Mr. James > Recent Status Updates

Me again. I was going to wait until the beginning of the year, but I really need to see you now. Thanks for sending the elevator, and I'd love a hard-boiled egg, just don't forget to paint the shell forest green.

Chapters 2 & 3: Ok, Ernest, once the scholarly chip was off your shoulder, these chapters were informative and interesting. I don't understand how you judge a bull's courage by its wooly hair... but what do I know?

In 1917 Ms. Budge ate 4,200 peaches, an example of true patriotism.

Mr. James's Exaggerated Example of Ernest's Writing Style: "... that is to say, as if it were to be said, it's said to, prior to the state of the statement, but if I were to mean, stated in a simpler way, if I were to state the obvious- which I am (stating the obvious), going back to the former prior successor of my anecdotal conjecture that was negated, to state... Yes, bullfighting is like wine."

I'll give you credit Hux, the narrative on the "lovely Lapiths" is straight up hysterical. I've been hovering around a 3 star rating, but that scene (plus the one that digs farther back into the family history) bumps it to a 3.8. The coffee dripping from my nose and staining my pages proves its worth. The best part of this story, are the stories within the story (told by Henry Wimbush). Just don't crap it up, Hux.

Ward No 6: My thoughts are in the comments. This novella deserves more than a footnote; and more than that if you're ambitious. "Why aren't you?" asks Chekhov. "Wait... I said wait... Damn. Wrong words," I reply, "just look below. Will ya? That'll have to do. Leave me alone!" "Yes... That answers my question," Anton Chekhov says, and removes his spectacles.

The full review will eventually come, but the essence of the book can be summed up with this quote: "Bow, arrow, goal and ego, all melt into one another, so that I can no longer separate them. And even the need to separate has gone. For as soon as I take the bow and shoot, everything becomes so clear and straightforward and so ridiculously simple…”

When the bowstring is released, the shot must "fall from the archer like snow on a bamboo leaf."

In Exile: Chekhov always reminds me why storytelling is important. This is another example of full character development within a few pages. It also serves as a warning: beware of want.

The Flower Master: "... and finally places them together in an exquisite vase. The completed picture looks just as if the Master had guessed what Nature had glimpsed in dark dreams."

Can a western thinker achieve Zen? No. Maybe? My use of the word "thinker" is part of the problem, so is "achieve." Zen is not something that is sought, it's allowed access. Breath. Loosening your grip to release the arrow must be effortless, even though it takes great effort.

Huxley is having a laugh at high society, delusional artists and conceited intellectuals. There's also a typo on page 67... so add editors to the list.

The Artless Art: Drawing and shooting are divided into sections: "grasping the bow, nocking the arrow, raising the bow, drawing and remaining at the point of highest tension, loosing the shot. Each of them began breathing in..."

The Chimney Sweeper: Delicate bones and torn cloth, blood patches hardened black - calloused palms grip a smoke chamber brush, until young eyes search back: Where's love promised?: "Sweet child, only a lifetime served in stink and soot, does god grant access to his court."

Redneck by Loren D. Estleman: Adultery + jealous husband ÷ mistaken identity = mystery. So far I am not feeling the "best" that the anthology title suggests."

I'll compare this to exquisite poetry. You don't need a lot of space to tell a beautiful story.

"Which is it... sir?" Not knowing how to respond the man looks past the constable into a barren poppy field. "Swann's or Guermantes?"

"If you want to be a real writer Mr. James, you must have inspiration not dedication. Here's how I...." Mr. James has turned and is quickly walking in the opposite direction - south: towards Belize. "Wait!" Mr. Barbecue-Smith shouts and chases after him.

The quotes compartment has been neglected. I'm correcting that.

It feels like a spiritual companion to The Great Gatsby. A collection of minds, meeting at Crome Yellow, intellectualizing concepts, and pondering ideals while farmers slaughter pigs.

The Echoing Green: Blond and Grey gather around the green: mouths release long tongues never seen, now push forth syllables for dirt dwellers unclean: Observe: oaks craft sun wet leaf cloaks, while Time ticks towards lies, and mirth withers quick with the babe and the sage; once light shadows black, and gardens eating green honey, loosen their grip: slack.

[...] You pull up your legs, sitting Indian style on the bucket seat, then realize you have forty-three miles left before you meet... You look at distant mountains and notice a granite cliff face crumbling. "He better be there," you say.

Albino Granite: The VW Thing cruises corners on a thin road wrapping around the Himalayan mountains. You look at the driver; his two hands are clutching the steering wheel - those albino eyes never deviate: forward. [...]

What was and What is: The problem of returning to the past, or visiting past acquaintances, is that the idealized time capsule that you hold in your hands, reveals unsightly truths that are now better seen when pried open, tainting nostalgic thoughts with current observations.

This is the case with you, Mr. Lung. When I was young I overlooked your cruel nature. [To be Continued in Full Review]

[...]The driver does as he is told, and passes the Asian man on the return trip, quickly pulling a U-turn. The VW Thing rolls next to the man and you sit comfortably in your bucket seat. You notice he wears a dirty silk robe and say,"Labor became leisure Mr. Lung. You've changed, Mr. Lung. I wish not remember. Earth ARE you?" The man looks up as you slap the driver on the arm,and the VW Thing continues its race east.