Wayne Benson is tired of living a complicated life. His needs are pretty simple—quiet time to write, three square meals a day (preferably prepaid and prepared for him), and comfortable surroundings. But where to find all of these things in one place? Enter The Sunset—a retirement community he once toured with his parents, prior to their move to Florida. The only problem? He’s thirty-two years too young. Enter Wayne Senior, his alter ego and aged doppelganger, courtesy of a grey wig and stage makeup, complete with cane and a stooped, halting gait (he’ll learn not to run for the bus when late).
For a time, Wayne’s plan works great. But what he hadn’t planned on was the complications of falling for a sexy fellow resident (yes, sixty can be sexy!) and becoming friends with his cranky next-door neighbor. Add a suspicious landlady and a blackmailing security guard, and things soon get way more complicated than Wayne’s former young life had ever been.
Perhaps the best part of the book for me (and so much of it was great fun) was moving through Wayne’s emotional maturation as he goes from viewing his fellow residents as obstacles to insightful, interesting people. His initial, skeptical view is evidenced by this passage:
“Eventually, the van would arrive in front of the supermarket and park. The driver would stay inside with the engine running and the A/C downgraded from arctic blast to cold front. Slowly the seniors would stir and with the help of a couple of Sunset staffers begin to vacate the vehicle. The legs of walkers and the tips of canes would emerge first, like the tentacles of some strange space creatures trying to blend in with humanity, they would descend on the store, sporting wraparound sunglasses, shawls, light-weight summer sweaters, and fistfuls of double coupons. Aisles would be congested, workers berated, and cashiers interrogated.”
Into the Sunset is a lively, engaging, romp-of-a-read, and by the end of the book, Wayne’s attitude and understanding have greatly softened—a truly older, wiser and more sanguine Wayne has emerged for us, his readers, and we welcome his rebirth into old age.
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Jack Gorse is a complicated man. The particularity of his nature is revealed in the book?s opening paragraph as he describes an episode of curdled cream in his self-serve coffee?an episode that led him forever after to drink his coffee black and obsessively double check each time he fills his cup.
We soon learn that he is also facing eviction from a rent-controlled apartment in New York City, an apartment he has illegally inhabited for years following the death of a similarly named uncle. The slow, cold war of attrition that ensues leaves Jack the only remaining tenant, and the architect hired to oversee the project his only human contact.
The ever unfolding layers of Jack?s personality reveal a man both intelligent and oddly naﶥ, shy and slyly voyeuristic, cunning and emotionally guileless. He is a fascinating man. He is also a quiet man, but even though this story is a first-person narrative, I would hesitate to label it a quiet book. The Understory crackles with the energy of compulsion and unrequited obsession that is slowly and meticulously revealed in a way that could be called meditative (for its gradually deepening understanding), except for the fact that Jack fails miserably at meditation. No, the true genius in the storytelling here is that Jack reveals his deepest self, without actually revealing his deepest self. He simply recounts, while we see what he cannot.
In fact, it?s this continual dichotomous tendency that serves up the book?s delicious tension. Gorse is beset by a stubborn ennui that plays against a dramatic narrative backdrop of eviction notices, narrowly escaped fires, and a culminating scene of violence that is as sudden and unexpected as it is dramatically right.
The Understory is a book that relentlessly and incrementally pulls you forward on intelligent tenterhooks till you slap against a conclusion that resonates long after the turning of the final page.
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(1 of 1 readers found this comment helpful)
Daja Wangchuk Meston begins his memoir dramatically with a desperate leap from a third story hotel window in a remote area of Tibet. It's a quick glimpse at a man pushed beyond his limits, unsure of his place in the world, and desperate beyond sense. When he jumped, he fully expected to die.
That was in 1999, and the author had been in the custody of Chinese authorities, suffering long days of interrogation with no sleep, accused of crimes against the People's Republic of China for his work on behalf of Tibetan rights.
The memoir then leaves behind that awful, desperate step--a step that shattered his heels and his life (both of which would take years to mend)--and takes us back in time to his first steps as a toddler on the Greek island of Corfu. Daja was born to hippie parents (Feather and Larry Greeneye) who hoped to leave behind the commercialism of their own American upbringing. When he was one, his parents travelled to India on a whim, and then on to Nepal to attend a Buddhist retreat. It was there, in the mountains of Nepal, that the author's father suffered a debilitating beakdown and disappeared, only to emerge from the woods a week later, disheveled and incoherent. He was sent back to the states (alone) and did not see his son again until decades later.
