The main reason I’ve been musing to myself is because… well I don’t want to step on too many toes. I have bunches of friends who are religious, to different degrees, and I try to respect that. I hate to talk of “logic” or “truth” because I feel like that would make me sound like mainstream atheist douchebags like Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins. God forbid [ha ha].

Religion, to me, has always been… odd. I’ve never had a complete understanding of it. I was raised in a Roman Catholic household. Never too strict on most things, but the first problem came when I was 11 or 12 and my mom gave me a copy of “What’s Happening To My Body: Book For Boys.”

In addition to blaming this poorly illustrated book for my confusion about sex when I lost my virginity, I feel fairly comfortable blaming the book for starting me on my way through teenage masturbation. Near the end of the book, one of the FAQs was related to “Onanism.” Having never covered this topic in Sunday School, I asked the teacher after class and… well, let’s just say I never got a clear answer. Reading the Bible passages referenced… I wasn’t much clearer on the subject (thanks to all those “thees” and “thous” no doubt). And there was my first confusion about the Bible. By the time I figured out what the sinful part was… well, it was too late.

About a year later, also in Sunday School, the teacher stated that not everything in the Bible had to be taken literally. According to him, much of it worked better when read as fables with a moral at the end. For someone like me, who tended to be very literally minded at that age, it basically taught me to be incredibly skeptical about much of what I had been hearing for the last eight or so years of my life.

The final straw between me and the Church came a couple of years later when I was at the lowest of low points in my teenage life. I felt like all my friends were abandoning me, my grades were pretty shitty, and I couldn’t stop vomiting and dry heaving in the morning to save my life. A typical Sunday School class at that point would begin with everyone going around table and talk about one thing they were praying for in the week. My response was a very muted, “I don’t think I have enough faith to pray for anything right now.” And what happened next?

If you guessed, “No one said or did anything” I would have to ask you if you grew up in New England, as that’s the typical reaction from most people no matter what you said.

“Hey, I think I’m going to start running cocaine from New York to Springfield”
“That’s nice dear.”

A bit melodramatic, sure, but not far off. There’s a very large disconnect between people in the New England states (I’ve seen it here in Oregon as well, but definitely not to the same extent and depth I discovered it in Massachusetts).

About two weeks later, I was hospitalized for observation after a suicide attempt and spent most of that week inside my own brain considering what had happened and where things were going with my faith. But at that point, I still maintained a small semblance of belief. I took, on faith, that it was a test and that I would be stronger by pulling through it.

And then, a friend of mine was killed in a drunk driving accident. That pretty much broke me of any remaining faith and plunged me into nearly two years of heavy skeptical ambivalence toward religion in general. I felt like it would probably do me some good to have (which I’ve since chalked up to it being such a large part of my mother’s life), but I couldn’t bring myself to do lip-service to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in. It seemed an incredibly disrespectful thing to do, especially with it being a mortal sin to take communion without confession (which is a whole other can of worms).

However, my mother insisted I still go to church and so I acquiesced in order to not stir too much shit at home. After about two years of that, I agreed to go through with my confirmation with the understanding that I would no longer be required to go to Church except on the “Fairweather Fans” days (i.e. Christmas and Easter).

After a surprisingly enjoyable research essay on a Saint whose name I’ve currently forgotten and a mostly uneventful confirmation service, I felt the lazy eye of tragedy scrape over my life again as my grandfather was hit in a crosswalk just outside of the church. For the brief remainder of his life, he had very little memory of any of us and, as I recall, was housed in a care facility until he passed away.

Having carried out the agreement with my mother, I was free to waste my Saturday nights as I saw fit. I have yet to step into a religious service outside of a holiday or funeral and I’ve never felt particularly empty, guilty, or upset about it. And seeing general religious consensus on things like homosexuality hasn’t given me much pause to consider returning to a religion.

I’ve had wonderful discussions with friends about religion though and find that I often agree with some religious beliefs, even if I don’t believe in an inexorable, invisible presence dictated it to be so. I’ve also come to realize that many of these dictates aren’t even particularly religious in nature.

