A Cruel Man Delighting in Flowers

...the mildness to which men ... had yielded was only half of the intoxication of beauty, while the other half ... was of such surpassing and terrible cruelty—the most cruel of men delights himself with a flower—that beauty ... failed quickly of its effect... 

Hermann BrochThe Death of Virgil

 

Jeremy Davies is made of ink, but don’t dip a feather in him. It tickles. He once painted a fingernail black and no one really noticed. He was disappointed. He’s also an editor, a religious atheist, a liker of strong coffees, a Shakespeare-lover, a political anarchist and someone who rarely has a pen when he needs one. He has been a PhD candidate, a personal trainer, a life model, a bouncer, an infantry soldier and someone who rarely had a pen when he needed one. He has had words published in a variety of places, in a variety of publications, in a variety of forms, in a variety of moments: Canada, Wet Ink, SMS and twelve minutes past three in the afternoon being some of these. His first novel, 'Missing Presumed Undead', will be re-published by Satalyte Publishing in February 2014. A second is on its way.

Portnoy's Complaint - Philip Roth Philip Roth is the kind of writer that just doesn't seem to show up anymore. He is unflinching, fearless and unafraid. He doesn't mind getting really messy, since his topic - being human - is one of the most messy there is.

'The most outrageously funny book about sex yet written' is quotes 'The Guardian' on my cover, which is misleading (but, of course, the publisher is trying to grab the brower's attention, I realise...). It's not 'about sex', unless you're being very broad and Freudian about the title 'sex'.

There's such a beautiful truthness to this story; Roth creates such humans on the page with the fevered and ecstatic ease of Portnoy spraying out another sudden string of semen.

It made me laugh heartily on occasions. My daughter had to come in and see what was up in my quiet lounge, since, due to headphones piping Bach into me, I hadn't realised just how loud I was. (When Portnoy is giving his version of what mothers say to other mothers about their sons. You'll know it when you read it...)

Oh God, such blatant crunching honesty.

Bring back Portnoy. LET HIS PETER GO!

Currently reading

Lyrical and Critical Essays
Albert Camus
The Western Canon: The Books and School of the Ages
Harold Bloom
The Rebel (Penguin Twentieth-Century Classics)
Albert Camus