It’s nearing the end of the 20 Year Reunion, and they are partying in Fredericksburg, Virginia, right now, without me! The Great Nate Wade just posted that he is at Merriman’s!! Not only am I getting old, I am failing to keep pace with my contemporaries.
This is the Stone Temple Pilots’ “Plush.” It was extremely popular 20 years ago, when I was cool enough to keep up.
That’s right — for free. Over the next several days, right here: http://www.amazon.com/Dogs-Dont-Bark-Brooklyn-More-ebook/dp/B00GR4FUU8
As part if its first birthday celebration, Dagda Publishing is offering its fiction titles for free for the next several days! From Dagda Publishing:
“Happy birthday to us! We made ourselves a cake (disclaimer: the cake is a lie). As a little celebration, and giving something back to everyone that has supported us in our endeavours over the last year, we have decided to offer our fiction titles for free for the next few days on Kindle. So, follow the links below to pick up some fantastic new fiction for your virtual bookshelf. Have a glorious weekend, everyone!
http://www.amazon.com/Touch-The-Sun-Laura-Enright-ebook/dp/B00IMSSFDG
http://www.amazon.com/Dogs-Dont-Bark-Brooklyn-More-ebook/dp/B00GR4FUU8
http://www.amazon.com/All-Hail-Flesh-Various-Authors-ebook/dp/B00I12PZH2
www.amazon.com/Tuned-Dead-Channel-R-Davey-ebook/dp/B00FARIMP8
“And, if you have enjoyed our books, please leave a review on Amazon – it all helps future sales and getting these authors the recognition they deserve. Bye for now! 🙂 “
Here is Dagda’s summary for my novel:
“There was a time, Rebecca’s father had told her, when wolves could not speak. She wished for that time.”
Rebecca O’Conner is the daughter of a hero, a veteran soldier of The Wolf War. Now, she herself is a Captain in the Special Animal Warfare Service (SAWS), fighting,as her father did against the armies of super-intelligent wolves that have taken over most of the continental United States.
The Dogs Don’t Bark In Brooklyn Any More spans two periods of Rebecca’s life: the tumultuous Brooklyn childhood that shapes her future, preparing her for the soldier she must become, and her struggle to keep herself and her squad alive as she prepares to meet her destiny. Her empirical mind rebels against the chaotic dreams that haunt her, suggesting a greater path than she can yet comprehend as she seeks to find an end to the war.
The enemy is smart, strong and fearless; the odds are stacked against the human race. Is there hope for us in the war with the wolves? Will humanity prevail and reclaim its place as the dominant species on Earth? Or will the great demonic wolf that stalks Rebecca in her dreams close its jaws over the world and drive us to extinction?
Themes of loyalty and friendship run strongly throughout a compelling tale of hardship and struggle in a war unlike any other. However, even in a world where the enemy is of another species, The Dogs Don’t Bark In Brooklyn Any More shows how resentment, distrust, and man’s inhumanity to man can persist at a time when putting our differences aside is crucial to the survival of mankind. Above all, the men and women of SAWS and the US Army strive to demonstrate the indomitable spirit of humanity, and re-establish our place at the top of the food chain.
In honor of the Mary Washington College Class of 1994 Reunion, which I am regrettably unable to attend, I am sharing this photo of a … slightly younger me. As you can see (far left), I was sublimely well adjusted at the age of 20, despite the fact that apparently 40 percent of my body weight resulted from my ears and hair.
The happy gang pictured is actually The Tunnel Crowd — yes, they graduated before 94, but I currently don’t have any other MWC pics scanned in. Pictured beside me, from left to right, are Chris Orange, Dave Whitaker, Steve Miller in his Lennontastic shades, Paul Dilick, and another affable young man whose name escapes me now.
And pictured here is actually a key educational moment, because this may have been the party where I was first really introduced to The Beatles’ “White Album.”
“You say you want a revolution? Well, you know … we all want to change the world.”
Much love, guys. Thanks for long ago friendships, and great memories that the decades have failed to fade.
