Sphinxes & Obelisks

 

Sphinxes & Obelisks by Mark Valentine
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I am always edified by reading a Mark Valentine book. Inevitably, I pick up new words I was unaware of or that I had never paid attention to (Divagation was the first such word in this volume - found on page 1), I learn about obscure authors from Valentines explorations into the recondite corners of literature, in the case of his non-fiction, or the strange corners of irreality in his fiction, and I am always struck by his understated sense of humor, which pops up at the oddest of times (this chronological quirkiness is part of the charm, I suppose). buying a book by Mark Valentine is never a wasted dollar. Reading the introduction to this book alone justified the cost.

The problem, of course, is that Valentine sets my wallet on fire with his discoveries and revelations. The first urge to go hunting here was spurred by the essay on Riccardo Stephens. Last time I followed Valentine's recommendation, I absolutely fell head over heels for the works of Mary Butts, whom I had never heard of before reading about her in Valentine's outstanding Haunted by Books. Tempting. Yet again, so tempting. Get thee behind me Mark Valentine!

Does this mean that I take the Valentine bait hook, line, and sinker? Well, okay, in terms of his fiction and poetry, yes. But his nonfiction, while amazing, sometimes shows holes. For example, Valentine's review of Asquith's anthology The Ghost Book is . . . nothing special, to put it bluntly. Maybe the first instance I've seen of Valentine "phoning it in," as they say. Given the source material, though, no one can blame him. Still, I was a little disappointed with the essay. I suppose that with Valentine's prolific output, one is bound to find a dud. Soon thereafter, the essay on Nephele, or at least the idea of the novel, I found intriguing, but not necessarily compelling.

Thankfully, this was just the warmup act. He soon hits his stride, as one should expect:

In his essay "Phoenician Rites and Chaldee Roots," Valentine carves a labyrinth, a sort of archaeology of an intellectual maze that meanders from Shakespeare to Machen to Homes and Watson. This is the sort of wandering intellectual exercise that I love and that Valentine excels at. What is the thesis? Um. I'm not sure there is one. What is the conclusion? Ditto. Do I care? No. Not all who wander are lost . . .

Anyone, really, could have written the essay "The Summoner of the Sphinx," but only Mark Valentine could do it with such ease and panache! A documentary-style exploration of one of the most memorable magic tricks ever could fall flat quite easily, but here the event is given all the observational filigree it deserves, with some subtle nods to the kitsch, properly ensconcing the event in both its historical context and our modern notions of tomfoolery.

Continuing in the vein of the Valentinian educational program, I think I learned more about William Hope Hodgson in Valentine's essay "The Wonder Unlimited" than I have ever known before. Not biographical details, dates and such, but really about him - his sense of humor, brusqueness, and so forth. An interesting glimpse into the author's personality by way of his most obscure work.

One thing that stood out to me on reading this particular volume is the personal detail that Valentine shares about himself and his work. A very interesting and highly personal essay on "Tin Mine Gothic" provides a peek behind the curtain to see what brought Valentine to his interests (and, ultimately, his own writing). I really enjoyed this. It makes this volume absolutely and unarguably his.

"A Fashion in Shrouds" is just the sort of quirky essay I love. In it, Valentine explores the sartorial choices (or compulsions) of the (un)dead. Through ghost stories, both (supposedly) veridical and literary, Valentine traces the evolution of ghostly dress with a dry sense of humor that causes soft laughs in barely-perceptible whispers on fog-enshrouded moors.

Library ephemera (both personal and public) are the subject of the literally-titled "Stuck in a Book," a delightful examination of the sometimes strange, sometimes ironic physical bits and bobs one finds in a used book. Valentine's insight is keen, his research formidable, and his humor only a touch morbid.

"The Saracen's Head" takes an ubiquitous object - the pub sign - and traces the history of England's fascination with the motif of the Saracen's Head. It's a piece of pseudo-Foucaltian "Archaeology of Knowledge" examining the entrance of the motif into the English public imagination. This is the sort of thing doctoral theses are made of, or could be, if expanded to about 100 times its page count. Fascinating.

Lastly, we are given a fly-on-the-wall view of intrepid bookhunters Mark Valentine and John Howard (who are also two of the best living authors writing today - might I strongly, Strongly, STRONGLY recommend Howard's The Voice of the Air?) as they spend a Sunday looking for hidden treasure in the "Passages in the West". this was fascinating and appropriate at the end of one of Valentine's non-fiction collections. One sees Valentine's encyclopedic knowledge of recondite authors and works at play here, as well as a glimpse into his relationship with a fellow-book lover and the people who sell these paginated treasure chests.



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Oxford July 2019

 It's been over a year now. Things are a bit hazy, just like the sky was when we landed in London last July. After a long wait in Chicago (10 hours delay that also cost us £96.75 - thanks a bunch, American Airlines. Jerks.), we took the approximately 8 hour flight over to London. I don't fly particularly well, so I didn't rest much. Pretty much kept my eyes either on the flight monitor map or on my pinball app. I didn't want to watch any movies that might even hint at an air disaster and I didn't need any reminders that the wreck of the Titanic was somewhere far below us. I might have taken a couple of benadryl before getting on the plane, I don't remember.

Morning found us going straight from Heathrow to the car rental place (did I mention the £96.75 in lost hotel fees because of the delay?) where the nice young man there tried to upsell me to a Mercedes. No thank you, I was saving my Mercedes for the Autobahn when we went to the continent the following week (what a great drive that was, but that's a different story). 

Here are the taxis we didn't take (but I had to get a picture):

Cute, aren't they? Unless you've been watching Sherlock. 