When Daja was three years old, his mother inexplicably delivered him to a local family (Tibetan nobles, living in Nepal) to raise. For three years he believed they were his real family--until they sent him, alone, at the ripe old age of six, to a Buddhist monastery to take the vows of a monk.
A number of privileged Americans have gone (by choice) to monastic retreats, seeking solitude, respite, and peace, but Daja's childhood was far from idyllic. Thanks in part to his pale skin and blond hair, Daja was treated as an outcast both by his peers and adult monks alike. And the indignities he suffered over the next ten years were Dickensian in scope: sleep deprivation, forced labor, lice infestations, constant hunger, humiliation, beatings, dysentery, alienation and isolation.
He was further emotionally orphaned by a mother who chose, herself, to join the monastic life of a Buddhist nun, shaving her head, wearing robes, and leaving the secular world behind (to include the responsibilities of parenthood).
At its core, this is the heartbreaking story of a lost childhood. It is the tale of one man's lifelong search for identity, belonging, and the welcoming arms of family. And it is difficult to read this book and fathom what the young author endured without feeling anger on his behalf. But the adult Meston refuses to stay in a place of anger and self-pity, searching instead for understanding and forgiveness. Fortunately, the redemptive ending brings us full-circle, and--as the title implies--comes back around to peace.
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(3 of 5 readers found this comment helpful)
Each one of Sim's 18 stories is a deliciously self-contained treat. My very favorites were: "Two Head Gone," a story of human helplessness in the face of ordinary but devastating loss; "The Freedom Pig," in which a runaway slave and his master's pig conspire to reach the promised land; "Get the Can," a lovely, lyrical short-short that uses a childhood game of one-up to show that all things are possible; and especially "Fetch," an emotionally packed short-short that ripped my heart out and left it bleeding in the snow at the edge of the frozen lake.
No stranger to publication, Sim's stories have previously appeared in such vaunted journals as Glimmer Train, Antietam Review, Crab Creek Review, North Atlantic Review, Fourteen Hills, The Literary Review, Red Cedar Review, and New Millennium Writings. And his choice of title? Well, Sim titled his collection spot-on, in my view, because his stories truly are written in the "old style." They hearken back to such various influences as the surprise endings of O. Henry, the grit and realism of John Steinbeck and the barely contained wildness of Jack London.
As a group, or stand alone, Sim's stories are spare and brutally beautiful.
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(2 of 4 readers found this comment helpful)
The protagonist, a novelist, Thelonious "Monk" Ellison, is having trouble getting his most recent work published when he comes across the work of an "authentic" black novelist whose book "We's Lives in Da Ghetto" is a runaway bestseller. Horrified by the stereotypes and the dialect in it, he sets out (angrily) to write a book just as horrible and titles it "My Pafology" (later changing the name to something that the publisher suggests he spells 'Phuck' so as not to alienate more sensitive readers--he refuses). Of course, he submits it to his agent and the book gets attention, raves and an obscenely large advance.
The problem is, Monk didn't submit it as himself. He submitted it under the pen name of Stagg R. Leigh, and endowed his doppelganger with a rap sheet and prison time in his past. Of course, everyone wants to meet the infamous Stagg, further complicating Monk's plan and forcing him into an even greater charade. Ever more humorous complications arise and the book is finally nominated for a prestigious award for which Monk is made a member of the jury. To recuse, or not to recuse??
That delightful romp aside, the book is also about relationships and love and filial duty...and about the damage a father inflicts when he dubs one child "the golden child" and emotionally excludes the others. (Damage, by the way, that is done not only to the siblings, but also to the golden child.) Monk is also slowly losing his mother to Altzheimer's disease, played out in tragic / comic scenes that are utterly devastating to read.
ERASURE is a wry commentary on the publishing industry and a study of family ties. It cannot be easily summed up, but should definitely be read and savored.
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(3 of 5 readers found this comment helpful)
Mary Akers has commented on (11) products.
