Alvah's Books

The Sartorialist
By Scott Schuman
Penguin Books
512 pages
$25.00

Reviewed by Randall Radic

 “The clothes make the man.”  An old, old adage, which, depending upon the amount of chemical-electrical activity in your prefrontal cortex, might be true.  For beautiful clothes, or a beautiful person caparisoned in beautiful clothes, reflect achievement and affluence.  Yet withal, clothing is highly personal, thus it also reflects taste. 

Beautiful clothes have an indirect impact upon physical beauty.  Clothing serves to enhance and influence beauty.  And the bizarre thing is this:  clothing evokes feelings of beauty rather than defining or pointing to beauty.  That is, beautiful clothing arouses feelings of beauty both in the observed and the observer.  Or try putting it this way:  beautiful clothes give action to beauty, which means that for many simply being beautiful is not enough — for beauty, in and of itself  is quite static, from some perspectives.  Thus beauty, in its erotic pursuit of esteem, seeks to place itself in evidence, i.e., give itself action, for esteem is awarded only on the basis of evidence.  In this sense, then, the artful display of beauty is an achievement — an achievement which itself is a form of beauty. 

What we’re talking about then is the beautiful display of the beautiful.  Beauty within beauty — beauty surrounded by beautiful taste and beautiful fashion — all presented beautifully.

Texture, color and light.  These elements aid beauty in acquiring status.  To that end, St. Thomas Aquinas asserted that beauty abides in the realm of the transcendental; and that beauty is “good” because it affects that perfervid ambience that mankind has designated ‘the soul.’  Indeed, St. Thomas went so far as to actually define beauty:  “Beauty is the splendour of form shining on the proportioned parts of matter.”  Saint Augustine said of beauty, “unity is the form of all beauty …. If beauty delights the mind, it is because beauty is essentially a certain excellence or perfection in the proportion of things.”  In other words, to these acknowledged men of holiness, we enjoy beauty because we like and admire unity, order, and brightness or clarity of color.  St. Thomas listed four qualities of beauty:

1.  perfection of proportion.
2.  integrity, and unity of form.
3.  brightness and clarity in color.
4.  degree of splendour — something luminous in itself.

And according to St. Thomas, deciding that an image or a person is beautiful has its provenance in judgment, not in intuition, and involves “a dialogue” with beauty.  Beauty, then, is what pleases when it is seen.  And to touch beauty is apotheotic, an ascension to God.  For the truly beautiful is ‘whole,’ or ‘complete’ in all its parts and proportions.

The French have termed this ‘completeness’ elegance — that which is gracefully refined and luxuriously attired.  And the term includes, but is not limited to:  line, grace in movement, and a harmony between person, costume and environment.

In other words, the dialogue between beauty and mankind is found in clothing.

Scott Schuman’s book – The Sartorialist – presents in photographs what the reviewer has attempted to present in the above paragraphs – the action that beautiful clothes give to beauty.  Some of the photos depict clothing of the most bizarre and disparate type, but the effect when viewed as a whole is wonderful and may truly be designated as “sartorial elegance.” 

The photos were taken in locations all over the world.  And they demonstrate the distinctiveness of nationality and ethnic taste.  In the end, though, as one flips through the pages, the reader is led to a singular conclusion:  sartorial beauty is a universal concept.  No one person or ethnic group or nation has a monopoly on elegance.  In fact, the photos prove that elegance has many faces:  conservative, outlandish, somber, and colorful.  And many times elegance is most pronounced when displayed with unabashed extravagance. 

When perusing The Sartorialist, do yourself and favor and pay particular attention to the shoes being worn.  The evidence is obvious to even the most myopic – shoes can make or break one’s fashion statement.  As can hats, scarves, and handkerchiefs.  

The Sartorialist is a gem of a book.  It is without peer.  For it provides a glimpse of just how important clothes are in human interactions.  Wearing just the right dress, a woman can shout, “Here I am!” without even opening her mouth.  And for a man, the perfect hat can speak volumes about his masculinity, his personality.

On the Lookyloo-O-Meter, which ranges from 1 star (squint in pain) to 5 stars (gaze in rapture), The Sartorialist beholds 5 elegant stars.  Don’t miss this one.  Simply having it on your coffee table will let everyone know how elegant you really are.

