Early Review of Richard Jackson's Confessions of a Terrorist: A Novel

Confessions of a Terrorist: A Novel by Richard Jackson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Advanced Reader's Copy Review:

The night I began reading Richard Jackson's Confessions of a Terrorist: A Novel, I didn't stop before finishing a third of it, it was difficult to put it down. Part of this is the style, it is written in the format of a Top Secret transcription of an audio or video recording of an interrogation of a MI5 agent and a terrorist/militant. There are no chapter breaks, so it's easy to just keep right on reading and the content makes it hard to simply close it and put it down.

Jackson, with this novel, seeks to shake up his readers' preconceptions and notions concerning those labeled as terrorists by the media. That seems to be one of his few aims: to show that those so quickly tagged as terrorists are human beings, having people they love, who love them; and who want people to hear them. Jackson writes: “I have rarely found artistic or media depictions of terrorists that seemed authentic or which corresponded to the completely normal, often intelligent, complex and committed people I had personally spoken to” (319). He presents the terrorist in this light; i.e. the opposite of the way they are usually presented in films and the media.

The author wants to put the readers in the room during the interrogation, to help them ask tough questions. Jackson lives up to his goal, stated on the jacket copy, to blur the line between the interrogator and the terrorist. There are passages that could catch readers nodding their heads in agreement and then, catch them feeling a twinge of guilt for doing so.

I read that it is in the style of Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist. I agree with that in that it is a story that takes place in an intense conversation between two characters: one a Westerner, the other a suspected terrorist. There the similarity breaks down. Jackson's novel is presented as a trascript (as I've already stated), with anotations by those higher up the chain of command; annotations that the fictional authority writes to convince others to expunge parts of the recording and the transcription to cover their collective backsides. Jackson recommends those who are inclined, should try to find as much information as they can, and to talk to militants, if possible.

If you enjoyed The Reluctant Fundamentalist, or are interested in a different perspective view on the issue of terrorists and their behavior, I highly recommend this novel. The author writes, “A novel like this is a small step, but a necessary one, to tearing down the veil of ignorance which currently lies over most of what we currently say and do about terrorism” (322). He also includes a suggested reading list for those interested in knocking down that “veil of ignorance.” I plan to re-read this novel, and to work my way through Jackson's "Recommended Reading" list on terrorism and terrorists.

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Confessions of a Terrorist

Making a Life That Matters

Sometimes I wonder if my life simply matters because it is, or if I have to DO certain things: you know, achieve GREATNESS!!!: to make my life matter. 

I hold to the idea of a certain innate human importance: i.e. human beings matter simply because they are.  That’s not really what I’m talking about here; this isn’t one of the questions I’m asking of myself.

My question is more about life as it’s lived; the life situation (as Eckhart Tolle calls it).  You know: career, hobbies, exercise, learning, relationships.  What is really important?  What really matters?  Am I supposed to be happy with my life as it is, as many of the self-help gurus say?  Am I supposed to realize that I’m really deeply unhappy and so I have to DO all these special steps to find happiness?

When I read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road the first time, I immediately had an interpretation of the meaning of that book.  It was: The Road is about focusing on what’s important. 

Later, I arrived at more elaborate interpretations, but that initial focus on what’s important idea has stood the test of time.  For the man (in case you haven’t read it and plan to, I’ll try to keep the spoilers to a minimum) who unnamed, the boy is “what’s important.”  Everything in the story deals with keeping that boy alive, or to die trying.

Since reading that novel, I have often thought about my own children and how important they are to me.  I’ve thought about the other members of my family and how they are also important to me.  I look at what I have (of course, if someone else had what I have they may not experience gratitude, but rather despair) and am grateful. 

So, what is really important?  Air to breathe.  Water to drink.  Food.  A roof over my head.  All of those things are nice to have, esp. the three basic needs: and those are also covered in McCarthy’s book. 
Ultimately, what is the most important thing?  It’s not really a thing at all.

I read a lot of literature and it is important to me.  I often get very informative answers from literature, and mind-saving info, too.  There have been a number of times that I have read a certain passage from a novel or play or poem and it has given me a new perspective on life.

