This is my first Amazon.com review. I was compelled to do so because of Denis Johnson's short novel. It is a quick read, one-sitting. This is my first introduction to the writer. While I enjoyed the underlying structure: expansion and collapse of the narrative I found the story itself very frustrating. We read of academic life and its random structural changes - money for some projects, not others. Very little interaction between professor and students. There is an elusive sprite who (surprise?) makes money as a caterer, art class model, stripper, artist, who is also part of a pseudo-new-age religon for the singing? The main character's introversion is severe throughout, but then turns to direct observation with the reader, as if we are the character's confident - it doesn't work. Ultimately, I feel like this work was an exercise by the writer that got him to another, better place - based on some passages I'd recommend the writing - avoid this example.

An oblique, perverse novel, "The Name of the World" strains credibility in its attempts to defy reader expectations--Johnson is not one to allow Event B to follow Event A; he'd rather throw in Event Z out of the blue, just for the heck of it--but the end result is nonetheless a strong, memorable, affecting book. It is not a "well-made" novel, though, and it may help to recall the willful craziness of "Jesus' Son," which made similar demands on the reader. Where the earlier book was a collection of interrelated stories, "The Name of the World" is one long first-person narrative, devoid of chapter breaks, which meanders all over the map--the basic strategy is more or less the same, though. It's a "mess," but I'm certain the mess is deliberate, and the narrative is hypnotically effective. Far from a failure, it strikes me as a book by a very confident writer at the top of his game.

This is an eerie, effective little novel that can be read in a single sitting like a long short story (the text is uninterrupted by chapter headings or breaks of any kind). While thematically similar to Johnson's previous novel, Already Dead (and in fact most of his body of work), it couldn't be more different stylistically. Where Already Dead aimed for twisted excesses of plot and character, The Name of the World goes for sparse, restrained beauty. Johnson hasn't been this lyrical with this prose since Jesus' Son. Almost every sentence reads like a revelation, a last line to be savored and internalized. Even when things get loony, with Flower and her strange, rambling story, this remains a stunning meditation on human suffering and deliverance. At times, as Michael Reed unloaded his psychic trauma, I was reminded of Frank Bascombe, Richard Ford's sportswriter-turned-real-estate-agent. Like Reed, Bascombe also flirted with college teaching, for many of the same reasons and with similar results. Reed is ultimately a much darker character, but the similarities are there. The Name of the World is a truly great offering from one of our more talented fiction writers.

DJ is in Jesus Son at the top of his game, his prose angellic, his stories compelling and concise. Already Dead starts out strong but it is as if DJ has not yet mastered the long form. His sprawling plot twists into itself and the main characters like Fairchild and Van Ness become less interesting. Frankenstein is the only character who remains strong and original. Most people who have never read his other stuff might be impressed by his impressive turns of phrase, but unfortunatley Already Dead like Resuscitation of a Hanged Man turns out to be ill-concieved and at its best a beautiful mess. But I have faith DJ will turn out a simple novel similar to Jesus' Son, b/c poetic clarity and concise story telling is where his power lies.

Having read and enjoyed Denis Johnson's collection of loosely connected short stories, "Jesus' Son," I was excited to find a remaindered copy of his novel, "Already Dead" at the bookstore. I had pegged Johnson as a minimalist on the basis of "Jesus' Son," a relatively quick read, but this more recent offering ran to over 430 pages. It took some hundred pages to get a handle on the plot, but once the expository smoke had cleared and I had acclimated myself to Johnson's cast of quirky characters, the book began to take hold of my imagination. The story involves a young man, Nelson Fairchild, the scion of a wealthy North California family, who makes a pact with the "devil" (in the form of a suicidal but otherwise underdrawn phantom named Carl Van Ness) to kill his wife, Winona, who stands between him and his inheritance. Other characters, including John Navarro, a police officer transplanted from the killing fields of L.A. to bucolic coastal Northern California, and Clarence Meadows, Fairchild's partner in a marijauna farm, weave in and out of the narrative haze, but with limited impact on the reader. The conclusion is less than satisfying, but I remain impressed by Johnson himself. As a stylist he demonstrates an uncanny grasp of contemporary idiom, which includes a killer vocabulary (he added both "jactitation" and "trigetour" to my humble lexicon). "Already Dead" appears to owe something to another author whose locus is the American West Coast, Ken Kesey, in the epic sense of "Sometimes a Great Notion" and in the surreal, stream-of-consciousness of both that novel and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Kesey's muse burned out early; I hope that Johnson will continue to develop as an artist, next time in the service of a more powerful story.

I, too, am bewildered, and more than a little amused, by the dismissive (and ultimately insubstantial) negative comments of other readers. How can one read this book and not be impressed? Agreed, this was not Johnson's best work, but it should be obvious to any thoughtful reader that this is a gifted writer, and that this novel--like each of Johnson's in its own way--is unique and thought-provoking and, yes, compelling. Those who are "bored" with this novel should probably not tax their poor brain cells too much. For them, a little friendly advice: Stick to Grisham or Clancy. "Already Dead" is neither "Jesus' Son" nor "Angels" nor "Fiskadoro"--but then, asking him to repeatedly crank out more of the same is a little like complaining that Dylan refuses to keep re-writing "Like a Rolling Stone." Johnson takes huge risks with each outing and obviously intentionally avoids the mainstream--and admittedly this novel is not perfect. But it undoubtedly ranks among the top five or six literary works of 1997-98. An excellent work: simultaneously funny, bizarre, stunning, off-beat, and hallucinatory--in other words, typical Johnson.