I quickly found that driving on the other side of the road is, frankly, terrifying. I'm surprised my wife didn't just kick me out of the (right hand) driver's side door. I was freaking out - a lot. Eventually, though, we miraculously made it to Oxford, our first stop of the trip. I was so relieved to get out of the car.

We took a double decker into Oxford. Yes, quaint, I know, but it really was the most convenient way to get into town from the carpark. I have to admit it brought back a flood of memories and feelings from when I was a teenager living in England. Back then we'd sit in the back of the top and smoke cigarettes. It might have even been legal back in the '80s, I don't know. Not that illegality would have stopped us.

Yes, there's a sign telling you you're in Oxford. Helpful, that.

Our first order of business was filling a dream of mine: Visiting the Bodleian Library. If I had a million dollars, I'd go on a world tour of incredible libraries and bookstores. On my meagre budget, we were able to go to the Bodleian and stop at an Oxfam to buy a book or two later that day. Well, there was the booktown trip to Wales, but that was not this day (why is it I hear Aragorn's voice when I type that?). Here' is the first photo I took:

Next, one the courtyard:

And one of the library's facades, viewed from the courtyard:

Sorry, fellow Yanks, but America just doesn't have this kind of architecture. This building was older than America itself and yet, there it stood.

We paid our two bits (okay, it was more like twenty quid) and stepped inside for the tour. We started in the Divinity Room, where most of the tour was held. 

Here's the door we came through. Lots of people were coming and going, so it too a while before I could get a "still" shot of it:

"Wow," you might be thinking "what an architect!" Well, yes and no. There were two architects. One of them an artisan whose name I can't remember. Like all good corporate entities, the board of trustees wanted to cut costs, so they hired another builder (whose name I also can't remember) who was more . . . practical. And less expensive. You can actually see where one quit (I can't remember if he died, retired, or was fired) and the other took over:

You can see, on this cornice, where the fluted columns give way to something more . . . prosaic. That's not to say the newer part of the build (still older than America, I must add) was not beautiful, it was, just a little less baroque than the earlier work.

Now, rather than continue teasing, here's a shot of the ceiling:

Look closely and you'll see words up there (among other ephemera). They form important religious and scholarly phrases (in Latin, if I remember correctly) that seemed profound at the time. I mean at the time we were there, not just . . . before America.

And, what's this? The Oxford Coat of Arms? Here? You don't say. Of course, it's held up by angels. This is the Divinity School after all.

And if that wasn't enough divinity for you, here is . . . um . . . I think it was John the Revelator (is he eating a book? If so, that's him). And definitely a Madonna and Child (ah, fertility cult left-overs):

I joke about it, but it really was beautiful. If only my picture-taking skills were as heavenly as this iconography. 

Next, we went into what I think was the exam room, where students quivered and fainted in the presence of their examiners:

The examiners would stand up behind those pulpits to question students. Not intimidating at all! And, hey, what is that distracting oddity in the window?

Of course! It's a stained glass . . . sundial? Yes, it is. I would argue that, given it's provenience in England, it was useful for perhaps one out of every three days. But it's a nice gesture, anyway. And, yes, you can tell time by the way the shadows fall (if there's sunlight). Pretty ingenious.

Next, we went into the room where Oscar Wilde was held on trial and kicked out of Oxford. I don't know if this was the place where he was tried and sent to Reading Gaol, but he was definitely kicked out of the university from this place. Here's the imposing entrance:

I was too busy being awestruck and touching the table that Oscar Wilde had sat at to take a photo in that room. But my wife took this shot of the paneled walls. Probably the last thing that Wilde saw as his university career was snatched away:

I half expected to see "O.W." carved into the wood somewhere, or maybe "D.G.".

We were then taken up to the holy-of-holies, where we were expressly forbidden from taking photographs - the Medieval Collection, where King Charles I studied in his (and the Queen's) own reserved kiosk(s) after the young soon-to-be-regent asked to have a book sent to him, but was denied by Sir Thomas Bodley himself, who felt he had a sacred duty to hold up the injunction imposed by the Archbishop of London (who had rebuilt the collection after it had been ransacked during the Reformation) that none of the collection could be checked out. This is exclusively a research library! I was also able to see here, in person, my first chained books. And while I would have surreptitiously taken a picture or two (trust me, I totally would have), we had to lock up our cameras and phones before going upstairs to the medieval library. But it was worth it to fondle a couple of medieval chained books!

Many of these "facts" may be misremembered or outright fabrications. What do you expect after an utter lack of sleep for two days straight and having to rewire my brain to drive on the other side of the road?

Lastly, there was this little guy right near the entrance to the Bodleian gift shop. A leering bard, perhaps?

After the Bodleian, we had another appointment - for lunch - at another literary must-see:

"What's so big about a pub?" you say? Never speak to me again.

This, my friends, is the Eagle and Child, noted as the pub where JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis would hang out and chat over a pint. I understand Mervyn Peake was also occasionally in on the conversations, as are other minor writers whom I will probably never read.

There is the famed Rabbit Room, which was filled with people in various states of drunkenness. We ate down the hall, under a quote by Lewis:

This will surprise those of you who knew me in high school, but I don't drink. Haven't had a drink since I was 18. So rather than enjoying a pint, we got a meal. Fish and chips and smashed peas. And, I must admit, this was the best fish and chips I've ever eaten. Ever. And I've eaten a lot of fish and chips. On that rainy day, this just hit the spot:

And since my wife wanted to taste English cuisine, this was a dive into the deep end! Satisfied, nay, stuffed, we took our leave of the Eagle and Child, back out into the rain:

After this, we traipsed around a bit, stopping at the aforementioned Oxfam and a chocolate shop, admiring the beautiful old tudor buildings, among other sights.