Yet, literature is not the most important thing, either.  Although literature often contains a portrayal of it, or an attempt at it. 

The most important thing is love.  There, I said it.  I’m not talking only about love between a man and woman, because that is only one narrow aspect of love and is often misunderstood (that’s the stuff for a-whole-nother post).  I’m talking about love that is willing to give itself completely.  Sometimes the love between a man and woman is like that, but more often that kind of love is the love of a parent for a child.  A love that would die, fight, scrape, do whatever to make sure that child is safe and will grow to be the best human being he or she can be.  That’s the kind of love I saw that the man had for his son in The Road.

So, what does that have to do with a life that matters?  Everything.  Everything and more.

Socrates supposedly said that the unexamined life is not worth living.  That may be true, or it may not.  But, if we don’t examine our lives we will have a difficult time building one that matters.  That’s not to say that we have to run off to every self-help seminar, or buy every book and CD/DVD program at the local bookstore on 23 Steps to Super-Over-Mega-Achieving Every Single Goal in Your Stupendous Mind, or something.  What it means is that we take stock.  We really look at what we believe about the important things.  We then have to get down to the real thing: What is really important?

Now, we’re right back where we were up there ^.  The important thing is love.  It’s important that we rebel against the “natural” instincts and that we love, have compassion for our fellow human beings.  If we can get to the level/degree of the love a parent has for a child (those few exceptions notwithstanding), that’s great.  The thing is, we have to begin.  We have to begin wherever we happen to be.  It’s like that old film says: “Baby steps.” 

This isn’t a command. I have no authority for such things.  From me, it’s just a suggestion and a thought about what’s important.  Now, if you happen to be Christian, then, you do have a command to love… Sorry, I can’t be held responsible for that. 

Joking aside, how much better would our world be if everyone just began to love one another a little more than they do now?  Just try to picture it.  Just try to imagine it.

I hope this doesn’t sound preachy.  That was/is not my intention.  I’m merely thinking aloud, so to speak, and hope that you will think along with me on this important issue.

Over the years I have walked many different paths: some exclusive, some inclusive.  Now, my heart is heavy because I miss people from all the different walks of life I have been in and as I age on the outward plane, I grow to realize the truly important thing can also be an urgent thing.  The trick, I think, is to not let it become an overwhelming thing.  People are important and relationships with people we care about are important.  Love is the most important thing.  It is the better thing. 

Please remember to tell the people who you find important, how important they are to you and how much you appreciate them. 

Now, say, “Yes, mother!” and go do it. :-)

Peace!

Review of Ellipses ... by Danel F. Griffin

Ellipses by Danel F. Griffin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a fantastic debut novel. It has travel, adventure, literature, the Marx brothers and philosophy for good measure. It's been a while since I read it, and until I get my books out of storage, I won't get a chance to re-read it, but I just realized that I never wrote a review back then.

Griffin has a fresh voice and an interesting writing style. There is one chapter that just keeps fighting it's way back into my remembrance, and when you read it, you'll know which I mean (that's right, no spoiler alert!)

The characters were well written and could have been friends of mine from my college days; the situation and action are believable and shows Griffin's love of film by being very cinematic, i.e. it was very easy to visualize the things happening in the scenes. And, it was difficult to put down.

The best advice I can give is: read it and see what you think.




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Ellipses
and Danel's second novel:
Spiral's Edge

Review of Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury

The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Faulkner was not afraid to break from mundane and predictable writing; that which later leads to obscurity. If you are looking for a nice point A-to-point B type story, this is not it. This leans more toward something like a mixture of his other work and Joyce/Woolf amalgamation. Yes, it has that in it (stream of consciousness writing). That said, it isn't Joyce or Woolf. It is Faulkner rollicking in the intoxicating power of words, at the height of his game. I love it because of that. Stick with it and you will see that there is a method to the madness; it is not for the faint of heart, to be sure (please excuse the cliché); it requires breaking out of the trained-laziness that much of contemporary literature and internet reading is breeding in us.