Life After 187
By Wade J. Halverson
Xlibris Publishing
236 pages
$19.99

Reviewed by Randall Radic

If you’re of a certain age, then you probably remember action-adventure writers such as Edgar Rice Burroughs, and Robert E. Howard, the creators of Tarzan and Bran Mak Morn, respectively.  Nowadays we turn to W.E.B Griffin and Vince Flynn for our adrenaline fixes. 

 There’s a new kid on the block.  His name is Wade J. Halverson.  And he’s a combination of Robert E. Howard and Vince Flynn blended together with what ESPN reported as the “world’s fastest growing sport” – Ultimate Fighting.  The result is action-adventure goosed up to maximum overdrive!  For Wade J. Halverson writes fight scenes like a large-scale gamma ray emitter on crystal-meth and fly agarics – potent and hallucinogenic.

In other words, Life After 187 – which is the penal code designation for murder – flat out ROCKS!  We are talking head-banging heavy metal.

The story is compact and fast-paced.  Wham!  Bam!  Slam!  There are good guys, bad guys, in-between guys, money, beautiful women, and lots of hand-to-hand combat.  The kind of combat where the only rule is that “there are no rules.”  Anything goes.

The gist of the story goes like this:  Kane Silver is a member of a special operations unit in the U.S. Army.  His wife is brutally raped and murdered.  Kane annihilates the men who killed her.  He simply kicks ass and doesn’t even think about taking names.  But as with most things in life, there are consequences.  He is sentenced to three consecutive life sentences in prison.  While in prison, Kane and two other inmates recruited by the warden to participate in ultimate fighting matches.  Kane and the other two fighters manage to escape and end up in Hong Kong, and then in Brazil, where they take on the drug cartels. 

It’s obvious from the fight scenes that Halverson knows whereof he writes.  This isn’t some nerd in a bow-tie sitting down at his computer terminal, faking it.  This is someone who’s been there and done that.  For the action flows fast and furious with ferocious authenticity.  Yet at the same time, the combatants, who are the products of the harsh precepts of training, contend not only with each other but also with their own impulses.  Impulses which could lead to mistakes, injury, defeat and death.

Indeed, the action is so absorbing that the reader doesn’t even notice the author’s style, which is simple yet very effective.  Short sentences full of strong verbs and just the right amount of description.  Which is what action writing is all about.  Halverson’s ‘voice’ is rich and forceful, exuding an almost palpable energy.  And his dialogue is short and sweet, crisp and clean.  Which is the way the reader would expect such characters to speak.

Speaking of characters, there is just enough information about each one to promote the reader’s identification with them, but not so much that the action starts to drag.  Which is the right balance for the action-adventure genre.  Too much characterization slows the story down, whereas too much action eventually begins to cloy.  Halverson carefully maintains the equilibrium:  the action keeps the reader engaged, while the characterization keeps the reader cheering for the good guy.

Beware, though.  This book will suck you in.  Once you begin reading it you won’t be able to put it down.  And gosh by golly, it would make one heck of a movie.  Maybe Jean Claude Van Damme could be persuaded to take a little human growth hormone, thus shedding ten years of age.  He’d be perfect for the role of Kane Silver.  Or maybe Jason Statham would do it

On the action-adventure Read-O-Meter, which ranges from one star (whimpy) to five stars (bad-ass to the max) Life After 187 commands a hypertrophied 5 stars.  Whatever you do, do not miss this one!

Musical Chairs
By Jen Knox
All Things That Matter Press 2009
176 pages
$15.95

Reviewed by Randall Radic

Book reviews are strange things.  Supposedly, they are a light critique with a recommendation tacked on at the end.  Or not.  But let’s face it.  What they really are, is one writer (or wanna’ be writer, who is toiling away on a novel) judging the literary outpourings of another writer.  Which means book reviews are very subjective.  Of course, none of the parties involved ever admits to this subjectivity, because reviewers are – ostensibly – objective, dispassionate monitors who make a virtue of inscrutability.  Indeed, reviewers are ascetic, austere, and devout to an astonishing degree.

Right?  Right?!

The present reviewer admits to being random, contradictory, biased, and quite frequently unable to integrate a proliferation of information.  Which in common parlance means he will not like some books – no matter how wonderful they really are – for any number of reasons, most of which he couldn’t articulate even if his life depended on it.  Why?  Because it’s an emotional thing.  It’s not intellectual. 

