#ForewordReviews #VictoriaSutherland #MoojieLittleman #MagicalRealism #Visionary #VFA #IlkSatir #BurcuErdragon #RobinGregory #healing #miracles #forgiveness #inspiration
“Hope is also about blended family, the modern family, the structures and mechanics of that. For example, how you love differently or the same, stepchildren versus biological children. All of these things can have taboos around them (that) I wanted to explore.”—Maria Sødahl
“I cannot grow as a human being if I do not observe and explore and attempt to explain my own life to myself, to understand my own patterns of behavior. I think the same can be said of humanity at large.”—John Crye (Interview, Film International, 02.16.2021)
Please take a few minutes to relax, breathe, and listen to some good news. I’m thrilled to participate in this venue. Over 1.5 million downloads each month in over 90 countries! The #1 podcast network for personal development and spiritual growth. Listen in ….
In an interview with New York Times reviewer, Dave Itzkoff, Jim Carrey explained his latest book, “Memoirs and Misinformation,” co-written by author of Wall Street satire, “Mergers & Acquisitions,” Dana Vachon. “It’s the end of the world, and we have the perfect book for it.”
“Not the end of civilization,” he continued. “Just the end of a world, the selfish world. We’re getting over the Ayn Rand, ‘you can be a jerk and we can all live in a paradise of jerks’ thing. That’s what we’re going through.”
Part autobiography, part fiction, Carrey and Vachon draw disparate parts of experience together to pull off an unconventional memoir/farewell letter to civilization as they know it.
It opens with the broken, bed bound, paranoid, messy version of Jim Carrey. Apocalyptic and soulless, Los Angeles serves as a backdrop for his mental state. Visceral ruminations follow, treating Hollywood as a trope for civilization teetering on the brink of extinction.
This Jim Carrey trusts no one. Reality is fickle. Celebrities are phonies. Even time is a “trick.”
If it weren’t for Carrey’s brilliant humor, and Vachon’s taut, lyrical prose, I might not have been able to take this grim version of Hollywood culture. Jim Carrey, Drama King, is an apocalyptic persona within an apocalypse. He exposes the underbelly of acting, agents, celebrity, and privilege, while yearning for friendship, romance, and meaning.
No one is safe passing under his purview. Least of all himself. While watching a television show explaining how Cro-Magnon annihilated the Neanderthals, he falls apart, drawing parallels to his fear of “total erasure.” He asks, is the “value of an existence as part of a species forever looping between horror and heartache…?”
Lonely, restless, narcissistic, he looks to his guard dogs and a computerized security system, that speaks ”in the voice of a Singaporean opium heiress who summered in Provence,” for affection.
He’s in mourning for the world, and for his lost “self.” Terrified of life, terrified of death. The thought of John Lennon’s final portrait taken in the morgue, sends him into a self-grooming frenzy, just in case he dies and fanboys at the morgue sell his photo to the highest bidder.
Flashback to the beginning of the end.
This Jim Carrey is on top of his game. In a darkly comedic scenario, he’s at a banquet celebrating a whopping box office success. Surrounded by grifting dignitaries (investors), he charms them with an absurd guzzle from a bottle of expensive wine. Further laying the groundwork for a sleazy, black comedy of Hollywood culture, Carrey and Vachon go on to describe his early (fictionalized) career, poking fun at Nicolas Cage, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Tom Cruise, and the celebrity addiction to cosmetic surgery.
In a world where even reality TV is fake, Jim Carrey continually asks himself, What is real?
He affirms in interviews that some passages were written from real life experiences. As a sincere seven-year-old, he definitely was desperate to bring a smile to his ill mother’s face. He truly does carry a torch for the singer, Linda Ronstadt, who he dated in his twenties. He is still mourning the loss of his friend Rodney Dangerfield.
And yet, he is quoted in a press release, saying that “none of it is real, and all of it is true.”
In the end, Carrey and other stars are battling an alien invasion, a slapstick finale that pokes fun at the book itself, as it correlates his misfortunes with Armageddon.
