Sunday, January 1 1995
'And what greater contrast is there than placing self-indulgent hatred and disgust right beside profound love and understanding?' R.P. Moore shows us both sides of ourselves in a unique way, in a book destined to become a classic.
. . . the main thrust of his study argued to allow a queer reading of the hero's adventures.
...a pleasant diversion if deadpan satire is your thing.
When saxman Charlie Parker visited Paris in 1949, he was introduced to Jean-Paul Sartre, one of the godfathers of existential thought. 'I'm very glad to have met you,' the musician told the philosopher. 'I like your playing very much.'"
We have the art itself, but we also have the honest, unflinching gaze into his own fear, his own darkness, and it is this gaze that makes it hard not to empathize with him: here is a man who can make art out of his own shadow.
A review and and an interview with Jeffrey A. Brown: 'Where there seems to be a lack [of serious study] is on the positive side of the mainstream comics. . . you get the sense that it's sort of apologetic or subliterate.'"
A glimpse of those long months of freezing and sweltering, studying and contemplating, in the field by an observer who has done it with sensitive dedication.
My advice would be stick with Volume 1 if you're anything but a Beatlemaniac.
To become a legitimate icon - Bill Monroe's real though unconfessed motivation - it was crucial that he become the messiah of a morally wholesome movement, upholding an idea of conduct that he was unable to attain in a few of his personal dealings.
I’m highly cynical these days whenever I see an academic book on the body or sex. The body is “hot” in academic circles and
He has an honest passion about good animation: the classics such as Disney with its inventiveness and grace, Warner Bros. and Tex Avery and their inspired zaniness, while he also revels in the mind-blowing effects that can be achieved through the use of computers, eager to be witness to the next step in the evolution of animated films.
As readers we hope for the happy ending, the one where the power of such art and thought once again foments radical societal change. Quinn, however, is a realist. He knows that most revolutions take time.
The human mind loves making connections, sometimes organizing unlike data into nicely formed packets of sanity, other times tying ribbons upon packages of mayhem. Our minds also seem to search for the convenient shortcut, the Northwest Passage, the 'easy way out'. More often than not these packets and shortcuts lead to dead-ends, or mine fields laden with an ordinance of insanity and confusion.
Bruni's description of Bush paints a fragmented character who 'struck different poses at different times': the average student with a quick temper, prone to too much drinking and partying, who years later summoned enough ambition to win the race for governor of Texas, and whose loyalties lay with his family, pets, his beloved Texas ranch, baseball, and a slew of devoted friends who painstakingly championed his cause.
[Raymond Federman's] techniques seem to bring into question the 'truth' of the story . . . as well as allowing a lengthy discussion throughout the novel about the act of writing itself.
The story offered here is not just a depiction of idealists trying to change the world, but a convincing portrait of government repression in the United States, one which should not only enlighten readers about our country's past but make them look closer at the present.
Aylett's imagination is about as creative as anyone's in the business, and his ideas are fresh and full of potential. If only he had developed his characters and his story beyond the level of a cartoon, and toned down the smug, smart-ass prose, this book could have gone somewhere.
Place 'Adios Muchachos' alongside the work of John D. MacDonald, Carl Hiassen, and a good deal of Elmore Leonard, and it'll fit right in with those masters of incongruously sunny, quirky capers.