For instance, I don’t believe premarital sex to be at all morally wrong. However, I do believe there are certain emotional effects that young people should consider before just jumping into it for the wrong reasons. I’ve also come to understand that perhaps sexual promiscuity was opposed because it was also a fantastic way to a) spread disease and b) increase population, neither of which are something that ANY society would particularly want to be running out of control.

I’ve also found many religious groups that I have incredible respect for. Not all religious people are Jerry Falwell, just like not all atheists are Christopher Hitchens (Thank God [ha ha]). I still believe that one can live a moral, fulfilled life without the introduction of religion or a deity (or host of deities) pointing a large finger on a heavy hand.

And if Wesley grew up to be religious, I would be ok with it. As long as he doesn’t choose Baptist.

The works of Neil Gaiman are nothing new. In fact, Gaiman has gone from a cult following on his 80s comic masterpiece Sandman, to a full blown fanfest as he has started writing novels (wonderful, brilliant novels!). In addition to graphic novels and novels, Gaiman has also written quite a menagerie of children’s books as well, from picture books to young adult novels (wonderful, brilliant picture books and young adult novels!).

Suffice it to say, I think Neil Gaiman is one of the finest writers currently putting ink to paper.

I started out about a year ago reading Sandman. Initially, I got it from the library and read the first issue and thought, “Hm.” I didn’t see the appeal. I tried the first issue and put the book down, forgotten for nearly two weeks until it ended up in my carry-on bag. After finishing all three other books I had with me, I returned to Sandman. I re-read the first issue, started on the second, and about an hour or so later when I finished the total eight I thought, “Why the fuck am I stuck here in Disneyland when there are nine more volumes of this I could be reading?”

So Sandman… brilliant. Not a superhero book, not a comic in any traditional means… A majority of the book focuses on Dream, one of seven personifications of constants of the universe (they consist of Dream, Death, Destiny, Destruction, Despair, Desire, and Delirium) known as The Endless. To try to describe the story beyond that would do no justice to Neil Gaiman’s brilliance, nuance, and overall spectacularicity (yes the series is good enough to make up that word).

Neil Gaiman has since written tons more and proved that he isn’t a one trick pony. Neverwhere and Anansi Boys are both modern takes on the fantasy genre. They both take place in modern times and both involve the main character learning about a secret world larger than himself. Both are funny, spectacularly written, and deserving of all the praise that they’ve received before I got here. Both also don’t need me to say anything more about how great they are.

There’s more. Stardust, American Gods, Coraline, The Graveyard book, just to name a few. They’re all great, smart, funny, brilliant books. And if you want to have a really fucked up day… Check out any of the books that Gaiman did with Dave McKean (the stunning artist of The Sandman covers).

The book I just finished reading that I think everyone should read this week is Broken Glass Park. I just finished it yesterday and it is, by far, the best debut novel that I’ve ever read (with many apologies to Post Office, Ask the Dust, Neverwhere, and House of Leaves, my other favorite debut novels).

Bronsky (Russian born, German import at the age of thirteen) is somewhat of a literary mystery at this point, writing under a pseudonym and revealing very few details beyond that false name. Broken Glass Park was originally published in German (as Scherbenpark [2008]) and was fortunately bought to us by Europa Editions in a spectacular English translation.

The main character of the novel is Sascha Naimann, a 17 year old Russian-born immigrant to Germany, living in the ghettos of Berlin, specifically an area known as “The Emerald.”

Sascha claims that she is different from the other people in the Emerald because she has “worthwhile dreams.” These dreams are to kill her step-father and write a book about her mother’s life. As for the others in the building, Anna wants a rich husband, Valentin wants a beautiful car, and Peter wants a woman with naturally blond hair. All dreams that Sascha feels are “so pathetic that if I were in their shoes I’d rather not have any.” At 17, Sascha already has much in common with today’s youth: cynical, disillusioned, and angry.

