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What he has done is kind of like a hundred talented photographers, using radically different techniques, having their crack at one single image or subject, each in his or her own way. Uniting dozens of other voices, Gach has given texture and spirit to his subject.
What surprised me the most is that this book never gets old -- I read it over and over again, sometimes a page, sometimes a poem at a time.
CORRECTION: The title is not WHAT BOOK - the title is WHAT BOOK!?
Exclamation mark, question mark.
And an UPDATE: it received the American Book Award this year. This is the greatest honor.
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This book is a classic to read aloud and share with all kids.
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It is, however, the accounts from the later years and the tales from his famous and infamous Fillmore Auditoriums from insiders such as Jerry Garcia and Eric Clapton that really make this book come alive. They make feel like you were there (or at least wish you were) for many of the most crucial events in the history of Rock and Roll- Altamont, Woodstock, etc... Fantastic for the unabashed music fan!
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"Coyote Wind" is a darn near perfect specimen of a mixed-genre mystery cum western. Gabriel Du Pré is laconic, honorable, and wise to the ways of the Big Sky Country---a throwback to the noble cowboy-hero of Zane Grey's novels. He is a vulnerable hero, a Métis descendant of the French Voyageurs and Plains Indians. He has problems with his teenage daughter, who has shaved off part of her hair and dyed the rest of it a weird color. His mistress won't marry him because in the eyes of the Church, she is still married to the sleaze who deserted her many years past. He is plagued throughout the book by an alcoholic Métis prophet.
Du Pré's voice is unique, and perfect for this story. His dialogue is short, punchy, flicked with mordant barbs---an arrow in your heart when you are least expecting it. Two chapters into the book, found myself talking, thinking like Du Pré. Sounds like this:
"Du Pré knelt, looked, crossed himself. Some days he didn't believe in God, but he did believe in crossing himself.
"Maybe this let you sleep now," said Du Pré. He picked up the white skull, the color of the giant puffball mushrooms that came up in pastures in the wet years. The mushrooms were bigger, and startling in the green.
"'Now I got someone's head in my hands, I thinking on frying mushrooms,' Du Pré said aloud. 'Dumb bastard'."
The mystery of who killed whom in "Coyote Wind" is fairly easy to unravel once you get to know and care about the characters. It almost had to occur, considering the people involved. It becomes more important to see if Du Pré can help a friend stop drinking, rather than to figure out who murdered his friend's brother. As Du Pré keeps telling everyone who will listen: "I ain't a cop...I am a [brand inspector]."
Nevertheless, it is Du Pré who is tapped to solve a thirty-year-old murder. He goes about it in a style that is perfectly tuned to his character. Not a single false note from Du Pré or his fiddle.
"Coyote Wind" is a very satisfying read.
"Specimen Song" features the same cast of characters as its predecessor. However, their personalities are exaggerated to the point of disbelief. The Métis prophet performs magic tricks. Du Pré goes jaunting back and forth to Washington D.C. in his friend's private jet, after turning the brand inspection business over to his son-in-law. He also canoes through the Canadian taiga, following the river route of his Voyageur ancestors. All of this traveling is in search of a killer, but somehow Du Pré seems more blustery than heroic when he is removed from the land where he can read the turn of a leaf.
Or the body language of an enemy.
I very much hope that Du Pré returns to Big Sky Country in volume III.
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Du Pré's voice is unique, and perfect for this story. His dialogue is short, punchy, flicked with mordant barbs---an arrow in your eye when you are least expecting it. Two chapters into the book, found myself talking, thinking like Du Pré.
The mystery of who killed whom in "Coyote Wind" is fairly easy to unravel once you get to know and care about the characters. It almost had to occur, considering the people involved. It becomes more important to see if Du Pré can help a friend stop drinking, rather than to figure out who murdered his friend's brother. As Du Pré keeps telling everyone who will listen: "I ain't a cop...I am a [brand inspector]."
Nevertheless, it is Du Pré who is tapped to solve a thirty-year-old murder. He goes about it in a style that is perfectly tuned to his character. Not a single false note from Du Pré or his fiddle.
"Coyote Wind" is a very satisfying read.
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This beautiful translation into English, directly from Hebrew, is to be praised for its sound, strong, energetic poetry and more so for its scholarly introduction. Mitchell's interpretation of the book of Job is not one of spiritual acquiescence, of capitulation to an unjust, superior force, but of a great poem of moral outrage, a Nietzchean protest. In it, Job embodies Everyman and grieves for all human misery, and acquiescence at the end of the poem is a result of spiritual transformation, a surrender into the light, the acceptance of a reality that transcends human understanding.