And where else would you expect this? Because: Duh!

Let's face it: Hogwarts is Oxford, and Oxford is Hogwarts: Magical!

But we were soon driving (*insert terror here*) to our lodgings in Moreton-in-Marsh to get some much-needed rest and have our body clocks adjust a bit. The next day was our trip to Wales and the booktown of Hay-on-Wye. Even now, though, the joy of Oxford lingers. It is truly one of my favorite cities in the world (and I've seen a few). Perhaps someday, money permitting, we can make it back!

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If you like my writing and want to help my creative endeavors, ko-fi me at https://ko-fi.com/forrestaguirre. Every little bit is seen and appreciated! Thank you!

Snail mail RPGing

Back when I was a kid, I remember reading "wanted" ads in Dragon magazine and White Dwarf magazine where people were looking for play-by-mail players for their RPG. Invariably, there was a fee involved, usually rather exorbitant. I didn't play them, because, as a kid, I couldn't afford to. This was back in the '70s and '80s. Lo and behold, the mid-'90s rolled around and with it, the interwebs. This has opened up a plethora of opportunity to game with those who live far away from you, something I take advantage of every week or so, while running and/or playing AD&D 2e with old friends and new. Currently, I am DMing a Dark Sun campaign, as I just wrapped up playing in a Greyhawk campaign. Good fun (until Google hangouts dies, then we have to move to some other technology).

I will admit that during the time from about 1994 until now, I have spent WAY too much time online. It's really gotten under my skin, and this past year, I decided to do some things about it. I am cutting a lot of my time on social media and will dispense altogether with Facebook (except to have my account still there and available for people to contact me, if they wish) once a volunteer commitment for my church is done and over in August of 2020. I'm looking forward to turning my back on FB, honestly - just a breeding ground for family and non-family arguments, by and large. Not only that, but I am trying to fill my time with more analog pursuits: taking time to read more real physical books, getting out and hiking like I did when I was younger, exercising more regularly (i.e., more than every couple of weeks), doing more jigsaw puzzles (which I love and which keeps my brain young), and taking the time to write actual, physical, snail mail letters to people I really dig.

As a part of this, I've invited a few people who I know are excellent roleplayers or who are incredibly interesting persons, to participate in a snail mail campaign with me. We had to coordinate things via email, to begin with, but I think the groundwork is laid. I just prepared the first snail mail letters to send out this week:

The central conceit is very loosely based on the Trail of Cthulhu supplement Bookhounds of London. But this is a horror game without tentacles. We have agreed to a theme of Cosmic Horror, but cosmic horror in the abstract, NOT Cthulhu and friends, which has gotten a bit old. We are also interweaving themes of "The Weird" and "Cults and Conspiracies" throughout. Our main ruleset is DeProfundis, second edition. And for a twist, we are using the rules to the little-known (but rather clever) solo RPG English Eerie to create some randomness on the individual level, which will play into the interaction between the six of us. I will also draw heavily on the Chaosium supplement for Berlin: The Wicked City and the graphic novel (can you call it that?) Night Falls on the Berlin of the Roaring Twenties, for reasons I will outline below.

We settled on a timeframe starting in 1933. The biography for my character, Felix von Wagner, goes a little something like this:

Felix von Wagner – An English-born German raised in the England by a German father, Alric, and Irish mother, Alaia. His childhood was spent on the edge of the Cotswolds, just west of Oxford. His father was a wealthy man, having inherited a stipend via his petty- noble family (hence the “von” designation}. The elder von Wagner had left Germany to open a pharmacy in the town of Burford to live with his love, Alaia, whom he had met while on holiday in Venice in his early ‘20s.

The child, Felix, showed academic promise at a young age. Recognizing this, Felix's father sent the boy to attend Magdalen College School, where he received honors and eventually landed at Oxford to study Medieval History with emphases on Catholic Architecture, Irish Catholicism, and German Folklore. He graduated - barely - spending "far too much time" in the Bodleian Libraries and not enough time concentrating on his core studies. His fascination for the printed word led to indiscretions, thankfully never discovered, which gave him a (stolen) start in the rare book trade. His knowledge in his chosen subject matter has served him well in this trade. Being raised bilingual, with enough knowledge of Latin to get by, has helped in sourcing books, as has a knack for finding books that are desirable to his clientele. A touch of risk-taking has given him opportunities that the squeamish and highly-principled might not enjoy.

Felix currently resides in Berlin, where "anything can be bought," though political unrest has lately made the procurement of desirable tomes more difficult and has led to some close brushes both with the civil authorities and those elements who would subvert them. 

I say that the bio is a little something like that because there are several things about Von Wagner that I am not yet ready to share. It might be too much of a temptation for my fellow-players to sneak a peek online and learn too much too soon!

Now, how do we play this? Frankly: I don't know. We write and make stuff up, really. Everyone has a character with a different background, from different places in the world. I think we have two characters in different areas of Canada, one in northern Minnesota, one in Milwaukee, one in NYC, and Felix in Berlin. The thing that binds us together is our search of rare and strange books. But, really, I am relying on these five interesting people, all of whom are great roleplayers, and each of whom has some common interest with my own (and, I am certain, they will discover what interests they share with each other). 

As a practical matter, we are willing to accept some limited level of anachronism. For example, some of the events in Berlin in 1933 might be just a titch out of order, else Felix's story veer wildly out of control from day one. Yes, the Nazis are still screwing things up today (don't even get me started). But for the most part, we are sticking to 1933, a very interesting time, given the Great Depression, the repeal of prohibition, and the rise of Fascism. A crazy time, indeed.