It’s when you misspell the word “typos,” in an e-mail, as I just did, and it’s kind of ironic.
Oh, Nicolle from the Bay Shore NY CVS, you are quite the flatterer. I want to buy my Newports from you every day.
You made this 42-year-old laugh like a schoolboy — so much so that you silenced the pedant in me who wanted to ask why “Nicolle” is spelled with two “L”s on your nametag. (The guys I am meeting up with out here tell me to get over it, but I won’t.)
Is “Nicolle” a mistake? Or a gag, maybe? When I worked at a video store and lost my nametag that time, the other guys handed me one with “George” on it, and I wore it because you could actually get in trouble for not wearing a nametag. Then they spent all night laughing their asses off whenever they laid eyes on me. There apparently was some excellent joke that had been made at my expense. “Curious George?” “George Kaplan” from “North By Northwest?” George Bush?
Retrospect now suggests “Back To The Future’s” “George McFly.” A LITTLE ON THE NOSE, DON’T YOU THINK?
[It would be so hilarious if the subject of this post actually reads this. I’m going to tag her name, store and location. Because this is what I do with my time.)
Maybe “George Kaplan” from “North By Northwest” could actually be cool … I don’t know. Or … maybe not. Were the other guys suggesting that I … didn’t exist? Because that’s pretty abstract. Whatever.
Doing a book swap with Amanda, a writer friend in Connecticut — I almost stuck a couple of McDoubles in the box for the three-day First Class Mail journey.
She is my “homeopathic pal,” who is constantly exhorting me to eat better, and keeps getting me to put strange things into my body. [NOTE TO ALL REPUBLICANS READING THIS: I said “homeoPATHIC,” and the “strange things into my body” I’m referring to are … like … distilled essence of reindeer horn and powdered Romanian wildflower and stuff. So relax; she isn’t assailing your Institution of Marriage. Also, tell Sarah Palin I said that she’s just cute as a button.]
Anyway … the cheeseburger gag — should I do it? The Post Office Lady Who is Always Annoyed With Me regularly asks me those Homeland Security-esque questions whenever I mail a package … is anything flammable? Is anything made of hazardous materials? It’s sometimes fun, because it makes me feel like “The Jackal” (the Bruce Willis version) on his way to do battle with the incongruously charming Irish Republican Army member Richard Gere. (Man, did that movie ever send mixed messages about terrorism.)
But is it legal to send burgers through the mail as a gag? The Post Office Lady never specifies “cheeseburgers” in her queries. And don’t go making the obvious joke that food from MacDonald’s is always “hazardous materials” because I hear enough of that from my friends, and I LOVE MCDOUBLES. (“Diagnosis? Delicious.”)
I hope it’s cool, because I really need a truly diabolical plan to impress upon Amanda that I do, in fact, have a sense of humor. The other night, she told me that “my darkness can get in the way of me being a truly free spirit,” which is so goddam abstract that I’m not sure what to make of it. I … don’t THINK it was an insult, and it’s possible that she was just all toked up again after smoking powdered reindeer horn or something.
If you are reading this blog entry, Amanda, here’s a poem excerpt just for you:
“Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.”
Those are the closing lines of W.H. Auden’s “The Fall of Rome.” Rattle of that one at your next Earth Day celebration. Now put the pipe down, Honey.
I feel certain my mother will e-mail me with spelling corrections for this blog entry’s headline, because, despite my best efforts, she still misunderstands the concept of LOLcats:
Me: They’re kittens.
Mom: It’s spelled wrong.
Me: That’s the joke … the kittens can’t spell.
Mom: But the kittens can use a computer?
Seriously, for someone who grew up before the Internet, the concept of LOLcats is hard to explain. Schrodinger’s cat would probably easier.
So e-mail me your advice on the cheeseburger gag after you devote some serious thought to it. In the meantime, tremble before these two portraits of diabolical plan formation. Dear Lord … WE EVEN LOOK ALIKE.
