A little Kerouac, A little Golding, A Lot of Brilliance...

THE SURF GURU by Doug Dorst

The title story, "The Surf Guru", ends as it begins, in wistful uncertainty, with hope yes, but limited and realistic. Perhaps it is this even-tempered melancholy that so strikes me about Doug Dorst's collection of stories here, a tone which gifts the work a sense of wisdom and catharsis.

Trace and Phil, a duo of fuck-ups grace two stories, both of sadness but of moments of gusto and hilarity as well. One connotes Kerouac in its reckless assault of the modern American west while the other conjures the helpless and morose of those in and out of love. Both left me hurt in a way that made me close the book at their finish. Deep breath, then re-open for the next story.

Then there was the historical piece about a Mexican village and the shamed father of a whore and a recluse - a man who has lost his family but not his pride culminating in the dangerous feast ritual of the running of the hyenas. William Golding's sun-worshipper story had a similar timeless feel to me, though Mr. Dorst's piece contains much more humanity.

Dystopian portraits of today's America cried to me as I read further wanting the smallest of redemptions. Sometimes Mr. Dorst complies, other times, it was enough to know that the world continued. I love this book: 3.5 out of 4 stars.

Week One - Barely

The cover proclaims this to be A.E. Van Vogt's "rarest novel" and celebrates the amazing luck that the publisher was able to re-discover the work and print it for all the masses. Of course, that would be in the early sixties and I myself chanced upon the book here in the next century. Odd.
At first startling was that I'd never heard of Van Vogt, and I consider myself a fan of genre fiction - especially high-minded, conceptually-confusing science tales that deal with the making and breaking of the universe. I've since finished the short novella (one of the reasons I chose it first to make sure I got the behkuhwik project running) and was both amazed with the concepts yet unimpressed with the writing. The cliches run wild and numerous times Vogt doesn't even try a new, individual image but the book's shortcomings in the literary sense didn't keep me to finish. Think time-travel, paradox, egotistical male protagonist, and generally amazing notions of existence. Of course, after finishing, I learn that Philip K. Dick (in my top 5 authors of all time) cites Vogt specifically as an influence. Cool shit
I give it 2.768 points out of a possible 4.000.
Cheers. The next read? Maybe David Foster Wallace. Maybe Herman Wouk. Maybe a re-read of Roberto Bolano.

behkuhwik... that's fifty-two behks this year...

That's a tall order. And not all of them will fall into the category of the reputed literary 'canon' as it were, but I do so much like to bend the rules to my will. Beginning the year easy, with John Le Carre's A Most Wanted Man. Rather dismal for the moment...