Into the Sunset by Donald Capone
Mary Akers, April 2, 2008
Wayne Benson is tired of living a complicated life. His needs are pretty simple—quiet time to write, three square meals a day (preferably prepaid and prepared for him), and comfortable surroundings. But where to find all of these things in one place? Enter The Sunset—a retirement community he once toured with his parents, prior to their move to Florida. The only problem? He’s thirty-two years too young. Enter Wayne Senior, his alter ego and aged doppelganger, courtesy of a grey wig and stage makeup, complete with cane and a stooped, halting gait (he’ll learn not to run for the bus when late).For a time, Wayne’s plan works great. But what he hadn’t planned on was the complications of falling for a sexy fellow resident (yes, sixty can be sexy!) and becoming friends with his cranky next-door neighbor. Add a suspicious landlady and a blackmailing security guard, and things soon get way more complicated than Wayne’s former young life had ever been.
Perhaps the best part of the book for me (and so much of it was great fun) was moving through Wayne’s emotional maturation as he goes from viewing his fellow residents as obstacles to insightful, interesting people. His initial, skeptical view is evidenced by this passage:
“Eventually, the van would arrive in front of the supermarket and park. The driver would stay inside with the engine running and the A/C downgraded from arctic blast to cold front. Slowly the seniors would stir and with the help of a couple of Sunset staffers begin to vacate the vehicle. The legs of walkers and the tips of canes would emerge first, like the tentacles of some strange space creatures trying to blend in with humanity, they would descend on the store, sporting wraparound sunglasses, shawls, light-weight summer sweaters, and fistfuls of double coupons. Aisles would be congested, workers berated, and cashiers interrogated.”
Into the Sunset is a lively, engaging, romp-of-a-read, and by the end of the book, Wayne’s attitude and understanding have greatly softened—a truly older, wiser and more sanguine Wayne has emerged for us, his readers, and we welcome his rebirth into old age.
(3 of 3 readers found this comment helpful)
Mary Akers, December 6, 2007
Jack Gorse is a complicated man. The particularity of his nature is revealed in the book?s opening paragraph as he describes an episode of curdled cream in his self-serve coffee?an episode that led him forever after to drink his coffee black and obsessively double check each time he fills his cup.We soon learn that he is also facing eviction from a rent-controlled apartment in New York City, an apartment he has illegally inhabited for years following the death of a similarly named uncle. The slow, cold war of attrition that ensues leaves Jack the only remaining tenant, and the architect hired to oversee the project his only human contact.
The ever unfolding layers of Jack?s personality reveal a man both intelligent and oddly naﶥ, shy and slyly voyeuristic, cunning and emotionally guileless. He is a fascinating man. He is also a quiet man, but even though this story is a first-person narrative, I would hesitate to label it a quiet book. The Understory crackles with the energy of compulsion and unrequited obsession that is slowly and meticulously revealed in a way that could be called meditative (for its gradually deepening understanding), except for the fact that Jack fails miserably at meditation. No, the true genius in the storytelling here is that Jack reveals his deepest self, without actually revealing his deepest self. He simply recounts, while we see what he cannot.
In fact, it?s this continual dichotomous tendency that serves up the book?s delicious tension. Gorse is beset by a stubborn ennui that plays against a dramatic narrative backdrop of eviction notices, narrowly escaped fires, and a culminating scene of violence that is as sudden and unexpected as it is dramatically right.
The Understory is a book that relentlessly and incrementally pulls you forward on intelligent tenterhooks till you slap against a conclusion that resonates long after the turning of the final page.
(1 of 1 readers found this comment helpful)
Comes the Peace: My Journey to Forgiveness by Daja Wangchu Meston
Mary Akers, March 22, 2007
Daja Wangchuk Meston begins his memoir dramatically with a desperate leap from a third story hotel window in a remote area of Tibet. It's a quick glimpse at a man pushed beyond his limits, unsure of his place in the world, and desperate beyond sense. When he jumped, he fully expected to die.That was in 1999, and the author had been in the custody of Chinese authorities, suffering long days of interrogation with no sleep, accused of crimes against the People's Republic of China for his work on behalf of Tibetan rights.
The memoir then leaves behind that awful, desperate step--a step that shattered his heels and his life (both of which would take years to mend)--and takes us back in time to his first steps as a toddler on the Greek island of Corfu. Daja was born to hippie parents (Feather and Larry Greeneye) who hoped to leave behind the commercialism of their own American upbringing. When he was one, his parents travelled to India on a whim, and then on to Nepal to attend a Buddhist retreat. It was there, in the mountains of Nepal, that the author's father suffered a debilitating beakdown and disappeared, only to emerge from the woods a week later, disheveled and incoherent. He was sent back to the states (alone) and did not see his son again until decades later.