Ultimately, “Memoirs and Misinformation” is a feverish, visionary dream. It echoes Dostoevsky’s diary, “Notes from the Underground,” that opens with “I am a sick man.” Both books amalgamate fiction and non-fiction. Both expose illusions upon which society is formed, and the resultant effect on individual lives. And both are narrated by terribly clever, unreliable characters who emblazon the egotistical self struggling to maintain control over life rather than transform. #
JimCarrey #DanaVachon #MemoiresAndMisinformation #satire #visionary #VFA #transformation #philosophy #memoir #RobinGregory #apocalypse #Hollywood #culture
What fun! Interview with the UK’s notorious Jason Denness…
Hello everyone. Today I have an interview with a lady who lives in a cottage made out of caramel, I got that info from the back of her book and I’m assuming it is a typo because what is a Carmel cottage? Her book is on my gotta read list and when you see the cover you’ll want to check it out too, one of the most spectacular I’ve seen.
Please stare open mouthed at Robin Gregory.
Question 1: Give us a quick run down about The Improbable Wonders of Moojie Littleman.
Thank you for the lovely introduction, Jason. The Improbable Wonders of Moojie Littleman is book one of a trilogy. Moojie is introduced as an orphan whose unrestrained preternatural powers jeopardize his ability to fit in. He forms an unlikely friendship with otherworldly outcasts which threatens to shatter an already shaky connection to his adoptive family.
Question 2: Assuming…
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Whether it’s Neo in The Matrix, Harry Potter at Number Four, Privet Drive, or Cheryl Strayed’s hike from California to Washington in Wild, I think the wilderness experience is a necessary part of character transformation. Especially in visionary fiction. It takes the main character away from familiar comforts, support, and surroundings. It challenges his or her power.
In (upcoming) book two of my trilogy, Halfkin, Moojie, now an impetuous, half-alien eighteen-year-old, and his unreliable guide from Pleiades, Abu, and are on a perilous journey to find Babylonia, Moojie’s lost love.
This scene takes place after Moojie impulsively befriends a vagabond in the desert. Despite Abu’s warnings, Moojie shares a meal with the scruffy stranger, who turns around and steals the horses and rifles.
Moojie thinks they will never get to their destination on time. He also believes they won’t be able to feed themselves without hunting rifles.
Undaunted, Abu leaves the campsite and returns with a burlap sack full of small game.
“Where’d you get those?” Moojie spoke in a tone of disbelief.
“Did I not tell you? Creatures in the wild sacrifice themselves willingly to feed hungry saints,” Abu said.
Moojie scratched his nose.
Abu opened the sack and presented two dead poorwills and a gila monster, as if performing a magic trick. Ta-da! He asked, “Did you hear about the angry magician?”
Moojie cocked his head. “What?”
“He pulled out his hare.” Abu held up a dead jackrabbit.
“Very funny,” Moojie said. “Is that an original joke?”
“I didn’t think holy men had time for jokes,” Moojie said.
“Saints are stretched thin these days,” Abu said. ###
The vagabond experience causes Moojie to question his way of thinking. It challenges him to pause before acting, to listen to his intuition. It is a small step toward trusting life itself to guide him forward. A lesson for every hero.
Welcome, brave souls, to Bits & Bodhis, where you will find little astounding facts to help you to carry on during the dark night of the soul.
Shedding the shadow and awaking spiritually is not for the feint of heart. If you ever doubt it, here are religious initiations from around the world that you must
NOT TRY THIS AT HOME:
Fathers of the Crocodile tribe in New Guinea hold down their boys while loved ones slash off little pieces of their flesh….
In West Africa, initiates are known to die while undergoing a rebirthing ceremony under the influence of a psychoactive plant substance….
Tibetan monk’s were once required to sit naked on frozen lakes at the height of winter, and thaw, by their own body heat, icy, water-soaked sheets wrapped around themselves….