As with so much of Stephen Mitchell's work, it's easy to pick on him for what he's decided to leave out. Here, his translation of Job omits the hymn in praise of Wisdom and the speech (in fact the entire presence) of the young man Elihu. I tend to disagree with his reasons for skipping them. But having read his translation for nearly a decade now, I have to admit we don't miss them much.
His work has been described as "muscular," and that's a very apt term. Not only in Job's own language (from his "God damn the day I was born" to his closing near-silence after his experience of God) but in the voices of all the characters -- and most especially in the speech of the Voice from the Whirlwind -- Mitchell's meaty, pounding, pulse-quickening poetry just cries out to be read aloud.
And as always, I have nothing but praise for Mitchell's gift of "listening" his way into a text and saying what it "wants" to say. In particular, his translation of the final lines has a wee surprise in store for anyone who hasn't already read it. (He disagrees with the usual repent-in-dust-and-ashes version and offers a denouement more fitting to the cosmic scope of Job's subject matter.)
Moreover, all this and much else is discussed in a fine introduction that -- in my opinion as a longtime reader of Mitchell -- may well be his finest published commentary to date.
Essentially, he deals with the so-called "problem of evil" by simply dissolving it. The God of Mitchell and of Mitchell's Job is not a feckless little half-deity who shares his cosmic powers with a demonic arch-enemy and sometimes loses; this God, like the God of the Torah itself (and incidentally of Calvinist Christianity, at which Mitchell takes a couple of not-altogether-responsible swipes), is the only Power there is. Ultimately God just _does_ everything that happens, because what's the alternative? "Don't you know that there _is_ nobody else in here?"
As I suggested, there are a handful of half-hearted jabs at traditional (usually Christian) religion, but for the most part it should be possible for a theologically conservative reader simply to read around them. (This is a nice contrast with Mitchell's Jesus book, which -- to the mind of this non-Christian reviewer -- seems to be brimming with anti-Christian "spiritual oneupmanship.")
So it's not only a fine translation that properly recognizes Job's central theme of spiritual transformation, but a universally valuable commentary into the bargain. If you haven't read any of Mitchell's other work, this is a great place to start. And if you _have_ read some of Mitchell's other work, do get around to this one. It's probably his best.
I'm sure if I had read this version, it would have had the same effect.
Job essentially worships an idol. He worships an orderly God who runs an orderly, boring universe where the good get rewarded and the evil get punished. The real God shows him that things are a bit different. The universe is not simple, it is a grand, messy explosion of beauty where frail, innocent humans often get trampled. Is it just in a way that would conform to human standards of justice? God basically says, "Who cares, look at it."
Thus, a translator/poet has a tough job. In a few pages, he or she has to show the reader God's glorious universe. No easy task (except for G.M. Hopkins).
Mitchell gets it done with short "muscular" phrasing, reminscient of the way Lombardo treats the Iliad. I.e., Job ch 3 reads something like "Damn the day I was born/Blot out the sun of that day . . ." Along the way Mitchell eliminates some of the "interpolations" and "corruptions" that scholars have found were not part of the original text. And I don't think this detracts from either the beauty or the meaning of the poem.
I would have added a more detailed introduction however. If I may recommend a book, please also take a look at The Bitterness of Job: A Philosophical Reading, by John T. Wilcox. If you read these two together along with an orthodox translation like the JPS (mentioned in another review) or the NRSV, I think you will have a good grasp of this text from a wide variety of viewpoints, secular and religious. You can't get too much Job. As Victor Hugo said, "If I had to save one piece of literature in the world, I'd save Job."
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Unfortunately, at too early an age, that sense of daring led him to heroin. Perhaps because Grogan opens himself up so completely in "Ringolevio", one comes away from the book with a sense that somehow, despite Grogan's disappointment with the failure of the Haight-Ashbury adventure, he was going to be all right, he was going to find a new way to do his good work in this world. The book ends with a first-hand account of the Rolling Stones Altamont Speedway murder. Grogan was writing with hindsight, recognizing that the concert marked the end of the illusion: many residents of Haight Ashbury began to move away, or get into trouble, and it didn't take long before the whole gig was over. But Grogan seemed optimistic that he would find other gigs, equally as enriching as his years as a Digger in San Fransisco.
The first time I read this book it was a first edition copy, and I didn't have the benefit of knowing what happened to Grogan in the years following this book's publication. Reading Coyote's recollections of Grogan in the years after the book's publication - how financial success led Grogan back to the needle, and how the needle eventually claimed Grogan's life - makes the feigned optimism of Ringolevio's end all the more bittersweet.
I don't give it five stars because it reads at times like the work of a hack. Nonetheless, this is a fascinating document for anyone interested in the history of the Haight-AShbury community of the late 1960s, who the figures involved in the community were and what events shaped that community. And for the most part it seems honest, warts and all, not some nostalgia-tinged feel-good book about peace and love.
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