I am a notoriously poor prognosticator. “24” proved that. But I am also very persistent, and I’ve had too much coffee tonight to get to sleep before midnight. So here are my predictions for who will survive the Season 2 finale of NBC’s “Hannibal,” after the jump:
Will Graham: alive. The screenwriters have invested far too much time meticulously constructing this character. Plus, the darker Will Graham is still new, and there’s a lot of story potential there. I think I remember interviews with Bryan Fuller saying that Season 3 will follow the chase after Hannibal through Europe, so the plot calls for an FBI investigator (working with Interpol, I guess?).
Jack Crawford: alive. Laurence Fishburne is too great an actor for NBC to let him go purely for the shock value of his character’s death. Seeing him bereaved by Bella has story potential. Also, see the suggested “chase season” mentioned above.
Alana Bloom: dead. I love the character and the actress, but she’s superfluous now that the love triangle is over among her, Lecter and Graham. Also, her death will devastate Graham, which is something the writers seem to love.
Abigail Hobbes: dead, for real this time. Her story arc is over, and seeing her survive would undermine the tragedy of the season 2 finale.
Bella Crawford: dead. The show is likely to take place largely outside Baltimore, and I think the writers have milked this subplot long enough.
Dr. Bedelia Whatersername: I hope she’s dead. I love Gillian Anderson, but this character is so vague and inscrutable that she really just confuses the plot more than anything else. Also, I’m pretty sure we’d all rather see Hannibal as a lone wolf.
Also: this show loves unholy alliances. Therefore, I predict an uncomfortable team-up between Mason Verger and the good guys.
It was brutal and amazing. Where Season 1 was extremely good, the closing episodes of Season 2 have made the NBC thriller nearly perfect. I actually think the show has reached the point where it actually improves on the Thomas Harris novels, as the better films (“Silence of the Lambs” and Ridley Scott’s “Hannibal”) did.
I’m not even sure where to begin. The dialogue is downright beautiful. And this is a big improvement over the first season — in their zeal to portray highly intelligent characters, the screenwriters seemed to try to make every line sound brilliant — and it sometimes backfired awkwardly. Repeated phrases and forced wordplay made the story’s accomplished academics sound like garrulous undergraduates trying to impress freshman girls at an off-campus party. (Trust me, I know how they talk because I was one.)
In the latter episodes of season 2, the writers seemed to have gotten their game on. You actually do get the sense that these are incredibly bright people discussing their worldviews and motivations. I am not the most cerebral guy out there, and I’m the first to admit it — but I really feel that there were some goddam compelling examinations of themes like sociopathy, the sanctity of life (or a sociopath’s inability to perceive it), mortality, grief and bereavement, God and morality, and forgiveness.
I can’t believe I am saying this, but I think the screenwriters actually exceeded Harris’ prose in rendering Hannibal Lecter as a three-dimensional character — and this is coming from someone who LOVED Harris’ baroque “Hannibal,” which examined Lecter at far greater length than “Silence.” For the first time, we get a coherent sense of an ideology for the character, linked closely to his inability to feel empathy and his apparent inability to feel love for other people. And because the character is a genius and the dialogue here has improved, it’s very well articulated.
Lecter kills people (and fears his own death very little) because he perceives them as objects, in only physical or aesthetic terms: “We are orchestrations of carbon, you and me — all our destinies flying and swirling in blood and emptiness.”
The characters themselves are better this season. I’m sure that many others will disagree, but I think Season 1 failed to give us a truly likable main protagonist. Will Graham, as scripted and as portrayed by Hugh Dancy, was too weak, self-absorbed and charmless to be a leading man in a police thriller. It made me miss Clarice Starling, who was strong despite her vulnerabilities, both in the books and the films. I wanted her to appear, all juiced up with girl power and dead-Daddy-Freudian-sublimation, and bitch-slap a little FBI training into Graham — maybe make him run that Quantico obstacle course a few times to toughen him up a little. Starling is Naomi Wolf with firearm training, and she’s awesome. The leading man on NBC’s show, for me, seemed to be Jack Crawford, expertly played by Laurence Fishburne.