I shall provide updates, from time to time, but since I will be handwriting all of my correspondence for this (except for the Raro Libro Quaestores Aerarii or RLQA newsletter), you may have to settle for scans of letters, etc. Others are, so far as I know, going to write by hand or by typewriter, for those who have one. And I am all about the wax seals on my letters! I love the smell of molten sealing wax!

2017 on Goodreads

2017 on Goodreads by Various


I shattered my goal of reading 17 books in '17, but that's mostly because I did not read Proust's Swann's Way as I thought I would. I wanted to read one "large" or "monumental" work a year, and this year was going to be Proust's Opus. However, Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus took the largest chunk of my reading attention throughout the year. I took from February 24th through November 14th to read it. The thought of reading both this and Proust was just too much. Not that I didn't enjoy Mann's book. I did, a great deal, but there are books that are a delightful sprint and those that are more of a contemplative ambulation, and Doctor Faustus was the latter. I'm glad I made that journey.

I must admit to having discovered my "groove". I enjoy a great variety of books, but there is a certain subset that I love: quiet tales of strangeness, sometimes venturing into the realms of horror, always deep in the fields of weirdness and awestruck wonder. I think I've actually bought more books than in any previous year and spent a great deal more money on many of them than in the past (getting a raise at work helped). In fact, I'm finding that I have rather expensive taste in books. Thankfully, I was paid well for some of my own writing and editing, and used some of those funds towards my expensive book addiction.

The first of the expensive books I bought and read this year was A Twist in the Eye, an handsome volume of excellent short stories by Charles Wilkinson published by the wonderful Egaeus Press. It was a great way to start the reading year!

But not all the volumes I picked up were expensive. Reggie Oliver's The Complete Symphonies of Adolf Hitler was acquired in an affordable paperback edition from the notable Tartarus Press (notable partially because of their expensive, but oh-so-worth-it hardcover editions). I loved it and have now ordered several more volumes from Tartarus (including one of those expensive and incredibly lovely hardcover editions).

Some books I got for free - at the library! Heaven's people, given the current political climate, I urge you to go use your public library and give them your support. I think I might join our local Friends of the Library in 2018. I did so years ago, in another state, and greatly enjoyed it. I think, with the kids mostly moved out of the house now, I might have time to do that again. I might not have read Atlas Obscura, I Contain Multitudes, or The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up (which really did lead me to make some changes for the better) if it weren't for my local library. Librarians ROCK! Give them your support!

As most of you know, when I'm not reading or writing, I'm usually filling my leisure time with tabletop roleplaying games. This year I went head first into the Call of Cthulhu roleplaying game and bought and read, cover too cover, the Call of Cthulhu Keeper rulebook and the outstanding guide to gently borrowing and morphing ideas from Lovecraft, Stealing Cthulhu. And now, I am writing a Call of Cthulhu adventure. See how that happens? Read, write, repeat.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention my favorite read of the year, Jon Padgett's amazing short story collection The Secret of Ventriloquism. My thesaurus has run out of superlatives for this book. It is really something a step beyond your typical short story collection. I'll let my review speak for itself.

And you'll notice, of course, that star-heavy leaning of the books I've read this year. Lots of four and five-star reads. There's a reason for this: Last year, I vowed to cut my To Be Read list dramatically. I think at one point I had over 200 books on that list. I decided that rather than dreaming and about all the books I wasn't reading that I sort of wanted to and fretting about all the books that I think I ought to be reading, I was going to cut my list like a lumberjack on crystal meth. At first, I vowed to cut it to 100. This was difficult, but still left some books that were of some interest, but maybe not a burning interest, to me. I needed focus. So I cut it in half again.

This was a painful exercise. But, as I learned from The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, I didn't need the emotional clutter that came with all these unfulfilled desires, nor did I need to feel obligated to read certain books because that is what is expected of someone with my level of education (Master's degree in African History, if you must know) who reads as much as I do and hobnobs with lots of people who are very well read.

After that cut, which, again, hurt . . . I felt much better. Then I started focusing on acquiring and reading the books that were left on my list. Whenever I wanted to add a book, I had to take a look at my list and think "Okay, which one of these great books do I want to CUT from my list to keep it under fifty"? This forced me to really assess the books on my list and really question why, exactly, I wanted to read such-and-such a book. I read reviews, both on Goodreads and elsewhere, I asked myself "is it really worth spending my hard-earned money on this book", I did some self-exploration to discover what it is I REALLY love to read. Yes, there were some misses, some books that I read that didn't scratch the itch I thought they would. And I'm certain there are a hundred, maybe hundreds, of other books that I would just love that I missed. But for now, I have a method of focus and discipline that is really upping my enjoyment of reading. I feel that I've really been able to hone my ability to assess my probable reaction to a book from the outside, before I've bought it. It's not perfect, but it seems to be working pretty well, given how much I've enjoyed the books I've read this year. And maybe it's just a psychological trick. Maybe I just think I like these books better.

But if it is just a trick, so what?!? I'm really enjoying myself!

The list is currently at 41 books. I think I'll read it down to 40 and go from there. I actually have 26 of the 41 on my shelf right now, and that's about a year's worth of books or more as it is (especially considering that Proust is still hiding in that pile, waiting to pounce). So here's to a fun, fantastic year of reading in 2018, both with my chosen few and, I am certain, a few surprises around the corner.

Happy New Year!

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If you like my writing and want to help my creative endeavors, ko-fi me at https://ko-fi.com/forrestaguirre. Every little bit is seen and appreciated! Thank you!