One does not need to believe in Creationism in order to oppose Darwinism. Evolution is indeed one of the biggest jokes in scientific history. It is the modern version of ancient myths in explaining the origin of life.

Great subject for a book, but I would have preferred more critical commentary from qualified scientists and educators. This book does a great job in covering the theological debate over evolution, but is short on biogenesis, how life first formed.

"Darwinism Defeated? The Johnson-Lamoureux Debate on Biological Origins" is a discussion between the darling of conservative Christianity, Phillip E. Johnson, and evangelical Christian Denis O. Lamoureux, commented by scientists on both side of the issue (Behe, Van Till, Denton, etc.). Although much of the discussion is about whether one can be a Christian and still accept "Darwinism", I can still recommend it to atheists and people who's more concerned about the scientific merit of IDism.

Johnson gets beat up like you wouldn't believe it. First, Lamoureux delivers a 40-page critique of Johnson, his arguments, and his books. He even uses Johnson's own "baloney detector" (stolen from Sagan) to show why Johnson's books are full of BS. Johnson answers by saying that he's only interested in answering the main points, and then presents a rebuttal only 8 pages long, where he manages to completely evade all of Lamoureux's points, and instead talk about how evil atheism is.

Lamoureux notes how disapointed he is with Johnson's behaviour, and then repeats the many points of his that Johnson "forgot" to adress. Johnson's response? To offer a transcript of a radio interview by Dobson, interviewing Johnson on his influence on evangelism!

It is hardly surprising that the IDists, supposed to comment on the debate, all refuse to actually talk about Lamoureux's trashing of Johnson, but instead starts discussing the origin of life and Dembski's filter. As icing on the cake, Denton (author of "Evolution: A Theory in Crisis") appologizes for confusing "Darwinism" with "evolution", then proceeds to talk about biogeography and the molecular data, and how silly it makes "special creation" look.

Wow, where to start? The story is a disjointed mess, seemingly without purpose. The story starts with an introduction to an American woman in Nicaragua who has to sleep with a plethora of government officials in order to keep her press pass and make money in order to live. But the big question of the book is, is our heroine indeed a journalist or part of an orginazation called Eyes for Peace? That question is never answered. She then gets herself in a big mess with an English business man she meets and then sleeps with for $50. They end up on the run from the Costa Rican OIJ(police), with disastrous results.

While there were some moments of poetic writing and insight on the whole the characters lacked motivation for just about everything they were doing. If you're new to Denis Johnson start with Jesus's Son. If I had read this book first I would never have gone on to read anything else of his.

Stars at Noon presents the story of a female journalist caught in a murky labyrinth of a world in Nicaragua of the 1980's. She attempts to escape and in the process, becomes mixed up with "the Englishman" and other shadowy characters.

The mood is dark and the action somewhat confusing and hard to follow. The atmosphere is steamy and jungle-like, reminiscent of Conrad's classic story, "The Heart of Darkness."

Although there is no clear ending or moral to the book, I found the protagonist sympathetic and the language of the book poetic and evocative. The book, in spite of its murky and confusing qualities, was very entertaining and a good read.

I completely disagree with the two-star review. This book is basically the tale of two nameless people traversing a hell both literal and figurative. The language is mesmerizing, poetic and often brutal. The story is simple, the emotions complex, and, believe me, there are no happy endings. This is Johnson's darkest work, and not as satisfying as his masterpieces 'Angels' and 'Fiskadoro'. Don't believe that two-star review; a lot of people only know Johnson through Jesus' Son. That's his most accessible book and seemingly everyone has read it, but the man is one of the greatest living American writers, and this book in no way tarnishes that reputation.

You have to hand it to the author, he's found a rich vein of critically acclaimed theater to ape in his debut as a playwright. These two plays, with shared characters between them, pluck some of the most pleasing tropes of Sam Shepherd's more cogent writing (criminal brothers, abusive mothers, emotionally paralized fathers, powerless clergymen--heck, almost all of Buried Child, though in this case it would be Flattened Child) and make them more amusing than mysterious. However, while the elements are often unoriginal and somewhat out of date, Johnson has a knack for understanding what makes a scene dramatic. His characters almost always want something and take risks to get it. As a result, the plays are conflict driven and offer actors meaty motivations to chew on. That's more than what often passes for playwrighting today, so there's promise here. Like the writer's novels, the tone is Western noir, with some biting wit carrying the banter. The reader, like the performer, will certainly be amused, though may not find that the works create any lasting impact. Hellhound, the first play, is a series of mildly absurd two-person scenes that reveal their interconnections gracefully if without surprise. Shoppers, the second play, hews more strictly to unities of time and place, but erupts in a more theatricalized style (subverting stage realism with an invisible dog and a television that interacts with the "real" world--a device that even the characters remark upon for its novelty). Stage directions by the author insist on only the music he indicates and realistic set pieces. That's a shame, because Johnson's at his best when he takes off on original, unrealistic flights of fancy--finding his own dramatic style and inching beyond realism, Shepherd, and watered-down cultural criticism. The strength here is in images, particularly in unusual juxtapositions. Sample these for the potential hinted at, and let's hope that the author has more dream-poetry-drama to come, particularly in the third play in this series, which centers on a character oft-mentioned but not seen in these works. Act one of that work, Soul of a Whore, is published in the latest edition of McSweeney's.