He is trying to make a point, so bear with him. 

For example, he thoroughly enjoyed the present book – Musical Chairs, by Jen Knox.  But he can’t really tell you – the all-important reader – why.  So he reverts to his usual deductions.  It’s well-written, which means Jen Knox knows how to string words together into comprehensible sentences.  And her ‘voice’ is honest, unapologetic and – vital! – likeable.  In other words, she’s like the Apostle Peter in the Bible.  She’s a weak, frail, vulnerable human being, who makes lots of mistakes.  Which means – thank God – that she is human.  Which means that despite all her flaws and failures, she is not a fraud or a charlatan.  She’s not pretending to be someone who has their ‘shit’ together. 

Jen and most of her family are gloriously dysfunctional – just like most families.  And they have a tendency toward mental illness.  And – shockingly – she talks about it.  Which is what makes her story and her book so wonderful.  It’s downright refreshing to read a book that acknowledges what most people know is true, but are afraid to confess:  Most people are one brick short of a load.  Which is what makes them and life so interesting.

Which means that on the reviewer’s Read-O-Meter, which ranges from one star (yucky) to five stars (a wonderment) Musical Chairs scores a 4 and a half in the mini-astral department. 

Now, you might be asking yourself ‘what happened to the last half-a-star?’  Subjectivity is what happened.  The reviewer – who has already admitted to being impulsively biased – does not like books that lack presentation.  In other words, the publisher did a lackadaisical job in designing the book.  The font is wrong.  And there’s not enough white space on the pages.  Books without white space remind the reviewer of all those boring textbooks he read in college.  Yuck.  The paragraph and line spacing is tight, which hurts the reviewer’s eyes and makes his brain go shhhhzzzzzz.  And the borders – the side margins – are way too small.  Which makes the reviewer feel confined.

These complaints – of course – are subjective.  But when the reviewer picks up a book the first thing he does is look at the cover.  Then he turns the book over and looks at the back cover and the photo of the author.  Sometimes he reads the author’s bio, sometimes he doesn’t.  The next step is the make or break step.  He flips through the book – randomly.  If the presentation of the text on the page looks good – and meets his subjective standards – he will consider buying the book.  Otherwise, if it doesn’t, it’s bye bye baby bye bye. 

Musical Chairs failed the subjective test.  The only reason the reviewer read the book was because he promised to review it.  And now – after the fact – he’s glad he did.  It’s an excellent book and deserves to be read by oodles of people.  So don’t let the physical parameters of the book dissuade you.  Buy it!  You’ll like it.

Publishers take note.  Books are like cars.  A pleasing arrangement provides the reader with the luxury of emotional commitment.  In other words, the symmetry of a Ferrari is much more appealing than the toadstool configuration of a 1998 Saab.     

The Cosmic Pulse of Life: The Revolutionary Biological Power Behind UFOs
By Trevor James Constable
The Book Tree 2008
346 pages
$29.95

Reviewed by Randall Radic

The ‘energy of life’ is a concept that has been around as long as mankind.  According to some, it’s even mentioned inn the Bible, where it is called ne shema, which is the “breath of life.”  Many scientists, doctors and writers have attempted to locate and harness this energy of life.  Dr. Albert Abrams, Dr. Ruth Drown, and Wilhelm Reich to name just a few.  Reich called the energy of life orgone.  And he constructed a machine, which amplified and emanated orgone energy.  Reich maintained his discovery could save humanity from the ravages of disease.

The powers that be considered Reich another nutcase, so they put him out of business and imprisoned him.

In the 1980s, a bestselling book about electromagnetic energy was written and published by a medical doctor.  It was called The Body Electric.  Was electromagnetic energy the energy of life?  The book never propounded a definite opinion.  What it did provide was food for thought.

And candidly, it is easy and fun to scoff at such theories.  But there are hordes of intelligent people who accept these theories as truth.  Just as there are hordes of people who actually believe in miracles and angels. 

Trevor James Constable wrote The Cosmic Pulse of Life, in which he expands on what he calls “etherian physics” and the invisibility of UFOs, which are “fundamentally bioenergetic manifestations.”  In the Preface to his book, Constable admits that he is rejected because he is “too far out” even within the ranks of UFO adherents. 