Africa

Well, James Raggi made it official in an announcement sent out to those subscribed to the Lamentations of the Flame Princess E-mail list: I have been working for a good two years on a supplement for a developing line of historical books usable with the Lamentations of the Flame Princess RPG. I won't give the title out until James does, but suffice it to say that I'm finally using my Master's Degree for something directly related to my grad school studies back in the day.

As evidence, I present a few of the piles of books I have researched as I've worked on the project:

Now, this is barely the tip of the iceberg. I pored over literally dozens of volumes researching this. I spent days - DAYS, full 8 hour days, and many of them, in the University of Wisconsin's awesome Memorial Library doing the research for a supplement on West Africa in the 1630's. This is a fairly exhaustive survey of the lands, peoples, and customs of the region ranging east-to-west from the Atlantic coast to present-day Cameroon and north to south from the edge of the Sahara Desert down to the Ivory Coast/Gold Coast/Slave Coast.

My studies in grad school focused mostly on precolonial and early colonial East Africa (though my Master's Thesis was on later colonialism in East Africa), but we were trained to be broadly conversant in African history all the way around the region and for all historical time periods. So I had several courses and wrote several papers on West African history back in the late '90s. Nevertheless, I hit the books hard for this project and poured a great deal of effort into the research, construction, and writing of this survey. I wanted to do something that could go well beyond role-playing games, while retaining RPG use as the primary thrust of the writing.

The initial draft is done, edited, and submitted. I am awaiting another, related project, which I need to leverage, in order to complete my work. This will require a thorough rewrite of one particular section of the book, which I'm actually very excited about. Then, it's on to working with the cartographer for maps, working on the book design, etc. I can't give away the secrets yet, but this projected line of books that James has just announced will be an awesome addition to your LotFP library, your RPG library, or just your plain old library (for those who are history buffs).

I've written the book I wish I had in grad school, at least the one with a focus on early 17th-century West Africa. A huge amount of effort has gone into this - about the same amount of effort that went into writing my Master's Thesis itself, which was an incredible undertaking. I haven't poured this much effort into a book since my novel. And writing this might actually have been more difficult. Actually, yes, it definitely was more difficult. Writing non-fiction is a lot like real work!

More news as it happens and I'm allowed to share it!

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If you like my writing and want to help my creative endeavors, ko-fi me at https://ko-fi.com/forrestaguirre. Every little bit is seen and appreciated! Thank you!

Bringing My #Amreading List Down to 100

After working on it for over a year, I've finally done it: Brought my "to read" list on Goodreads down to 100 books.

"But Forrest," you say, "why do you suck and why are you such a loser that you limit your to-read list? You loser . . . who sucks."

There are several reasons. Here are a few.

1. Someday, I will die. I don't want to leave an overly long "to-read" list behind. It's just rude.
2. My list serves, simultaneously, as a long-term buy list and a short-term "get this from the library or buy it on the cheap and read it soonish, like within the next three years or so". Some of those long-term buy books are very, very expensive, and I really do want to own a copy. So if my list is filled with a plethora of books I might want to own, I could be spending money on them, rather than saving up to buy the books I know I want to own.
3. Which brings me to the next point: Every book is a new, undiscovered adventure, but I've been lost in the wilderness (seriously, truly lost, where I-might-not-make-it-back-alive kind of lost) a couple of times and know the value of a good map. I consider book reviews as maps by those who have gone before me. Some of these people I trust very much, but everyone makes mistakes and everyone has differing tastes. So I like to read from a variety of "maps" (i.e., reviews) in order to make a well-informed decision about what I am going to read and what I'm going to bypass. Keeping my list to 100 books forces the issue. If I think I want to read a book, that means I might have to jettison one from my list to keep it under 100 books. Which one do I really want to read the most . . . really?
4. I write. A lot. Novels, short stories, book reviews, and role-playing game supplements. I love writing. And I love reading. But I don't have time to do as much of both as I'd like. And reading is so much easier than writing that I need to limit myself with the amount of reading I do.
5. Just because a book didn't make the list this time around doesn't mean it will not make it on the list down the road. There are a lot of books floating around on Goodreads. If a previously-jettisoned book (jettisoned from my once huge to-read list) finds its way back into my feed and I am taken in by it again, then maybe I should reconsider it. Again, though, limiting the list makes me really have to think about it.
6. I physically own about 20 of the books on my list at any given time. I'm usually reading two or three books. I'm hoping that keeping the list to 100 forces a little better "burn rate" of reading and reviewing. Again, if I want to free up space on my list, the best way to do that is to read the books I already have physically in hand. Besides, I have a practical side that hates to keep things around that I'm not using. In some ways, I'm kind of an anti-hoarder.
7. Which brings me to my last point: In some ways, I'm kind of an anti-hoarder. I live in a small house quite intentionally. I'm forced to only keep those things that are essential. My wardrobe is small, but unique and, for the most part, well made. If I had my druthers, for example, most of my shoes would be doc martens. Alas, I only have two pair now. Those suckers are expensive. But they are beautiful and comfortable and they last forever. Shouldn't my book collection be the same, physically and virtually? Why live a lie?

There you have it. I know many readers who would consider me a spartan tightwad who hates books. They couldn't be further from the truth. I LOVE books, but I have an addictive personality, too. I could spend all my money and time on books and just bury myself in them, but I've tried that before and I just wasn't happy. Give me the best of the best and let the others fade away. My self-esteem isn't reliant on being attached to stuff, not even books. Besides, I have one of the best public library systems and one of the best university library systems in the world in my backyard here in Madison, Wisconsin. You can't ask for much more than that. Well, you can, but you might be greedy and ungrateful. I don't have time for greed. Leave that to the politicians. I'll be content with being content.