That has changed. Now that Graham has completed a certain character arc (I’m trying to keep this spoiler free), the new, darker, badass Graham (who often seems psychotic himself) is a terrific character to root for. And he’s now frightening himself — his “Oh, yes.” line at the start of the finale gets under your skin just fine. Nice work, Mr. Dancy.
I’ve criticized both Dancy and Mads Mikkelson in the past for their interpretations of characters Graham and Lecter. Now I wish I could take it back. Their work in the last three episodes was amazing. They play off each other perfectly, and both actors handle heavy-handed lines perfectly. Caroline Dhavernas is also wonderful as Alana Bloom — this actress has a great range, and is especially skilled at portraying shock and surprise. I can’t imagine that’s easy for any actor, especially considering multiple takes. She’s great as an audience surrogate for any horror film or dramatic thriller.
As has always been the case, the directing, the use of imagery, the recurring motifs and color, and the musical score was just wonderful.
There isn’t much more that I can say without spoilers — beyond the fact that the finale was quite sad, even by the standards of serial killer thrillers. The ending of Graham and Lecter’s “friendship” was surprisingly moving. Lecter’s final assault on Graham’s happiness was … sadistic. And it’s heartbreaking when one character’s kindness to another is not repaid.
All in all, this is fantastic television. I’d rate “Hannibal” Season 2 a perfect 10.
Forty one found me
In midday reminiscence –
Not at the bars in Fredericksburg
Where 21 arrived like a proud, aggressive fleet,
Setting sail against
Easily conquered oceans.
Accurate charts assured my hands,
My future lay
In neatly mapped seas,
Measured leagues in quadrants,
Latitudes, longitudes.
Distant shores seemed
Vulnerable to my every effort.
The water that night
Was a kind of golden bronze,
The cheap, sweet beer
Of the college junior.
Forty one arrives
Where compasses didn’t predict.
Octants are confounded and
Sextants equivocate.
All the almanacs agree
Only that we are at sea.
© Eric Robert Nolan 2013
I might just post a picture of Randall Flagg every time a friend tells me that they are either reading or rereading Stephen King’s “The Stand.” (This one’s for you, Tim Gatto.)
He really is the greatest villain of all time, beating out even Heath Ledger’s Joker, Hannibal Lecter, Two Face, Nina Meyers, Felix Cortez, and the Hunter Rose incarnation of Grendel. (I’m talking about Flagg, here — not Tim.)
We know that Tim is REreading the tome (he got the extended version, good on him), because he actually read the book before I did. As far back as 1989 or so, Tim and I scribbled quotes from the novel on our textbooks at Longwood High School.
Tim even quizzed me once in the cafeteria to test my reading retention. I passed with flying colors:
“What’s the dog’s name?”
“Kojak. Formerly Big Steve.”
(Do you remember that conversation in the lunchroom, Buddy?) 😀 Whatever. It was more fun than the SAT equivalent.
Anyway, I myself have been stricken with the urge over the past year or so to revisit King’s “IT.” I don’t know why. I’m not afraid of clowns — at all. Clowns are probably the only popular horror archetype whose asses I think I could actually kick (clowns and sparkly vampires, that is). Clowns aren’t scary … they’re really more … punchable. Or … y’know — NOT bulletproof. Also mimes. All human beings, save the full sociopaths, have an active moral center in their brains, and I know that we all privately harbor the truth there that mimes DESERVE to die. (You call yourselves ENTERTAINERS?! F***ing SAY something!! Hello!! Goodbye!! Shakespeare’s sonnets!! The Gettysburg Address!! For God’s sake, just STOP!!)
But I can’t get to “IT” just yet, because my pile of loaned or gift books is high. There are Toby Barlow’s “Sharp Teeth” and King’s “Cycle of the Werewolf,” lent to me by Super Smart Art Girl. Then there are a few books that Crunchy Girl gave me, about … spellcasting? Or something? (Is she technically a Wiccan? We don’t know, because she equivocates on a lot of things.)
Anyway, Tim, safe journey. And because we know the kind of guy you are, we know you’re headed to Nebraska and not Las Vegas (or CIBOLA).
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 