beautiful little book. And as soon as I finish with another “manifesto on human suffering and the people and institutions that perpetuate it,” Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil, which I realized not long ago that somehow I’d never read in its entirety, I’m digging in.

In sort of the same vein, I very much appreciated this review from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution of Satan Is Real.

Whitmer’s skill is evident in the smooth flow of more than 75 years of history divided into brief, anecdotal chapters, and in the way he seems to have stepped aside and left the tape running. Everything else is pure, unvarnished Charlie Louvin: plainspoken, blunt, funny, sharing his homespun wisdom about life, love, drinking and playing country music at every turn, with language occasionally rough enough to strip paint. There are times when you can almost hear his gravelly voice and smell his cigarette burning.

Between the lines, though, we can see him returning again and again  to the Cain-and-Abel motif, determined to wrestle this big brother mystery to the ground and get it right for once. In the process of recalling the self-destructive behavior on and off stage that eventually ended his and Ira’s harmonies, both musical and fraternal, their relationship unfolds in all its affectionate, frustrating, messy, loyal and complicated glory.

The rest.

And this one from Ink 19:

Satan Is Real is a great read, full of insights that any fan of “real” country music will enjoy. Be forewarned: Charlie ain’t a preacher, and spares no salty language or ribald commentary when telling his tale. And what a tale it is. From back-breaking poverty growing up in Sand Mountain to acclaim on the Grand Old Opry and all points in-between, the Louvin Brothers’ story is a compulsive read, and in the end, as cherished as their music.

The rest.

Also, Mr. Slowboat was kind enough to send me this via Facebook (from here):

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And, lastly, I want to have tea with Alan Rickman.

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