The Road, the Pulitzer

“In a great turnaround, upstart Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road, billed as something of an homage to The Omega Man‘s Charlton Heston, whom McCarthy once did stunt-work for, but owing more probably to Walter Miller, Jr.’s A Canticle for Liebowitz, managed to steal the 2007 Pulitzer for fiction from — “

Okay, sorry. Just figured out that any book I put in there’s either going to be insulting that book or trying to pull down The Road. Neither of which I want to do. And putting Demon Theory there’d be almost as cheap as just mentioning it here.

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I’m no expert, but this seems pretty cool to me: a reading I did a month or so ago, all cut up into little flash bits, with an interview too. Click the pic below to hit it, or the arrow-thing to listen.


[ this is me listening to the intro, I think. or who knows what I’m doing ]

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Five Most Intense Reads

Which, I’m finding, aren’t at all the same as my five favorite books. Ridiculous, yes? Wish I had some fix for that, or at least an explanation, or suspicion. I mean, it’s kind of presupposing some major disconnect between intensity and . . . I don’t know: appreciation? Revisitability? Not some Pirsig-ish ‘quality,’ I don’t think. But who knows. Anyway, today, were I picking my five favorite-ever books, they’d look something like this:

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A Cake Made of Rats

This has to be the oldest news around, but’s new to me anyway: watching “The Women of Candy Snatchers” featurette on the Candy Snatchers DVD, and Tiffany Bowling kind of asides that she was in that old series “The New People,” which she says is Lost, now. So, checked IMDb, and yep:

A group of young people crash land on a deserted island that was a never used atomic bomb test site. With the world thinking that they were all killed, “The New People” set out to form a civilization free from the problems and mistakes that their parents made, a task that soon becomes much more challenging than they had anticipated.

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And today’s links are . . .

  • Old MadTV & Saw fun
  • French X-Files
  • If I’d had the clicks to make a trailer for Demon Theory, it would have looked like the child of this and this and definitely this. But there’d have been a good deal of this as well, of course.
  • And, talking DT, this, cribbed (it took about fifty toggles back and forth) from that Going to Pieces:

    “If you try to make a horror film where somebody says ‘I don’t know what that sound was but I’ll go investigate,’ if somebody in the room doesn’t say ‘Well that’s from Halloween‘ or whatever, then it becomes false.”

    –Sir Wes Craven

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    What I’ve Learned from Horror, &etc

    or, more particularly, from DEAD SILENCE: going to the Guignol ‘doll’ Theater on Lost Lake in a town called Raven’s Fain when there’s a killer on the loose who eats living tongues is pretty much just asking for trouble. This isn’t to say DEAD SILENCE isn’t pretty surprisingly good either, though. I’m not really one for doll-movies — they all kind of smack of Chucky, and I was tired of him instantly (though, just because I’m scared, I’d never badmouth that twisty-armed POLTERGEIST doll) — and those familiar SAW cheekbones in the trailer weren’t especially promising (though I have dug all the SAWs), but, anyway, it’s not like BEHIND THE MASK or HATCHET is soon to open at my local Cinemark, so DEAD SILENCE it was. And it did about everything right, too, I thought. Which I guess is the sum-total of my non-review, yeah, except to note that the bad Olds in DEAD SILENCE is the second one this year, right? Didn’t the C. Thomas Howell kid in THE HITCHER remake drive one too? The saddest moments in all these movies are always when the car gets it. I mean, when all it was doing was being cherry, sleeping, carrying those scenes which would have otherwise been kind of boring.

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    Ledfeather stats

    Just yesterday finished that Ledfeather novel I’ve been writing all the long way since January, and am two weeks late with already, or, ‘late,’ anyway, maybe even with double quotes there, and anyway, yeah, I love the hell out of it, can’t imagine I was even able to trap the thing on paper, but, too, like with The Bird is Gone, it kind of skewered my brain, but none of that’s even what I mean to be saying here.

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    Pirate Radio

    A few years ago one of my publishers was cool enough to send me up some forever elevator in New York to get a full day of some much-needed media training. Just in case. It was excellent, too; got to watch myself on a big screen over and over and over, and have every stupid thing I kept doing pointed out, the idea being of course that once I’d said, Yeah, that’s pretty ridiculous, obviously, c’mon, that maybe it’d click that I should stop doing that. I’d guess that training stuck for a good six months, anyway. Which is something like a record with me. And I only think of this now when listening to pieces of this recording (scroll down a touch, click the grey arrow . . . ) of the reading I did March 1st, and how I seem to crutch through every half-sentence with a pretty predictable ‘um.’ Which is supposed to have been conditioned out of me (along with lilting my sentences up into a running series of questions). But oh well. Maybe I can be like Mel Tillis: I only get mired in that kind of stuff in the commentary. At least in what I listened to of the story reading, there’s no umming.

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