Constable discusses his ideas, his techniques for discerning bioenergetic manifestations – UFOs – and provides photographs to prove his case.  Which means that the book is an amalgamation of history, avant-garde science, an apologia and a call to arms.  In the end, Constable is asking for a respectful hearing rather than attempting to convert his readers.  

The Cosmic Pulse of Life is an interesting book, which sounds like a cop-out.  But it is interesting, because it provides an overview of the research and the people involved in etherian physics.  The information presented about Dr. Ruth Drown, who was one of the foremost advocates of ‘radionics’ is worth the price of admission.  For Ruth Drown was either the sad victim of a modern witch-hunt or the greatest female huckster in the history of U.S. medicine. 

Admittedly, Constable’s book will probably be read only by those referred to as conspiracy theorists or New-Agers, which is a shame.  It deserves to be read by a much wider audience, who could then decide for themselves.

 Blood and Politics: The History of the White Nationalist Movement from the Margins to the Mainstream
By Leonard Zeskind
Farrar, Straus and Giroux  2009
645 pages
$37.50

Reviewed by Randall Radic  

Race, which is defined as “any of the major biological divisions of mankind, distinguished by color and texture of hair, color of skin and eyes, stature, bodily proportions, etc.:  many ethnologists now consider that there are only three primary divisions, the Caucasian (loosely, white race), Negroid (loosely, black race), and Mongoloid (loosely, yellow race), each with various subdivisions:  the term has acquired so many unscientific connotations that in this sense it is often replaced in scientific usage by ethnic stock or group.”

White was first used in the racial sense, as an adjective, in the year 1604.  Whoever it was that used it, did it like this:  “of those races (chiefly European or of European Extraction) characterized by light complexion.”  Certainly it was used prior to that, but this is the first recorded usage.  And it is assumed that this usage was quite common at that time, which shows how long ‘racism’ has been around.

William Perry, in 1676, distinguished between blacks and whites, calling blacks a totally different and separate species.  Blacks differed from Europeans not only in skin color “but also in natural manners and in the internal qualities of their minds.”  No one challenged Perry’s conclusions.  In fact, Europeans agreed.  There was nothing startling about these remarks.  It was common knowledge.

Of course, no one asked the blacks what they thought about it.  That would be like asking a two-year old toddler about the mathematics of infinity.

Then in 1708, William Tyson, who was a physical anatomist, discovered the evolutionary missing link.  He determined, scientifically of course, that it was the African Pygmy.  Whom Tyson called “wholly a brute,” halfway between an ape and a man. 

Ninety-one years later, in the year 1799, a medical doctor from Great Britain validated the superiority of whites.  His name was Charles White.  Dr. White published a profusely illustrated book in which he certified, without qualm and with meticulous decisiveness, that the white race is exalted over those of color.  Mostly, his proof consisted of pointing out the cosmetic refinement of white faces – their “rosy cheeks and coral lips.”  Again, no one argued with the incredible virtuosity of the doctor’s genius.  But it was nice to know that an expert confirmed what everyone already knew.

Following in Charles White’s ‘scientific’ footsteps was Robert Knox.  Knox, in his book The Races of Man declared it perfectly acceptable for whites to wipe out whole populations of blacks.  Because “the texture” of the black “brain is, I think, generally darker.”  And because there is “a physical and consequently, a psychological inferiority in the dark races generally.” 

Essentially, by dint of abstract reasoning, Knox arrived at these exaggerated, quaint and absurd conclusions.  Conclusions which Knox believed supported genocide.

Knox’s conclusions were supported by A.R. Wallace, the codiscoverer of the theory of evolution.  Put simply, Wallace explained that extermination of the colored races was nothing more than natural selection at work.  In other words, racial eradication was a self-acting, scientific law, nothing to be concerned about.  This was how the world worked.

Frederick Farrar took the idea of extermination even further, if possible.  Farrar divided the races of mankind into three distinct groups:  “savage, semi-civilized and civilized.”  And of all the races on the face of the earth, the Aryan and the Semitic were the only examples of civilized races.  There was only one semi-civilized race:  the Chinese, who, admittedly, were sliding down the slippery slope toward savage.  All other races were savage, and “irreclaimable,” because despite the whites’ superhuman efforts, the savage races were beyond hope.  They were “doomed.” 