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Nomad Codes: Adventures in Modern Esoterica

Nomad Codes: Adventures in Modern Esoterica by Erik Davis
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is another case of a beautifully unclassifiable book; baffling to marketers and bookstore shelvers, a marvelous revelation to those of us whose minds work like an ever-evolving kaleidoscope of ecletctic quirkiness. It would be shameful to pigeon-hole Davis' essays into a bucket or even to imply that each has a definite "subject". That's not to say that they are incoherent, no, quite the contrary! They are just . . . shifty . . . and very, very interesting. Erik Davis' interests are, as the title implies, esoteric. The essays in this volume are adventures in UFOlogy, psychoactive drug use, spiritual deep-dives, strange religions, philosophical explorations, anthropological pieces about Trekkies and Cthulhu-cults, modern poetry, Philip K. Dick, and Gak - yes, the slime toy Gak. If this review seems like an incoherent rambling, well, that's probably a fair assessment. I can't hope to plumb the depths of Davis' thoughts, I can only offer a topographical map of his insights at their highest (and lowest) points. That said, let's adventure!

The volume begins with a confessional: "Teenage Head: Confessions of a High School Stoner". I was immediately thrust under the hypnotic influence of Davis' thoughts. Davis, like myself, was a child of the '80s, although he was a couple of years older than me. Still, we shared a lot of the same experiences, exploring the psychotropic landscape. In his words:

Pot led me into a tangible world of bubbling micro-perceptions, haunted winds, and hilarious malformations of the data-stream. But pot also gave me something that has stuck with me far longer than the urge to bake my brain: a love of slippage, founded in the realization that altering perception alters the claims reality makes on you. The various social agendas of parents, teachers, and the ghost of God could be sidestepped - not only by sullen monosyllables and the worship of unwholesome heavy-metal guitarists but by tinkering with consciousness itself. What greater rebellion than rewiring one's experience of the world?

And I'll echo his sentiments. Though I haven't smoked weed for, let's see, 28 years now (haven't drunk alcohol since then, either), I still hold that "love of slippage". It's not played out in drug use, but in other, far less dangerous ways: My bizzare sense of humor; love of art in a variety of forms; love of heavy metal, punk, trippy electronic, and modern classical music; the insatiable addiction to tabletop roleplaying games; a deep spirituality; existential philosophy; dark chocolate (milk chocolate is for "normals"); ginger beer that will clear your sinuses; the desire to take long, meaningless (or is it meaningful?) walks just to be alone with my thoughts, cleanse my soul, and give me perspective; bizarre, off-kilter reading material; and, of course, my writing, which I am told is rather strange, at times. All of these, pretty much all the non-people that I love and live for, are a manifestation of that same drive that steered me toward pot (etc. . . .) back in the day. The fact is, I have little use for "normal," except that it keeps me employed and that I love my relatively normal wife. And, yes, she reminds me, often, that I am weird. I wouldn't have it any other way. Our kids swing wildly between normal and weird. People can't quite figure our family out, but society largely seems to like us, so long as they know that our strangeness is all played out with good intent.

But I digress . . . and I'm just blathering on about myself . . . and being indulgent . . .

Which are all things that Davis excels at! Only he's better at it than I am.

Whether it's Burmese Ladyboy-possession cults or Klingon neopagan religion or Gak, Davis is never at a loss for words. He is an able Virgil to your Dante-brain, though you might be confused, from time-to-time, as to which level of hell or heaven you are on, exactly. Somehow, it all makes sense . . . mostly. And Davis' obvious penchant for the study of religious phenomena gives him a voice of authority on such matters. You feel as if you can trust his word throughout, though you might not completely understand everything he throws at you.

For instance, "Snakes and Ladders" is an attempted reconciliation of early Christian Gnosticism ("floating," as it were - my word, not his - in the ethereal realms of the spirit) with pagan nature-religions (grounded in the Earth) through Manichaeism, while co-opting some pieces of mainstream Buddhism along the way. This is not light reading. And while I have enough of a background in religious studies to "get" the high points, some of the connections were lost on me. But though I couldn't explain all the details, I felt that his argument was succesful enough for me, the ignorant layman, to say that he might just have something there. Something I don't entirely understand, but something that seems to be a passable argument. Unfortunately, I don't have the time, and the library doesn't have the institutional patience, to allow me a thorough examination of all the fine points. I'll let professors of religion argue those out. That's what they get paid for, right?

On the other hand, I found "The Paisley Gate" quite open for my examination. It is an interesting song with converging and diverging lines split (and conjoined) along the lines of drug-fueled psychedelic trips and the cosmic enlightenment of tantric Buddhism. The essay is a liminal Mandelbrot Set of simultaneously conflicting and complimentary warpings of perception. My brother is a practicing tantric Buddhist, so I know as much as the uninitiated are allowed to know, and those drug-fueled trips . . . well, I've known that territory . . . very well. Davis does an excellent job of adjusting scope in and out so that the reader can see where lines cross and where they might seem to cross, but don't quite do so.

"Diamond Solitaire" was a piece that really touched me, since I have had several "Diamond Solitaire" experiences myself - brushes with the cosmic whole (not to sound too much like a hippie or new-age crystal-dolphin lover - apologies if you are either) that warp perception (or, if you will, clarify perception) suddenly, without warning, and without the kick-start of psychedelic drugs. These revelations have been some deeply meaningful experiences for me, experiences that I don't really share much because they are, to me, very sacred. It felt good to read about Davis' experience, another shared view on life and our place in the greater whole of the universe.

