theinferior4+1

Tom Lynch

The one-two punch of Hand and Sharpe reading from their respective works should make for a fine evening of literary muscle. Hand’s "Generation Loss," a clenched fist of a novel about a punk photographer engulfed in a Maine mystery, broods with atmospheric tenseness and flies right by. To give you an idea of Sharpe’s "Jamestown," it is a fantasy-like telling of the settlers at the Virginia colony, featuring a protagonist in Pocahantas who spouts Ebonics and Elizabethan English. (That’s when, of course, she’s not going all-out Valley Girl, reminiscent of those early nineties "Saturday Night Live" sketches.) Both books are batshit crazy in their own ways, and both authors, despite some pretty dark material, find ways to involve some enlightened humor.

Elizabeth Hand and Matthew Sharpe discuss their books May 12 at Book Cellar, 4736 North Lincoln, (773)293-2665, at 7:30pm. Free.

Not since the last Marvel comic-book movie has there been a film such as Iron Man. Not since, what, the summer of 2007? Not since the resoundingly awful Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, or was it that bloated piñata stuffed with plot devices, Spider-Man 3? No matter. Despite a budget big enough to choke Galactus (a reported $225 million), Iron Man is just another-one-of-those, a picture described as “electrifying” and “a thunderrific thrill fest,” that will be remembered by the ADD generation for weeks, perhaps even for months, until Hulk 2 checks into the Cineplex and brings down the house with an earth-shattering roar above which we may hear a snatch from the movie that the dread Directoricus is making of our world, the cosmic cackling of Stan Lee (played by Hal Holbrook), latest in a long line of Marvel-type villains, once-virtuous corporate heads and scientists gone over to the dark side due to financial pressures or some inner turmoil; and perhaps we’ll even catch a glimpse of Stan, his withered body encased in science-fictional armor of suitably demonic aspect, a high-tech Satan clanking along the avenues of Middle America with a coterie of Hugo Boss-wearing imps, rendering folks so brain-dead from blasts of his Mento-Rays that, come the Apocalypse, we’ll all die happily, waiting for Superman to save us in the sequel.

There were only about 75 people (which actually was more than I expected).   The most surprising thing was that the material they played from a recent album, "Feedback" (2006) was so good that I bought it.  I'm going to go on-line and buy you one, too.  It's the same sound you hear in "Too Much to Dream" or "Get me to the World on Time", but improved and updated so that it sounds like latter-day Iggy Pop and/or The Cult.  It's hard to believe a band can be gone for so long and come back with such a strong album.  The Prunes have three of the five original band members, including front man James Lowe, who either is past age 70 or has smoked far too many cigarettes.

 Definitely the best "Geezer Band" with the exception of the Rolling Stones.  The Prunes play later this week at BB Kings in New York.  Make sure to alert your New York friends.

"Here [at Catal-hoyuk] we find horrendous wall paintings and sculptures showing decapitated people and monstrous animals.  It is a culture of suppression through terror, with — no doubt — a priestly caste benefiting from these visions of a Neolithic hell."

When We Were Nicer
Steven Mithen

On Deep History and the Brain by Daniel Lord Smail 

Are you enjoying your morning coffee as you read this? Or your evening glass of wine? Did you enjoy watching the match last night? Have you read any good books lately? Oh and by the way, how is your sex life? According to Daniel Lord Smail activities like these are the true drivers of history. Forget great men with great ideas, the march of progress or the ‘seeds of change’: the essence of the historical process is the manipulation of human chemistry by the substances we consume, and the activities we engage in willingly or which are imposed on us against our will.

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According to the New York Times, Dmitri Nabokov has decided to defy his dad's wishes and publish in its entirety the novel he left unfinished at his death, whose tantalizing title is The Original of Laura.  From the article:

"The Guardian of London reported that Dmitri, 73, told the German magazine Der Spiegel: 'I’m a loyal son and thought long and seriously about it. Then my father appeared before me and said with an ironic grin: "You’re stuck in a right old mess. Just go ahead and publish."'"

Some time back, I posted about Dmitri's ethical quandary and what loyalty, if any, is owed to the literary wishes of a dead author.  Those questions aside, and in any event they are now rendered thoroughly moot in this case, I can't wait to see this fragmentary ms. 

Details of publication are not yet available.