Paul Rohrbach summed up the white man’s attitude toward the “rising tide of color” in his 1912 best-selling book German Thought in the World.  “Not until the native learns to produce anything of value in the service of the higher race, i.e., in the service of its and his own progress, does he gain any moral right to exist.”  Translation:  it is morally proper to wipe out the colored races.

What none of these esteemed white men bothered to mention, as they set forth their logical and scientific excuses for genocide, was the real reason for such European posturing:  real estate.  They wanted what the blacks had, land and natural resources.  In the end, then, the racism of some boiled down to money.  Others truly believed the colored races were of lesser value than whites.

And there were others who worried that white people would soon lose their majority status and become a minority.  Lothrop Stoddard summed this fear up in his astonishing The Rising Tide of Color, a virulently racist book that was accepted by the post-WWI world as “telling it like it is.”

White Nationalism still exists.  Full-spectrum dominance is their goal.

Blood and Politics is Leonard Zeskind’s latest effort – and his magnum opus – relates the history of the white supremacist movement.  He shows how – over the past 30 years – the white power boys have evolved a philosophy that is now two-pronged.  One prong is called vanguardism.  This faction builds small and often secretive groups composed of dedicated fanatics, who, when push comes to shove, will rise up and take over.  They will establish a new all-white government. 

The other prong is more conventional.  This faction utilizes the mainstream to its advantage.  They play politics, attempting to appeal to the silent majority, who are both white and Christian. 

Zeskind focuses on Willis Carto, William Pierce and David Duke.  But he doesn’t neglect the skinheads, survivalists, tax protestors, anti-Semites, Ku Kluxers, Christian Identity disciples, Pat Buchanan or Pat Robertson.  For they are all racists, hate Jews, oppose abortion, despise homosexuals, and consider the IRS the most evil organization on the face of the earth.  They want a gun in every home and strict anti-immigration laws, along with a giant wall to span the U.S./Mexico border. 

On the surface, the White Nationalist movement appears to be nothing more than a bunch of disgruntled nutcases, who are too disorganized to achieve their goals.  But as Zeskind demonstrates, there is a scary coherence – suggestive of a deeper wisdom – to the white power movement.  Racism is a very powerful political force.  One that cannot be lightly dismissed.  

Zeskind’s research is meticulous, and his analysis of the information is breathtaking in its practicality.  And underneath there sleeps an apocalyptic portent, which could prophesy the rise and fall of modern civilization.  For Zeskind’s themes could predict the coming of a disastrous earthquake.

Don’t miss this epic historical interpretation.  This book is hecka good!

Sin: A History     
By Gary A. Anderson
Yale University Press 2009
272 pages
$30.00

Reviewed by Randall Radic

To say the least, the concept of sin is very interesting.  To some people – those called Christians – the subject of sin is vitally important.  Because they want to avoid it at all cost.  If they do, they get to go to Heaven.  If they don’t, they may end up in Hell.

When the reviewer was in seminary, he took a course called Hamartiology, which is a fancy theological term for ‘the study of sin.’  Unfortunately, it was not a hands-on course.  If it had been, the reviewer feels confident in saying he would have scored quite well.  No, the course was abstract and conceptual.  One of the abstractions studied was the Doctrine of Sin.  A small part of which is below.

A.  Definition and Classification.
     1.  Definition
           a.  Sin is a violation of the law or standards of God.  These divine standards are revealed in the Word of God.  Sin is also transgression against divine law.
           b.  The Westminster Catechism’s definition of sin:  “Sin is any want of conformity unto or transgression of any law of God given as a rule to a reasonable creature.”
          c.  Dr. L. S. Chafer’s definition of sin:  “Sin is that which proves unlike the character of God.”
          d.  The sinfulness of sin lies in the fact that it is against God even when the wrong we do is to others or ourselves.  The essence and law of God are perfectly harmonious.  Therefore, since God’s character and standards are perfect, anything that violates that has been defined in the Scripture as sin.

Pretty boring, huh?  And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.   The text goes on and on for another 10 pages.
         
Thank God for Gary Anderson’s new book, which is titled simply Sin:  A History.  It is not boring and it is not conceptual.  It’s just the opposite – delightfully quirky and very imaginative.  For it shows how the idea of sin, which was originally conceived of as a physical onus, changed.  Sin changed from being a load that each person bore into a debt that required payment.  In other words, sin went from being a personal burden to being an economic burden.  And this change had a dramatic impact on the history of the Church and its definition of sin. 

