The Dead Father by Donald Barthelme

The Dead Father is a giant, a god who is almost but not quite dead. He is dragged through the countryside to his burial plot by a small group of humans who taunt and flirt with Him by turns. Barthelme uses a variety of experimental literary techniques to communicate the story, including long pages of short, random dialogue and paragraphs of clipped sentences conveying the actions and thoughts and words of each character. Absurdist humor abounds, along with biblical mimicry and detailed/weird sexual deviations in the bushes and it had me laughing most of the way through. The only parts that I found dull were the long pages of random snatches of wildly different conversations that really had very little to do with anything. Occasionally they were entertaining though, as here (italics mine):

"Sitting on some steps watching the tires of parked cars crack.
Shame, which has made marmosets of so many of us.
Mandrills watching from the sidelines with their clear, intelligent eyes.
Very busy making the arrangements.
Appeals to idealism.
Grocers wearing pistol belts.
It's perfectly obvious.
I was astonished to discover that his golden urine has a purple stripe in it." (150)

Two other weird snippets of conversation I liked:

"Animals in which the brain strangles the esophagus." (153)

"Tears some meat from his breast and puts it on a bun." (155)

It is evening, the party comes to a halt by the road side to make camp for the night. The Dead Father is contentedly strumming his guitar, the men are preparing trout for dinner:

"Waning or demise of sun. The projector is set up for projection of the pornographic film. Thomas decides that the Dead Father is not allowed to view the film, because of his age. Outrage of the Dead Father. Death of the guitar, whanged against a tree, in outrage. Guitar carcass added to the fire. Thomas adamant. The Dead Father raging. Emma regnant. Julie staring. Trout browning. Thomas walks to the edge. Regards the edge. Aspect of one about to hurtle over the. Thomas retreats from the edge. Slivered almonds distributed over various trouts browning in various skillets. Projector casts image upon screen (collapsible/portable). The Dead Father led away and chained to an engine block abandoned in a farther field. Revilings by the Dead Father. Damn your eyes, etc. Ignoring by Thomas. The film." (21)

The men pulling the cable attached to the Dead Father are starting to have misgivings, and ask Thomas if they're doing the right thing:

"An occasion. Thomas rising.

Your questions are good ones, he said. Your concern is well founded. I can I think best respond by relating an anecdote. You are familiar I take it with the time Martin Luther attempted to sway Franz Joseph Haydn to his cause. He called Haydn on the telephone and said, "Joe, you're the best. I want you to do a piece for us." And Haydn just said, "No way, Marty. No way."

You have got the centuries all wrong and the telephone should not be there and anyway I do not get the point, said Edmund.

You see! Thomas exclaimed. There it is! Things are not simple. Error is always possible, even with the best intentions in the world. People make mistakes. Things are not done right. Right things are not done. There are cases which are not clear. You must be able to tolerate the anxiety. To do otherwise is to jump ship, ethics-wise.

I hate anxiety, Edmund said. He produced a flask and tilted it.
Have some? he asked Thomas.
What is it?
Paint thinner with a little grenadine.
I'll pass thanks, Thomas said." (92-93)

Nolan, this one is for you. At the beginning, Julie and Thomas are arranging a time to meet for clandestine activities:

"Nine o'clock?
Ten o'clock.
I have to have bed check for the men at ten o'clock. What about eleven o'clock?
I think I can make eleven o'clock. Let me look in my book.
She looked in her book.
"Eleven o'clock, then, she said, writing a note in her book. Under the trees?
Under the stars, said Thomas.
The trees, said Julie, looks like rain.
If no rain, then the stars, said Thomas. If rain, then the trees.
Or the hedge, said Julie. Wet and dripping. Mulchy.
What are you arranging? asked the Dead Father. Could it be an assignation?
Nothing, said Julie. Nothing you should concern yourself about, dear old soul.
The Dead Father flang himself to the ground.
But I should have everything! Me! I! Myself! I am the Father! Mine! Always was and always will be! From whom all blessings flow! To whom all blessings flow! Forever and ever and ever and ever! Amen! Beatissime Pater!
He is chewing the earth again, Julie observed. One would think he would tire of it.
Thomas began singing, in a good voice.
The Dead Father stopped chewing the earth.
That is one I like, he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his golden robe.
For thine, Thomas sang, in a good voice, is the kingdom, and the power, and the glo-ree, for-EVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV-er...
That is one I like, said the Dead Father, I have always liked that one.
Thomas stopped singing. " (156-157)

