Grungy, Filthy, Bloody Sex

Seven Wagons West by Jon Sharpe

Apparently this book is called Seven Ways to Die in the UK. That's the most meaningful thing one could get out of this book. That, and a new batch of liners for a birdcage.

I'll warn you up front that this review is loaded with spoilers. SPOILERS! in case you were talking and not paying attention. I justify giving the ending away by reasoning that a vaguely intelligent reader would see it coming well before the halfway mark.

Skye Fargo, in his first Trailsman adventure, is hired to lead a wagon train of born-againers to a supposed silver mine from which they'll build a New Jerusalem. The party includes the Preacher and his strong-willed wife, a mousy guy with a new insatiable bride, a tight-tight-tight young schoolteacher with delusions of independence, and a few more people including a couple kids. Based on my experience with 70s era series-fiction I wasn't surprised that Fargo banged the two wives throughout the book.

After all this waggoning and fucking is done the train reaches its destination, is betrayed by one from within, and then is caught up in an Indian attack.

One by one everyone is killed, the Preacher is killed believing God will protect him as he approaches the Indians, his wife is killed long, slow and loudly via the literary equivalent of "offstage", even the two kids are killed.

So, imagine you're a Trailblazer, you've just had everyone you've lived with the past few weeks killed around you, there's only one slim chance in Hell of getting your ass out of there. You can't even think of getting any revenge on the Indians, escape, if at all possible, is the only option. You manage to get yourself and the sole-survivor (who, imagine that, is the schoolteacher) out through that one-in-a-million portal of escape...if you're Skye Fargo, and you're still covered in the blood of others, and you're still hearing the battle cry of the mauraders, you strip down and get laid. Kinda like what Tammy and I might do if we're ever broadsided by an SUV and ejected from our fiery wreck on the freeway.

I guess I don't fault Skye Fargo for getting it where he can. Custis Long does and I quite liked the first Longarm book. Mack Bolan occasionally does (though he tends to do a better job keeping priorities straight.) I guess if a gun were held to my head I'd rather have unbelievable sex in an adventure book ("unbelievable" meaning "full of shit" and not "amazing") than to be reading Anais Nin or Erica Jong and having a gunfight complete with rocket launchers.

There will be more Mack Bolan and Custis Long reviews but I think I've had my fill of Skye Fargo.

Post Haste? Posthaste? One Word Or Two?

Post Captain by Patrick O'Brien

Last Christmas I unwrapped a present from Tammy and it was Patrick O'Brien's Post Captain. I had recently borrowed a non-Aubrey/Maturin book from her dad and she knew I was interested in tackling the series. Not having access to my boxes upon boxes of stored books, and wanting to avoid giving me a present I might already have, Tammy gave me this second book of the series.

Thing was, I neither owned nor had read previously the first book, Master and Commander. My disturbed psychological profile doesn't allow me to start books or movies in the middle of a series (it's even difficult for me to watch television if I haven't been with a show, more or less, from the beginning: I've really wanted to watch 24 this year but haven't since I've never watched it the first three seasons.

As much as I want to sit around all day (outside and on a beach if it's sunny) reading books I just don't have that kind of time these days. Along with working crappy and time-consuming jobs I don't want to arrive home, ignore everyone and disappear into a book at the expense of social and familial communication. I also have other interests and they had been taking priority these last few months. That's why it took me four months to tackle the book, and one more to finally say a word or two about it online.

After all this build-up what do I have to say? Simply, I loved it. I loved it better than the first book (And I'm usually one to dislike sequels.) It's easier to follow along with what's happening, probably because at least a third of the book is on land and therefore avoiding the nautical terms that stumped me in the first book. When the action was on water I seemed to know what was happening in spite of my having not researched any naval or maritime glossary (It must be some osmosis from reading enough pages.)

It was necessary to finish the preceding book first in order to fully appreciate Stephen Maturin's sometime-occupation as a spy. Knowing before hand that he was supposed to be both surgeon and spy I was disappointed to not see anything of that sort before. Not anymore, and when the time comes I'll be excited to have the next book in my hands.

A week or two after finishing Post Captain I house-sat for my Aunt and Uncle. They have a giant widescreen tv and usually have two or three new DVDs. This time they had Master and Commander. I despise Russell Crowe but wanted to check it out anyways.

Don't you hate it when you're greatly impressed by someone you'd rather see spindled on a cactus wrapped in rusty barbed-wire? Russell Crowe may be a self-loving asshole but he's also a damned fine actor and the movie was worthy of it's Oscar nomination.

What would that be called? I failed English every year of High School (Mainly from being bored and not doing my homework.) Is that irony? Hypocrisy? Judgment-Based Karma? If I'm going to answer that question it'll be on my other site. (But don't hold your breath.)

Excuses, Excuses

This is terrible

I'm alright with not being a daily poster but I've always meant to do better than once every two or three months.

Care to hear my sob story? I'll tell you anyway. The laptop died. We've been fitted with WebTv for the time being but everything from primitive browser capability to less available time (since, being on tv, it's more invasive for everyone in the apartment) makes it difficult, if not impossible, to have decent posting time. At the same time I have a temp assignment that has me working all day long an hour's drive away, meaning I'm tired at the end of the day and not too excited about the possibility of signing up on the library's internet or going to Evergreen's computer lab to get a post done. My better writings take at least 90 minutes to get just right (and even then I usually wish I'd polished it better.)

I've still been able to read, although not as often as I'd been doing for awhile, and reviews will be coming soon. Besides finishing Patrick O'Brien's Post Captain I've read the first of some seventies western series which was so bad it's name escapes me at the moment. Let's put it this way: the Mack Bolan and Longarm series certainly aren't representative of the finest writing available but this book which I'll be ripping to confetti makes them look like Michener.

I'm currently in the middle of that charlatan L. Ron Hubbard's first Mission Earth book.

Sorry for the wait, thanks for your support, and for the record I'm always more prolific if you come to Olympia on a Friday night and buy me a beer.