Once sin’s transformation is understood, the reader begins to understand why penance came into being, why charity entered the picture, and why salvation – according to some – can be bought and paid for, as if available at the local 7-11 convenience store.           

Professor Anderson is not your typical seminary professor.  For he has taken a remarkably dry subject and injected it with a vital energy.  In his delightful book, sin leaves the stodgy world of abstraction and becomes a commercial system of great reality.  If you owe, then you pay.       

Sin is an easy read because Professor Anderson abandons the usual scholastic style of writing – which is more often than not as boring as heck – and writes with elan, using brilliant allusions and turns of phrase just like a popular novelist.

On the Astral body rating system, where one star means ‘skip it’ and five stars means ‘race out an buy it,’ Sinrecieves 5 stars.  In fact, not reading this book probably constitutes a sin.

In light of the recent news about Mr. Polanski’s arrest in Zurich, I thought I would run this review I wrote about a year ago for the Internet Review of Books:
Polanski: A Biography
by Christopher Sandford
387 pages
Palgrave Macmillan
$29.95

In a small and informal poll, I asked a group of writers to play a game of word association when they heard the name Roman Polanski. Although a few complimentary words were mentioned, the majority were linked, not surprisingly, to the two terrible and ugly events that occurred in Los Angeles so long ago. For many people, Polanski is the devil, no matter what they’ll find in Polanski: A Biography by Christopher Sandford, an honest and balanced account of the controversial filmmaker’s triumphs and tragedies.

There is no doubt that Polanski’s life is sometimes stranger than fiction, but readers who want the prurient details of Polanski’s tragedies or salacious gossip about his sexual peccadilloes will be disappointed that Sandford doesn’t deliver those goods.

Polanski opens at an early turning point in the filmmaker’s career: his departure from Poland to live and work in the West, specifically Paris. As he crossed the Polish border, he brought with him a print of his full-feature film, Knife in the Water, which had received mixed reviews in his native Poland—the state party secretary Wladyslaw Gomulka vividly expressed his reaction to the film by flinging an ashtray at the screen.

Whatever the Poles’ response to the film, it really wouldn’t matter. Thanks to a small import company, Kanawha, which bought the American distribution rights for the film. Knife in the Water enjoyed a cult status in arts clubs and on university campuses across the United States. But what eventually catapulted the film and Polanski to fame was its entry, by Kanawha, in the first New York Film Festival in 1963, and after a photo still of the film appeared on the cover of Time magazine. In an interview with Polanski, a New York Post writer said: “it [is] entirely possible that Polanski will be an unnaturally brilliant boy for the next thirty years until suddenly he will be decrepit. Meanwhile, what a life!”

The beauty of Polanski is it can be read out of sequence. For those who have had enough of the rehashing of the murders and the statutory rape case, these chapters can be set aside without missing a beat.

Film buffs will most likely be interested in the stories behind the camera, Polanski’s attention to detail, his obsessively numerous retakes (“Fandastic, fandastic! We go again.”), and his expertise in technical matters and overall capabilities in relation to filmmaking. As noted by the cinematographer Tonino Delli Colli, the cameraman on Sergio Leone’s The Good, Bad, and the Ugly, who also worked on Polanski’s productions of Bitter Moon and Death and the Maiden:

Polanski was absolutely the best technical director I’d known in fifty years in the job, including those old masters Malle and Fellini. They were good, but Roman was better. [Polanski] knew as much about cameras and lenses, which he could identify at a glance, as I did, and I frequently had the impression that he could have easily made the film with just himself, the three actors and maybe a wardrobe assistant.

This impression by Delli Colli is not off-base. Sandford writes that the perfectionist Polanski, when he was a student at the National Film School at Lodz, “… proved himself to be a gifted and industrious student, who came top of his year in photography exams, and second and third, respectively, in editing and sound.”

There are those who will argue that both Polanski’s achievements and tragedies are inseparable, some naming as an example the director’s version of Macbeth—his first film after Sharon Tate’s death. Sandford cites several American reviewers who make that same connection to the very violent film and Manson. However, as the author notes, the British critics reviewed the film on its own merits and not as a cathartic exercise by the director. Even Polanski observed, “When you tell the story of a guy who’s beheaded, you have to show how they cut off his head. If you don’t, it’s like telling a dirty joke and leaving out the punchline.”