On that note, it is disheartening and nauseating to read about people who get bored because there wasn't tension in the previous two sentences, or because an author wants to take some time and really have a play with language. Editors, agents, publishers, writing gurus all spew the same thing: tension, tension, tension. It's as if the entire world is suffering from learned ADHD (not to take that disease lightly: I struggle with this condition myself, so I understand the pain it can cause; but, we cannot allow it to govern everything: i.e. make literature easier, more exciting, tension, tension, tension; but instead, we must make ourselves stick to something and why shouldn't that something be great works of literature?). If this is to change, we have to change it. Reading great literature requires sacrifice and sometimes it requires breaking out of the the blasé expectations of how literature "ought to be." "Oughts" are very ugly things....

Faulkner's writing, especially in this case, is more art than craft. Many of his other works are very tight, craft-wise (as is The Sound and the Fury; but it's tight in its own way: i.e. when there is what seems like a lot of jumping around, it really should not bother a contemporary reader, whose attention span has been hacked down to nearly nil by television and internet; this part of the book is very much like a movie: quickly switching from scene to scene, bringing into the reading the dizzying effect that the character is experiencing on the page).

The Sound and the Fury is one of Faulkner's more difficult books and didn't really catch on until after he had published Sanctuary. It isn't my favorite of those I've read of his works, but it is a strong book and has a lot to recommend it: chief being the way Faulkner plays with language and builds his characters.

Don't give up, it's worth the time you put into it.

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Book Recommendations From Hell: A Cry For Help

I recently (well, if you consider a couple of months recent) began reading A Frolic of His Own by William Gaddis.  My reason for choosing it was because several "what-to-read-next?" websites recommended it as being like Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow.  I can't think of any way that the two books resemble one another.  Now, if I had typed in Catch 22, by Joseph Heller, say, or maybe even A Broom of the System, by David Foster Wallace, A Frolic as a recommendation, would make sense.  But, Gravity's Rainbow?  Well, I guess you live and learn; you can't always trust technology to steer you in the right direction, can you?

How do those things even work?  I've noticed on YourNextRead.com, that there is an option to thumb-down a recommendation.  PLEASE, if you come across one that you know is NOT a good recommendation, thumb that shit down!  It does NOT mean that you don't like either of the books; it DOES mean that someone looking for a similar book will be baffled by that recommendation, and said bafflement may cause recommendationophobia or something.  Do you want to be a cause of these persons contracting an extending case of Luddititis?  I mean, come on!  If you have read, say A Frolic of His Own and Gravity's Rainbow, and you see one of those being recommended because of the other, what are you going to do? THUMB-THAT-SHIT-DOWN! Repeat after me: THUMB-THAT-SHIT-DOWN!  You can give each book five stars, LIKE I DO.  They are both excellent literary fiction.  BUT, they are not alike.  Okay, I guess I have probably beat the holy bejeepercreepers out of this dead horse.  You get me.

Don't misunderstand.  I like A Frolic, but every time I pick it up to begin reading, all I can do is think about how much it is NOT like Gravity's Rainbow and that just knocks me right down.  I'm trying not to give up and try some other year.  I guess I'll just keep at it and bitch away here on my trusty blog....
Later gators.

Attention Contention

Publishers and editors seem to suffer from what appears to be adult ADHD (Disclaimer: I am not a psych doctor, so I can't make this diagnosis for real).  They press new writers to maintain constant tension for their potential readers; keep the pressure on, keep them turning pages; in other words, don't bore them with anything that might strain their weak, failing, meager attention spans.

It won't be long that novels will have to be the length of short stories and short stories will have to be one word that captures the entire emotional and psychological life of a character: e.g. Jesus wept.

I contend that we, as humans, as readers, as writers, have the responsibility to rebel against the publishers and editors, for the sake of our children and their children.  Attention spans are quickly becoming endangered and if something drastic is not done, will follow the Dodo into extinction.