On the first page, Sascha reveals that her mother is dead and as time goes on, more and more details about her mother’s death come to light. Her mother was killed leaving behind three children, Sascha, Anton, and Alyssa. To save them from being filed into the system, her step-father’s sister, Maria, comes from Russia to take care of them.

Check out the sample chapter at the link above. This book is so spectacular because the voice isn’t anything new… the book is spectacular because Sascha’s voice is strong, loud, and inspiring. Bronsky writes with what must certainly be a strong auto-biographical slant about Sascha’s struggles to live up to her dreams and yet most of the novel is a simple coming-of-age tale of a young, poor girl growing up in a terrible place.

The book ends well, but definitely leaves room for Sascha to return and honestly… I would love to see it. She’s part Lisbeth Salander (from the excellent Millennium Trilogy by Steig Larsson) and part Arturo Bandini (I know, I know… you don’t know who that is). She’s brilliant, angry, and trying to tear apart her soul by writing her pain (though she never seems to get around to writing that book about her mother).

I cannot stress this enough. Read this book. There are no one-dimensional characters, no bad dialogue, no unnecessarily confusing plot devices. Only smart writing, smart characters, and wonderful twists and turns all the way through. If Bronsky isn’t an international writing phenom within a year (and for her own sake, I hope she isn’t), I’ll be shocked. There’s so much potential for her future as an author and I can’t wait to see where it goes. READ THIS BOOK!

Number of things I’m doing currently, put of this list: 4. Ugh.

I find myself much more reticent to blog (generally and specifically) earlier in the day. And fortunately, most nights, I fall asleep before I have the chance to get my brain going. And even then, I’m generally good about wrangling my brain and stopping the unnecessary mad thoughts that tend to spring up.

Tonight… I’m slightly less successful. So instead of focusing on those things… I’ve decided I’m going to write about books I’ve read and\or am currently reading in the hopes that by the time I’ve finished… I’ll either be asleep, or awake enough to do something slightly more constructive.

The first thing I’ve been reading is some of my grandfather’s poetry. This is made more difficult by the fact that a) he never seems to have published much under the Wilcox name (his pen name was Gray Fox) and b) when he was published it seems like it was locally in either Berkshire County or the Capital region of New York.

Of course, much of my information comes second- or third-hand and this makes it even more difficult to find anything out. I have several poems published locally (a couple I’m looking to print up professionally on broadsides, even), but the number of full poems at my disposal is about 10.

I think I should also take a moment to mention that a professor on our local NPR station once mentioned my grandfather in the same breath as Charles Bukowski, for which I am endlessly proud.

I’m also finishing up The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. Once I finish this book, I’ll have doubled my normal output for non-fiction. So far… a good read. The book tells the story of Henrietta Lacks, whose cells have stayed alive since her death in the 1950s. Her cells helped to contribute to nearly uncountable numbers of scientific advances over the last half-century, but she is widely unrecognized and her family continues to live in near-poverty.

The book bounces between Henrietta’s life and the work that Skloot did to try to track down information on Henrietta, her cells (known as HeLa cells), and the Lacks family. Overall, the tone is very fluid and conversational and most of the medical stuff is told in a layman voice. The book also makes many good connections to what was happening with Henrietta’s cell in conjunction with the plight of African-Americans at the same time (for instance, the Tuskegee Institute was continuing to infect African-American men with syphilis and not treating them to study the disease when the first HeLa cells were being grown and distributed in and around Johns Hopkins).

The book also talks about the rights that one has to ones own cells (or lack thereof) and other frightening things that I would hate to mention because… well, you really should just read it for yourself. A good human interest story, a good science story, and much better non-fiction than The Ghost Map (ugh).

Well… that’s it, for now (I think). I’m gonna turn on some Futurama and try to wait until June for the new episodes. G’night, y’all!

The best time
to start fresh
is any time it seems
appropriate.

But this year
I promised
to read more poetry, more literature, more.
to eat less fast food, exercise more, hell
smile more.

So far
no good.

I know I’ve been neglecting you lately and I feel just terrible about the whole thing. But honestly, it isn’t my fault. Between Wesley’s birthday, apartment searching, apartment finding, packing, and (this weekend) moving… I’ve been busy.