There always will be unfortunate correlations between his films and the two events. Even Roy Jenson, the character actor in Chinatown, who acted opposite Polanski in his cameo commented, “Roman did it explicitly because of Sharon Tate. He wouldn’t let another actor handle a shiv if he could help it. No one else was ever going to play that part.” How true is that? Only Polanski knows. However, there is an interesting aside, which Sandford notes, in the closing credits of the film: Polanski’s role is listed as The Man with a Knife a possible wink to the audience alluding to his first film? Again, only Polanski knows.

Sandford relies on many of these tidbits from more than 200 interviews with actors, writers and other Polanski collaborators, as well as previously sealed court documents and magazine and broadcast interviews that the understandably media-shy director has granted over the years. And just as in the informal poll taken for this review, Sandford also discovered through these conversations the contrasting opinions people have of the director. Some think of him as “our greatest living director, but almost a saint in terms of his personal experience; while certain others take a notably different line, favoring words like ‘evil’ and ‘bastard’ among the even more colorful epithets.”

Polanski is not a deep psychological study of the director—that should be left to the psychoanalysts—but it does provide readers with a very comprehensive and fascinating account of a talented yet flawed man who can charm his audience as well as repel them.

Across the Endless River
By Thad Carhart
Doubleday 2009
309 pages.
$26.95

Reviewed by Randall Radic

Edgar Rice Burroughs – considered a ‘hack’ by the cognoscenti – imagined what would happen to an aristocratic infant born in Africa and raised by apes.  Burroughs went on to write a series of books – twenty-five different volumes – about Tarzan the Apeman.  So popular were the books, that Hollywood noticed and enlisted Johnny Weissmuller to play the role of Tarzan in a series of movies, which were not only entertaining but real moneymakers.  Eventually, though, Johnny got old and plump.  So Hollywood discarded his loincloth and put him in a safari outfit.  They called him Jungle Jim.

Years later, Hollywood – as is their want – decided to make a re-make of Tarzan.  This time they hired an unknown Frenchman – Christopher Lambert – to play the part of Tarzan.  Lambert was fantastic in the flick.  He was sexy, brooding, handsome in a slightly cruel way, and very, very body-con.  It was one hell of a good movie, because it explored what happens when mankind who, for the most part has opted for monoculture, lives between two cultures.  In other words, when cultural memories and cultural symbols are reshuffled, what kind of human being is produced?

The bicameral mind as envisioned by the highrolling Hollywood movie moguls.

All that just to say this:  Thad Carhart has written a new novel, which does the same thing – explores the “in-between path” of a person who lives within two cultures.  Carhart has titled his novel Across The Endless River, which is perhaps a little smarmy.  But thankfully, the novel isn’t.  For from the get-go it’s obvious that Carhart could never be labeled as a ‘hack.’  He’s a ferociously goosed up littérateur with enormous talent. 

Across The Endless River is the story of Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau, who actually existed.  Only not much is known about his life, especially between the years 1824 – 1829, during which he lived and traveled in Europe.  His traveling companion was none other than Duke Paul von Wurttemberg, the nephew of King Friedrich III von Wurttemberg. 

Jean-Baptiste commands interest because of who he was – the son of Sacagawea and Toussaint Charbonneau, who were the translators for Lewis and Clark on their famous expedition in 1805.  Massaged by two vastly divergent cultures – the Mandan-Hidatsa Indian Villages of North Dakota and the genteel world of St. Louis – Jean-Baptiste grew up to be a person at once noun and verb.  Which means he was not only a fascinating character of rich complexity, but he struggled with the basic human problem of context.  Who was he?  And what did he want to do with his life? 

That’s the story that Thad Carhart digs into.  He takes the human progeny of the Lewis and Clark Expedition – for Jean-Baptiste was born in the midst of the expedition – and sends him on a personal expedition, the expedition called Life. 

It’s a beautiful tale, wonderfully wrought.  Carhart plunges the reader into a slo-mo atomic hurricane of human passions and the age-old conundrum of ‘what gives meaning to one’s life?’  The tale glitters with beautiful women – a Princess and a feisty Irish lass – and with adventure, as Jean-Baptiste ranges from one continent to another, discovering his destiny.