Being Changed by Literature

Change can be good, but it is not necessarily always easy.  Several changes that a person can experience may be barely noticeable: they wake up one morning and something is different.  Changes brought about by literature are usually not so quiet; at least not in my life.  Some of these changes I have instigated, others have been instigated for me by assigned readings in university, and others are serendipitous.

The changes that I have experienced in reading T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, for example, were of the latter kind.  I picked it up on purpose, but simply to distract myself.  It ended up being the focus of my 60 page senior thesis for the B. A. in English Literature.  Because of that one moment, the one choice to read something for the sheer distraction of it, I have stumbled onto the concentration for my future literary pursuits.  I still have more to say about it, lots more.  And, I really hated The Waste Land the first few times I read it; I thought to myself, “How can people call this good?”  But, now, I call it good!

Albert Camus changed the way I look at life in general.  I would say that the changes that have happened in my life since first reading his works were self-instigated.  I purposely and purposefully chose his Myth of Sisyphus with change in mind.  What happened was not so much an actual outright change, but a merging and an upgrading of my thinking.  I found that I already shared several of his thoughts and ideas, but was unable to articulate them and that he had been kind enough to put them in writing.  Others of his ideas were not mine, but I agree with them and now they are.

The reading that I have been doing lately has both intrigued and bothered me.  It is of the assigned variety.  It is mostly philosophical in nature, which I have not had much experience with.  Well, I should rephrase that.  I have read literature that is philosophical, but have not read much systematic philosophy and then attempted to read literature through it.  Some of these works are difficult, and my initial response is dislike or distaste.  The dislike is not because of the difficulty, nor because they are philosophy or philosophical, but because they lack poetry—I am mostly referring to Kant.

I have read many things that are merely good, enjoyable; that I am glad to have read, but that I will most likely not read again.

Then, there are those works that initially I dislike, or even hate; yet, as I read them I realize that I am changing.  In these times, change is not comfortable.  My mind will not stop working on the new ideas.   I lose more sleep than usual.   The Waste Land, as I mentioned, is one of these works.

Soon, if the literature is strong I will begin to let the words become a part of my way of thinking.   But, this is a choice.  My choice.  I will not blindly believe; I absolutely refuse to call something good just because someone else does.  If I did that, I would lose respect for myself as I have often lost respect for others that do this; i.e. call something good because that is the popular consensus.

Some of the works I have been reading lately are not literature, but philosophy and literary criticism.  The professor raves about them and I was initially excited to be introduced to them; that is, until I read them.  I had a strong dislike to a few, but after thinking about them and discussing them, they are slowly moving into my “must read again and again” category.  And, several have given me ideas for expanding my research on Eliot.

Not only will I not call something good simply because that is the general consensus; I will argue, fight, declare my disgust of the work—if I do not like it.  I will, however, usually give the work a fair chance by reading it for myself.  Sometimes, but not many times, the work of literature will remain on my “do not like” list.  More often the work will become one of my favorites, and not merely because of my investment in it, but because of its investment in me.

Investment in literature is not something I take too seriously, nor is it something I take lightly.  I am serious about literature and the part it will play in my future; I will wrestle with a text as long as is necessary, if I believe that it is worth it.  I refuse to take any of it so seriously, however, that I am angered when others joke or have fun at the expense of the literature.  If there is no fun in it, I will not bother.  The day I lose pleasure in literature and its study is the day I find something else to be fill my time.

That does not mean that I will only read silly literature—how much of that is running around in the wild?  What I mean is that I will not let literature become something about which I cannot change my mind.  If it is good, I will read it, enjoy it, wrestle with it, write about it, but I will not let it be my holy text.  I have no holy text and will have none, thank you.  Nothing is sacred unless we make it sacred.

My mind is my mind and I will run it the way I want to run it.¹ Literature does have an enormous impact on much of my thinking and my way of being.  However, I have no problem changing my mind if I think that what I am reading no longer suits me, or serves me.  Maybe I am fooling myself.  Maybe I just think I change my mind, when in reality it is another work of literature that has done it for me….

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1. At least I think this way; I could be wrong and have no free will whatsoever.  I’ll have to keep reading the philosophers and get back with you on it.