Status Updates From Things I Like About America...

I decided (inexplicably and out of character) that I should read something patriotic over the Fourth of July weekend. This was my obvious choice: it may be the only book I own with "America" right there in the title. I just devoured another essay, and I am still hungry for more Poe Ballantine.

I'm not sure if the last chapter about the 13-year-old 'Estrellita' was intended as such, but the way I see this book it's all about the stasis: the little boys and girls that should have been his charges but instead float off into the ether of his stories. what will become of Estrellita and all the other children and young women who pulled at your heart and soul? and all they left behind was an empty bag of chips...

what is it that can take the saddest, most desperate times in a person's life and make of them stories that are only sad and not meaningful, sodden? it is when he is writing of others that he is best; too much of his own feelings and I am rapt with "I felt, I felt, I felt" and I want to know about the little girl who fell off her bike and cried and hugged you. when you said, you loved her, I loved you too.

I thought I'd read 10 or 15 pages, maybe a whole essay, and suddenly it was after 1 a.m. and I was nearly halfway through his book. and I think all the blurbsters have it wrong: he seems not Kerouacian at all (though some of his paragraphs read like Jack's). no, he seems to be wandering until he's able to step in, really fight for something or someone, not let go. there are worthy souls everywhere; he just hangs back

so far my most enjoyable read in a long time.

Insane story, unbelievable writer. But I really do believe him so far.