There just aren’t enough hours in the day to dedicate to everything I would like to do. However, I’m willing to make an effort… if you are.

This means that you have to try to nag less, try to be less needy. After all, I’m a grown man. I need my space. Oh and a booty call about once a week (daily would be nice, but I’m always a dreamer).

So Blog… this is it. We’ve got a chance to make this thing work and I really think we could have something special. So… don’t fuck this up. I know I’ve sabotaged relationships in the past… I’m looking at you, Livejournal, Xanga, and MySpace…

But you’re different WordPress. Much more elegant. I can see a long relationship with lots of wonderful returns. So let’s do this, once more… with feeling.

Love,
James

As I reflect on
the last year
the typical worries
crop up:
money, car repairs, and my standing
as father
and husband

Twilight recedes
into night
and we roll on
home.

But
if that and
a couple extra loads of dishes
are my only major troubles…
Life
is
good.

1. Shadow of the Wind

Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s brilliant novel about books, love, and post-Civil War Spain is my favorite book that I’ve read all year and, outside of Fante’s Ask the Dust and Bukowski’s Post Office, the best book I’ve read in the past decade.

2. City of Thieves

David Benioff tells the story of two men who are chosen to go on a wild good chase for eggs in World War II Leningrad (St Petersburg). An excellent companion piece to Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five (as both deal with non-American cities under siege in WWII). Surprisingly funny and very touching at times too.

3. Preacher

Garth Ennis teams with Steve Dillon to tell the story of a man obsessed with finding God and making him pay for the suffering of Mankind. A disturbing tale of vengeance and (kinda) redemption. A great graphic novel series.

4. Transmetropolitan

Warren Ellis wrote sixty issues of this brilliant political satire that has been best described to me as “Hunter S. Thompson meets Phillip K. Dick.” The story tells of main character Spider Jerusalem’s attempt to bring down a President.

5. 2001: A Space Odyssey

If you’ve seen the Stanley Kubrick movie, you might be surprised to learn that the film and the book were written simultaneously, but Arthur C Clarke was still editing the book by the time the film hit theaters. If you walked away from the film saying, “What the fuck?” then read the book. It explains just about everything and two of the three sequels (2010 and 2061) are also brilliant hard sci-fi films. Avoid 3001 if possible. Very meh.

6. You’ll Go Blameless

A chapbook of poetry from Salem’s poet, short story writer, collage-ist, etc. etc. A book some 20 years in the making (a long story) and well worth the wait. A great collection of poetry from one of the finest living poets.

7. The Angel’s Game

The prequel to The Shadow of the Wind (and just out this year) is inferior if only because it suffers from being somewhat too similar to the original. Still a great book, it tells the story of characters that come a generation earlier than those in SotW with many of the same themes (love, books, writing, and madness).

8. The Wild Things

Dave Eggers wrote the movie script for Where The Wild Things Are which was based (loosely) upon Maurice Sendak’s picture book. This book, then, is an adaptation of an adaptation. One of the single most depressing books I’ve ever read, it seems to symbolically stand for a childhood turning into adulthood. Touching, but difficult to read (emotionally).

9. Zeitoun

Another Dave Eggers work, this is a biography about a man who stays behind in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina to look after his business, but ends up helping dozens of people and animals. The book quickly devolves into a painful look at post-9/11 hysteria. A very good read!

10. The Convalescent

In this book, Jessica Anthony has echoes of Middlesex (particularly the sweeping family history) and Kafka to produce the strange story of Rovar Pfliegman. It covers almost 2000 years of family history, as well as a very personal look at the tragic life of the main character, Rovar.

A Barnes and Noble Discover Great New Writer’s pick, the book was criminally overlooked and will hopefully do well upon a paperback release.

So there they are. By the end of the year, I’ll actually be able to give a full list of books that were PUBLISHED this year, but this is just a good list of stuff I’ve read this year. Honorable mentions go to the graphic novel series Doom Patrol and Neil Gaiman’s Fragile Things (short stories).