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Another title taken off the shelf
of my separate library of
only small books built into
the door casing of our bedroom door —
books on one side, beauty on the other side —
I returned to read this book after a few years
and it doesn't disappoint the true reader,
the fabulous reader (one with always a book going, always)
journeying with us into the world of
forgotten authors like Alexander Trocchi
which is handled masterfully, this heroin
soaked master storyteller and also into
the young mind of Frank Conroy's Stop-Time
and somehow, even after reading
forever portraits of Malcolm Lowry
and Jack Kerouac, Ulin has us on the road
with him and to poignant locations for
both authors, particularly Lowry, who
Ulin portrays vividly in one or two pages —
Then Ulin, darn it, ruins all the
care and culture of reading,
the passion that is essential
by bothering himself and thus us
with the stupid subject of the Internet.
As if it really means anything to the
passion of reading.
Book reading.
The art form
that many have died for,
stolen, hoarded, hugged.
The Internet is a mere pest
compared to reading
Cain's Book.
[ BA ]
Sasquatch Books
2010