(New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1975)

Amsterdam by Ian McEwan

The climax of this story was a little too neat and far-fetched (very very close friends don't normally murder eachother over personal affronts...) and also predictable from miles away because McEwan aludes to how a pact made between two men in the first half of the story is going to have repercussions later. That sort of took the wind out of these sails. Even so, I did enjoy reading it and especially loved when the composer, Clive, heads out into nature in an attempt to find inspiration for his final symphony. The reasons for seeking the outdoors and the initial timidity of confronting a world so different from the one we are accustomed to is something most of us can relate to.

"During the first hour or so, after he had turned south into the Langstrath, he felt, despite his optimism, the unease of outdoor solitude wrap itself around him. He drifted helplessly into a daydream, an elaborate story about someone hiding behind a rock, waiting to kill him. Now and then he glanced over his shoulder. He knew this feeling well because he often hiked alone. There was always a reluctance to be overcome. It was an act of will, a tussle with instinct, to keep walking away from the nearest people, from shelter, warmth, and help. A sense of scale habituated to the daily perspectives of rooms and streets was suddenly affronted by a colossal emptiness. The mass of rock rising above the valley was one long frown set in stone. The hiss and thunder of the stream was the very language of threat. His shrinking spirit and all his basic inclinations told him that it was foolish and unnecessary to keep on, that he was making a mistake.

Clive kept on because the shrinking and apprehension were precisely the conditions -- the sickness -- from which he sought release, and proof that his daily grind --crouching over that piano for hours every day -- had reduced him to a cringing state. He would be large again, and unafraid." (83)

(New York: Doubleday, 1999)

The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom by Don Miguel Ruiz

Four very simple agreements to make with yourself:

1) Be impeccable with your word
2) Don't take anything personally
3) Don't make assumptions
4) Always do your best

"We make the assumption that everyone sees life the way we do. We assume that others think the way we think, feel the way we feel, judge the way we judge, and abuse the way we abuse. This is the biggest assumption that humans make. And this is why we have a fear of being ourselves around others. Because we think everyone else will judge us, victimize us, abuse us, and blame us as we do ourselves. So even before others have a chance to reject us, we have already rejected ourselves." (75)

(San Rafael: Amber-Allen Publishing, 1997)

Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne

Such an imaginative journey! It's fascinating to recall the strides that have been made in geology since the writing of this novel. Wegener hadn't even proposed the idea of continental drift until the early 1900's, and plate tectonic theory wasn't developed until the late 1960's, so it's rather humorous to read about a descent into the earth where every layer is in its appropriate and predestined place, and the deeper you go the older the rocks become; as though it were only natural to find completely preserved coal seams and untouched fossils from the Silurian at 30 leagues below the surface of an island. No subduction zones, no metamorphism, no recycling of rock, no sea-floor spreading, no hot viscous mantle... this was a fun one to read :)

"Well, said I rather surprised, "this discovery will astonish experimental philosophers. It was never suspected."
"Science, great, mighty and in the end unerring," replied my uncle dogmatically, "science has fallen into many errors -- errors which have been fortunate and useful rather than otherwise, for they have been the stepping stones to truth." (152)

The uncle, Professor Von Hardwigg, is a riot:

Harry: "In any case, we can never regret having come thus far. It is worth the whole journey to have enjoyed this magnificent spectacle -- it is something to have seen."
His uncle: "I care nothing about seeing, nor about magnificent spectacles. I came down into the interior of the earth with an object, and that object I mean to attain. Don't talk to me about admiring scenery, or any other sentimental trash." (166)

"About twelve o'clock a distant sound as of thunder fell upon our ears. I make a note of the fact without even venturing a suggestion as to its cause. It was one continued roar as of a sea falling over mighty rocks. [...]

Three hours passed away without any sign to indicate what might be before us. The sound began to assume that of a mighty cataract.

I expressed my opinion on this point strongly to my uncle. He merely shook his head. I, however, am strongly impressed by a conviction that I am not wrong. Are we advancing towards some mighty waterfall which shall cast us into the abyss? Probably this mode of descending into the abyss may be agreeable to the Professor, because it would be something like the vertical descent he is so eager to make. I entertain a very different opinion." (173-174)

(1864. United States: Aerie Books Ltd., no publishing date)