Davis does well to not just focus on such illuminating experiences. He is also in touch with the banal. Who can go on for four solid pages about the slime toy, Gak, and hold, nay compel the reader's attention, even making his observations of the toy intellectually stimulating? Davis can!

He can also (and did) deliver the best synthesis of of Lovecraft's influence and the confluence of "chaos magic" I have ever read in "Calling Cthulhu". In "Saint Phil," he crafts a nicely written essay about the crazed genius science fiction writer and the fuzzy border between reality, imagination, and insanity. Then, while Davis never claims to crack the code of The Matrix in his essay "Matrixter," his peek behind the curtain of technology (by way of lucid dreaming!) reveals that the Wachowski brothers may have inadvertently cracked the tinted window of reality and exposed us all to the disturbing question: "What is control"? As any great essayist will do, he leaves the answer up to us.

Not every essay was as mindblowing as the ones I've outlined above, but most of them were. If you're blown away by one of his essays, chances are you'll be blown away by at least a couple more. I, for one, will be seeking out more of his work. Feel free to tag along. We've got a lot to talk about . . .

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My Personal Appendix N

In 1979, Gary Gygax listed a series of books and authors from which he drew inspiration when designing his Dungeons & Dragons game system(s). These were primarily works of fantasy or science fiction. For an excellent overview of how this appendix influenced tabletop role-playing gaming, I'd refer you to the "Appendix N: Inspirational Reading" section of the Dungeon Crawl Classic RPG rulebook on page 442.

Here, I include my sources of inspiration for fantasy role-playing, some of which will match mister Gygax's list, but much of which has been published since 1979. I am including in this list works of fiction and non-fiction, as some of these non-fictional works have been rather influential in my design of campaigns, adventures, etc. Some of these influences, whether fictional or not, may be slight, and I might have taken a very small thread from a work mentioned and woven from it something much larger or even invisible to my players. For example, why in the world would I have Herman Melville's ponderous Moby Dick herein? Not because I like whales or because I've run extensive maritime adventures (I have not), but because of the sheer maniacal drive of what could be the prototypical overzealous cleric, Captain Ahab, and the enigmatic QueeQueg, who I think would be a marvellous gonzo player character in any adventuring scenario and may or may not appear as a non-player character in anything I might right or run. Other books listed here show a pretty straightforward influence on my judging and playing style. For example, anyone playing in my campaigns who has read M. John Harrison's Viriconium stories will immediately see nods to these works.

Note that I have explicitly NOT included other media. At a later date, I will give my "Appendix M" for other media, such as movies, music, comics, graphic novels, works of art, etc. That may end up being a much longer list than this one!

Note also that some of these are works I have read very recently that I may not have mined just yet, but am working on supplements, adventures, and so forth that will, I promise, dip into these sources. The thing about my Appendix N is that it will always, always be growing!

So without further ado, I give you my list of authors and, sometimes, specific works, that have influenced my gaming: My personal Appendix N.

Dante Alighieri: Inferno
M.A.R. Barker, esp. the Tekumel books, Flamesong in particular
William Barrett: Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy
Jorge Luis Borges
Ray Bradbury, esp. The Martian Chronicles
Robert Burnham: Burnham's Celestial Handbook
Edgar Rice Burroughs, esp. Mars series
Italo Calvino, esp. Invisible Cities
James W.P. Campbell: The Library: A World History
Robert W. Chambers
Michael Cisco: The Divinity Student
Stephen J. Clark: In Delirium's Circle
Richard Cohen: By the Sword
Norman Cohn: Pursuit of the Millenium: Revolutionary Millenarians and Mystical Anarchists of the Middle Ages
Steven Erikson, Malazan series
Brian Evenson, esp. Dark Property, Fugue State, and The Wavering Knife
Jeffrey Ford, esp. the City Imperishable books
Brian Greene: The Hidden Reality
M. John Harrison, esp. the Viriconium stories and novels
Robert E. Howard, esp. the Conan stories
J.K. Huysmans: Against Nature
Franz Kafka
Paul Koudounaris: Heavenly Bodies: Cult Treasures and Spectacular Saints from the Catacombs
Fritz Leiber, Fafhrd and Gray Mouser books
Thomas Ligotti
H.P. Lovecraft
Brian May: Diableries: Stereoscopic Adventures in Hell
Herman Melville: Moby Dick
Gustave Meyrink
China Mieville: Perdido Street Station
Michael Moorcock, esp. the Elric of Melnibone books
Edgar Allen Poe
Mark Samuels, esp. The White Hands and Other Weird Tales
Clark Ashton Smith, esp. the Zothique stories
Arkady Strugatsky: Roadside Picnic
Jack Vance, esp. The Dying Earth
Jeff VanderMeer: City of Saints and Madmen
Gene Wolfe, esp. Book of the Long Sun and Book of the Short Sun novels

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A Short Stay in Hell

A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Angst is not a mere intellectual exercise. Existentialism is not just a philosophical movement. Steven L. Peck's A Short Stay in Hell drives this into the heart of the reader like no other existentialist work.

I've been eyeball-deep in readings on existentialism lately (research for a novel and for my own despair edification), including William Barrett's outstanding Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy and Sartre's play No Exit, among others. But while I've enjoyed Barrett's study, it is just that, a study in existential philosophy. And Sartre's play seems just a touch contrived (I mean just a touch, too - it did not spoil the play).

But this . . . this little novella kicked my emotional depths right in the crotch. What could have been a work buried in academic gymnastics turns the rational boundaries by which one anesthetizes ones real self completely inside out. And it hurts. Oh, Ahura Mazda, it hurts! This is a novella which, if you have ever been in love and have then been involuntarily separated from the one you love, will tear your heart apart! If you are sensitive to the injustice of the world, your short stay in hell with Soren Johannson is going to be rather unpleasant.