On the Read-o-Meter, which ranges from 1 to 5, with 5 being the best Across The Endless River scores an unquestionable 5.  For this is a book shot through with a myriad of scintillating points of luminescence.  It’s a wonderment.

And the Devil Laughed
By Carole Sutton
New Generation Publishing 2009
238 pages
$12.99

Reviewed by Randall Radic

In a sense, Carole Sutton – who is the author of the book under discussion – is a little like Jesus.  During his First Advent, Jesus wandered around preaching a message of salvation.  Whereas Carole – in her delightful first novel, Ferryman – preached a message powerful enough to convert this reviewer, who found crime-fiction distinctively boring, to the pleasures provided by a rollicking ‘who-dunnit.’  Furthermore, according to some, Jesus will return at the Second Advent and kick Satan’s butt.  Taking a cue from Jesus, Carole decided to make a second appearance too.  She’s back with another bang-up ‘who-dunnit.’  This one’s called And the Devil Laughed.  And just like Jesus, it kicks ass.
           
The plot of the story goes like this:  Hannah Ford is a policewoman trying to make a comeback from an emotional double whammy – the recent death of her husband and her own traumatic experience as a rape victim.  She takes a job as an undercover cop in a small town, which, so the rumor goes is little more than a depot for drug smugglers.  Hannah’s job is to determine if the rumors are true.  When Hannah arrives at the town, drug smugglers are old history.  No one cares about that anymore.  What’s worrying them now is the rape and brutal murder of a local barmaid.  It’s this intersection of hysterical trends that sends the story rocketing off with reckless dynamism.

When it comes to telling a story, Carole Sutton is the Mistress of Mechanical Advantage.  For she knows just how to do it.  She winds the story tight, then lets out a little slack so the reader thinks this might be a good time to take a breath.  Just as the reader opens his mouth to inhale, she pulls the line even tighter, almost garroting the hapless reader with breathless excitement.  And the Devil Laughed is the textbook example of the raw power of superb storytelling, which is a talent that can’t be taught or bought.  It’s a knack.  Either a writer has it or not.  Carole Sutton has it!
        
Some novelists, of course, can tell a story, but where they come up short is in their dialogue.  In other words, when the story’s characters speak, they don’t sound like real people.  Instead, they sound like no-talent actors in a really bad horror flick, which was written and directed by some haberdasher from New Jersey, who got the job because his brother-in-law put up the money for the flick.  It’s called ‘cultural dislocation.’  Which means the author has no ear for conversational idiosyncrasies.  This literary disease is usually brought on by proximity.  Proximity narrows perspective.
 
Hooray!  Carole Sutton does not have the dreaded dialogue disease.  She has DESH, instead.  DESH is a musical term – diatonic elaboration of static harmony, also known as the major chord accompanied – appropriately – with a descending bassline.  Which means her dialogue is life-affirming.  Which is a fancy way of saying that when her characters speak, their speech patterns sound right.  There is texture and streamlined organicism.  Which means harmony in the conversational universe.  And that translates into happy readers.

On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the best And the Devil Laughed hit a factor five on the Read-o-Meter.  Even if, like the reviewer, you think ‘who-dunnits’ function best as paperweights, do yourself a favor and read this book.  Perhaps you, too, will have a religious conversion.

[Editor's Note: This review was written for the September/October issue of ForeWord Magazine]

When Autumn Leaves: A Novel 
by Amy Foster
Overlook TP
304 pages
$14.95

When Autumn Leaves, the title of Amy Foster’s debut novel, refers not to Johnny Mercer’s song of lost love, but to the gentle and wise witch Autumn Avening, who has been notified of a promotion and has to select her successor from a list of thirteen names. It’s no easy task, for each person on that list holds a special power, which may or may not benefit the town. Autumn decides to hold a contest for an apprentice and choose her disciple.

This is the first book in a series about the town of Avening and its magical inhabitants. Foster introduces the main characters that readers can assume will be making their appearances in subsequent books with an expanded storyline. Each one has a whimsical quality that might be seen as personality quirks or traits in mere mortals; these qualities bring a unique twist to Foster’s story about the splendor and wonder of everyday life.

To read the rest of the review, please visit ForeWord Magazine