When Daja was three years old, his mother inexplicably delivered him to a local family (Tibetan nobles, living in Nepal) to raise. For three years he believed they were his real family--until they sent him, alone, at the ripe old age of six, to a Buddhist monastery to take the vows of a monk.
A number of privileged Americans have gone (by choice) to monastic retreats, seeking solitude, respite, and peace, but Daja's childhood was far from idyllic. Thanks in part to his pale skin and blond hair, Daja was treated as an outcast both by his peers and adult monks alike. And the indignities he suffered over the next ten years were Dickensian in scope: sleep deprivation, forced labor, lice infestations, constant hunger, humiliation, beatings, dysentery, alienation and isolation.
He was further emotionally orphaned by a mother who chose, herself, to join the monastic life of a Buddhist nun, shaving her head, wearing robes, and leaving the secular world behind (to include the responsibilities of parenthood).
At its core, this is the heartbreaking story of a lost childhood. It is the tale of one man's lifelong search for identity, belonging, and the welcoming arms of family. And it is difficult to read this book and fathom what the young author endured without feeling anger on his behalf. But the adult Meston refuses to stay in a place of anger and self-pity, searching instead for understanding and forgiveness. Fortunately, the redemptive ending brings us full-circle, and--as the title implies--comes back around to peace.
(3 of 5 readers found this comment helpful)
Stories in the Old Style by Al Sim
Mary Akers, February 28, 2007
Each one of Sim's 18 stories is a deliciously self-contained treat. My very favorites were: "Two Head Gone," a story of human helplessness in the face of ordinary but devastating loss; "The Freedom Pig," in which a runaway slave and his master's pig conspire to reach the promised land; "Get the Can," a lovely, lyrical short-short that uses a childhood game of one-up to show that all things are possible; and especially "Fetch," an emotionally packed short-short that ripped my heart out and left it bleeding in the snow at the edge of the frozen lake.No stranger to publication, Sim's stories have previously appeared in such vaunted journals as Glimmer Train, Antietam Review, Crab Creek Review, North Atlantic Review, Fourteen Hills, The Literary Review, Red Cedar Review, and New Millennium Writings. And his choice of title? Well, Sim titled his collection spot-on, in my view, because his stories truly are written in the "old style." They hearken back to such various influences as the surprise endings of O. Henry, the grit and realism of John Steinbeck and the barely contained wildness of Jack London.
As a group, or stand alone, Sim's stories are spare and brutally beautiful.
(2 of 4 readers found this comment helpful)
Erasure by Percival Everett
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1-5 of 11 nextMary Akers, January 10, 2007
The protagonist, a novelist, Thelonious "Monk" Ellison, is having trouble getting his most recent work published when he comes across the work of an "authentic" black novelist whose book "We's Lives in Da Ghetto" is a runaway bestseller. Horrified by the stereotypes and the dialect in it, he sets out (angrily) to write a book just as horrible and titles it "My Pafology" (later changing the name to something that the publisher suggests he spells 'Phuck' so as not to alienate more sensitive readers--he refuses). Of course, he submits it to his agent and the book gets attention, raves and an obscenely large advance.The problem is, Monk didn't submit it as himself. He submitted it under the pen name of Stagg R. Leigh, and endowed his doppelganger with a rap sheet and prison time in his past. Of course, everyone wants to meet the infamous Stagg, further complicating Monk's plan and forcing him into an even greater charade. Ever more humorous complications arise and the book is finally nominated for a prestigious award for which Monk is made a member of the jury. To recuse, or not to recuse??
That delightful romp aside, the book is also about relationships and love and filial duty...and about the damage a father inflicts when he dubs one child "the golden child" and emotionally excludes the others. (Damage, by the way, that is done not only to the siblings, but also to the golden child.) Monk is also slowly losing his mother to Altzheimer's disease, played out in tragic / comic scenes that are utterly devastating to read.
ERASURE is a wry commentary on the publishing industry and a study of family ties. It cannot be easily summed up, but should definitely be read and savored.
(3 of 5 readers found this comment helpful)