This isn't your typical conception of Hell. Hell here is modeled after, or at least pays homage to, Borges' "Library of Babel". And unlike the Christian hell, from which there is no escape (without a guide's help, at least), there is a way out. You merely need to peruse the 7.16^1,297,369 light year wide and deep library and find the one book that contains the complete story of your life, from beginning to end. How long can it take, really? Really . . . wrap your brain around that number. This is the size of the library that contains the books through which you must look to find your escape from Hell. This might take a while.

The upside is that you live forever! And you can never die! Or, rather, you can die, but you always come back the next day. This is not without pain, however, and Johannson experiences pain in spades, especially when he finds himself (view spoiler)[murdered as a human sacrifice every morning for a number of months by followers of a nihilistic cult led by the religious fanatic Dire Dan (hide spoiler)].

But physical death, painful as it is, is nothing compared to the emotional pain of falling deeply in love and losing your lover (not that hard in a place as vast as this). You know that the one you love is there, somewhere, because they can't die, either. But, once lost, what hope do you have of finding that one person again, really?

"Anticipation is a gift. Perhaps there is none greater. Anticipation is born of hope. Indeed it is hopes finest expression. In hope's loss, however, is the greatest despair."

Taken out of context, this quote seems hyperbolic or even pithy. But in the context of the story, I can think of no more gut-wrenching, heart-twisting distillation of existentialism than this. It physically took my breath away when I read it. I gasped aloud and had to remind myself, for a split second, to breathe. It is that emotionally-charged, and a reminder of angst really feels like. A Short Stay in Hell won't give you the intellectual finesse of an examination such as Barrett's or the breadth of understanding that comes with a critical analysis of the philosophy and its history, but it will plunge you face-first down the heartbreaking abyss of what it means, what it feels like, to lose all hope.

Dante's Inferno (which I love, by the way, so don't take this as too derogatory) is a childrens' amusement park, in comparison. No need to abandon hope while entering Peck's Hell: It will be stripped from you whether you want it to be or not; just give it time. You've got all of eternity. Or, rather, all of eternity has you!

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The Library at Night

The Library at Night by Alberto Manguel
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I once dreamt an entire novel. It was brilliant - a mystery replete with private eyes, conniving crooks, and a plot line convoluted by betrayals and double-agentry galore. It was vivid. I woke up wondering where I was, which almost never happens, groggy and disoriented. It was difficult to gauge my place in reality. This dream had really enveloped my mind. I got out of bed and looked for a notebook so that I could take notes, but as I did so, the memory of the dream collapsed in on itself like a black hole. I tried to write some notes down, but it was gone. Gone. It was absolutely brilliant, and I'll never see it again.

This book is like that. A dream for book lovers, lovers of libraries. Upon finishing, you will remember that it was brilliant, that it was all-engrossing, that you lived in it, you will have faint wisps of memories of pure genius and some of the most beautiful, languorous writing you have ever read, the sparks generated by the book will linger in your mind like latent spots phosphorescing on your eyes after seeing fireworks in the dark.

Thankfully, this dreamscape is subject to recall, since it is all written down. It is, in this way, like a library itself. Re-opening it is a resurrection of ideas - an intellectual miracle. I, for one, will worship at that altar. And this, from Manguel, will be my credo:

It is likely that libraries will carry on and survive, as long as we persist in lending words to the world that surrounds us, and storing them for future readers. So much has been named, so much will continue to be named, that in spite of our foolishness we will not give up this small miracle that allows the ghost of an understanding. Books may not change our suffering, books may not protect us from evil, books may not tell us what is good or what is beautiful, and they will certainly not shield us from the common fate of the grave. But books grant us myriad possibilities: the possibility of change, the possibility of illumination. It may be that there is no book, however well written, that can remove an ounce of pain from the tragedy of Iraq or Rwanda, but it may also be that there is no book, however foully written, that does not allow an epiphany for its destined reader. Robinson Crusoe explains, "It may not be amiss for all people who shall meet my story to make this just observation from it, viz., how frequently in the course of our lives, the evil which in itself we seek most to shun, and which, when we are fallen into it, is the most dreadful to us, is oftentimes the very same means or door of our deliverance, by which alone we can be raised again." This, of course, is not Crusoe speaking, but Defoe - the reader of so many books.

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Wisconsin Library Association Recognition for Outstanding Achievement: Heraclix & Pomp

Holy cow. My publisher just forwarded me the email below: Subject: Wisconsin Library Association Recognition for Forrest Aguirre Dear Mr. Forrest Aguirre: It is my pleasant task to inform you that your book Heraclix & Pomp has been selected for Outstanding Achievement recognition for a 2014 publication by the Wisconsin Library Association Literary Awards Committee. Every year the Committee reviews over 200 books written by Wisconsin authors which were published during the previous calendar year and selects ten to be recognized as outstanding books. The books are  judged on their literary merit as well as the quality of the writing, editing, printing, and publishing. WLA will issue a press release to state newspapers naming all the award winners, and I  will be sending you a certificate for Outstanding Achievement. Sincerely, Kate Hull Chair, Literary Awards Committee 2015 Kate Hull Adult and Technical Services Manager Fitchburg Public Library To say that I'm humbled and honored is an understatement. Wow! Work's going to be rough tomorrow - I don't know if I can sleep now . . . PS: Sorry for the crappy formatting. It's seriously way past my bedtime and I don't have time to properly fix it. Here is the announcement! ________________________ If you like my writing and want to help out, ko-fi me at https://ko-fi.com/forrestaguirre. Every little bit is seen and appreciated! Thank you!