Thursday, September 12, 2013

"I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory of the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to my recollection."

I continue to read Mary Shelley's short novel Frankenstein. Victor is an ass, and the irony meter is off the scale when he bemoans his fate. He wanders about, indecisive in a Hamletesque manner, for almost a year before...well, continuing to be an ass. If he's Prometheus, I'll eat my hat.

I continue to write the draft of the alleged detective novel The Hanging Man. Yesterday I finished Chapter 8. Today I wrote a brief outline of Chapter 9. The cops get together and drink a lot. I have no idea what will happen with this book after I write it. Probably nothing.

I continue to also have no idea what will happen to The Astrologer when the fine folks at Rhemalda Publishing shut their doors for good. I have no interest in self-publishing it, but through some quirks of contract law, that would mean there would be an audiobook version of it on the market for seven years while no print version of the book exists. Which would be odd, but the universe is an odd place.

There are several early versions of the book that became The Astrologer, some of them very different from what Rhemalda printed. I've had a look at the one called So Honest A Man and it was a fine little book. It's strange to write books that only one or two people will ever read. Some day, maybe, there will be a volume that has The Astrologer, So Honest A Man, Elsinore and possibly Killing Hamlet. That would be fun. A lot of work for a silly novel about "Hamlet," I know. I lack all critical distance from any of these books, so I can't tell you if any of them is any good. The scenes at the University of Wittenberg are good, and Astrid as Horatio's wife was a good character, and young Fortinbras exhibiting the behavior of a wolf was good stuff, too. And all the blue in Ophelia's madness in the early versions; that was quite clever of me.

Anyway, Victor Frankenstein is an ass but I'm almost finished with his sorry tale. I continue with Rabelais, that old drunk. I think I'm going to read Volume 13 of the Garnett Chekhov soon. It's been too long since Anton and I spent any time together. Mighty Reader got me a fine edition of Chekhov's Sakhalin Island for my birthday, and I look forward to reading that. There are a lot of good books to read.


  1. I would very much like to see the four versions of The Astrologer in one volume. That would be wicked cool to see the evolvement of that book.

    Happy Belated Birthday. I forgot to mention, I did like your fence. Good job.

  2. Don't hold your breath for that omnibus edition! But I am fond of some of the early versions of the story. Some good comic scenes involving a Danish surgeon, and a really good joke about a hat.

    My birthday was swell. We climbed up and down a mountain (but not all the way to the top because we didn't bring the right shoes for glaciers, you know). The fence makes me happy. So happy I'm tempted to buy a table saw. I ripped all of those boards with a circular saw, which is a job of work.

  3. I'm finding some pretty great freedom in publishing my own work, but it's something I obviously put off for a long time. You could always put that omnibus together in Lulu and just let your close friends order copies. *wink*