To purge the shadow and connect with the gods.
So, awakening is no picnic at the beach.
Even the saintly Mother Theresa wrestled with darkness for decades. There were times when she felt completely disconnected from God and suffered deep despair. And then there were periods of devastating beauty, miracles, and illumination.
The Company of Heaven is presently shaking out humanity’s bugs. Illumination is a mandate. But, let’s keep a little perspective. If purging, flagellation, and abuse speeded awakening, there never would have been a boy who grew up as Adolf Hitler.
Awakening has less to do with correcting human flaws than it does with meeting the real self. This acquaintance, painful as it is, makes us more—not less—accepting of those who are not like us.##
#VFA #healing #awakening #blacklivesmatter #tolerance #visionary #RobinGregory #diversity #SpiritualPractice
I apologize if this offends you.
But I’m sincerely struggling with the following question:
Is it racist to include an organized crime character in a book who is defined by ethnicity or nationality?
I don’t know. These are nutty times…
On one hand, we have Jeanine Cummins, an American-born, mostly Caucasian novelist, author of American Dirt, being lambasted for daring to speak sympathetically on behalf of Mexican immigrants.
On the other hand, an esteemed colleague tells me that it is offensive to refer to a character in my upcoming book as a “Jewish mobster.”
Identity is a prevalent theme in my novels. In The Improbable Wonders of Moojie Littleman, the main character is disabled and stutters, therefore treated as if he were unintelligent (though he’s smarter than most). Early-1900s America experienced a gout of immigrants. It was a time of unparalleled racial and ethnic intolerance. Moojie believes that belonging to a family will define him. But European immigrants mistake his striking dark features—which resemble his extraterrestrial mother’s clan—for Native American. The misidentification is further amplified as they believe the enigmatic clan is comprised of native renegades who’ve come back from the dead to reclaim sacred lands. In subtext, it’s their own guilt from having persecuted, or having allowed native persecution, that haunts them.
In my upcoming book, Halfkin, I delve deeper into Moojie’s self-image, exploring his spiritual-coming-of-age, self-mastery, and healing. He’s healed himself by now, and in a sense has outgrown his adoptive family. And the more he identifies with them, the more miserable he is. When his hapless father and meddlesome aunt try to pressure him into marriage with the daughter of a local mobster, he breaks away to find his lost love.
The father of the girl, who I gave a fictitious name, was actually lifted out of historical records of a well-known mobster of Jewish ancestry, Monk Eastman. He was a larger-than-life guy, who was abandoned as a youngster and rose to be a famous crime boss who dominated New York’s underworld in the early 1900s. To avoid stereotyping, my version of this character is likable. He dresses like a dandy, dotes over his wife and daughter, loves pigeons, and prefers to ride a bike because he’s afraid to drive.
An esteemed colleague took exception to my calling him a “Jewish mobster,” calling it a racist.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t mobsters historically affiliate with ethnicity?
Is the concept of “politically correct” getting a bit uppity?
Is rationality being sacrificed to the gods of double standard?
In “real” life, it never occurs to me to profile others by ethnicity. Humans are not their skin color, religion, nation, or even their bodies. In my heart-of-hearts, I believe we are all of the same intrinsic “cloth” that has nothing to do with ethnicity, race, or culture. Everyone deserves respect.
So, how do I write about a criminal from a group with shared, historic affiliations with a clan, gang, or organization, without mentioning ethnicity? Is it racist to identify a character as a Russian, Romanian, Italian, Irish (Protestant or Catholic), Korean, Japanese, or Jewish mobster?
Was it racist of Martin Scorsese to tell a story like Gangs of New York, through the experiences of Irish Catholic and Protestant gangsters, or was it historically accurate? What about the portrayal of Italian mafia in Goodfellas?
Are writers expected to choose politically correct over historically accurate?
I’m may be walking a thin line here, but I don’t believe literature will be of service if it avoids ethnicity or history unless it is to portray characters through rose-colored glasses.