Back From the Dead

Hello? Helloooo? Is this thing working? Spence turn down the volume some, I'm getting a bit of static here. Okay, better, yeah right there. Hello? Ah, that's coming in really nice. What? No, I forgot to buy coffee. Well, because they sell everything in tiny little packets here that's why. Ask that Korean fellow over there, I'm sure he's dying to tell us where to buy coffee and soju at the same time.

Faithful bloggers! And when I say faithful, boy do I mean it. If you are still reading this blog two months after we went dark then you are truly a god among men. We will inform the Yeongdong office of Education here of your valiant devotion and have your statue of pure gold erected within the next couple of weeks. You'll just have to come to Korea to see it. Bring deodorant.

As for those of you who have wandered far off the path of brave book blogging and are now lost in the woods of sardonic literature and disconcerting women's magazines then I have this to say: there is a light, and it has once again been turned on. We here at Whiskey Before Breakfast apologize for the brief delay in editorial gold. We were having a tough time figuring out the Korean servers in this part of the world. That and we couldn't figure out how to switch the language from Korean to English on our computers. But, the crisis has been temporarily adverted and Spence and I have started to make this place look a little more homely. Of course, we are still struggling to find more necessary equipment such as light bulbs, printers and a heating unit to name a few (Koreans swear by their winters and we will not take them lightly). But, all in all, we see that the bills will be cheaper here and the books just as bountiful.

I won't extend this post for much longer because I don't know how long our jerry-rigged set can last on a couple of AAA batteries. In essence, I wanted to let you lovely fans know that Whiskey Before Breakfast will be back in full swing in the coming month with the same mind-incinerating, face-melting book reviews and all things literature as it did before. Of course, there will be a more "foreign" element sprinkled throughout as we are currently living in beautiful South Korea. Take this part as a sort of seasoning to everything else we've been offering you. If anything, it makes it a more well balanced meal.

Until next time our faithful and ever enduring fans.

-- Zach

Angels in America

Faithful readers, 

I'm incredibly eager to talk about this particular book, so I'm getting straight to the point.  Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes is a two-part Pulitzer prize-winning play by Tony Kushner.  It was published in 1993, and it takes place in New York City in 1985.  In 2003, Angels in America was adapted into an HBO miniseries, which turned out to be a critically acclaimed masterpiece.  I'm pretty sure you can find it on YouTube, but I really think you should read the book first.  

Angels in America examines the lives of two troubled couples, one homosexual and the other heterosexual.  The first couple, Louis and his lover Prior, end their relationship when Louis finds out that Prior has contracted AIDS.  The second couple, Joe and his wife Harper, are separated when Joe leaves Harper because he admits to being gay and he cannot deal with her painkiller addiction, which prevents them from moving to Washington D.C. where Joe has been offered a prestigious job.  The most pivotal scene in the first act depicts the collapse of the two relationships.  The writing is extraordinary, and the scene is powerfully portrayed in the miniseries, and you can watch it here (explicit language).  

The two couples' tumultuous lives collide when Joe and Louis begin a clandestine relationship.  At this point, the reader is introduced to several different characters, each of whom carries a terrible burden of his own.  Roy Cohn, Joe's bigoted mentor, is in the hospital dying of AIDS.  He refuses to acknowledge that he has AIDS; instead, he refers to his disease as "liver cancer," in an effort to conceal that he is a closeted homosexual (being openly gay was scandalous for anyone in 1985; for Roy Cohn, a prominent right-wing Republican, it was unthinkable).  The reader encounters the nurse Belize, a black ex-drag queen who befriends Prior in the hospital.  Belize also works with Roy Cohn, who he finds repulsive because of his cruel, prejudiced attitude. 

Angels in America is a deeply spiritual story, filled with biblical symbols and allusions.  The play has multiple instances of prophecies, dreams, and visions, mostly occurring to ordinary, broken people (in a way, this connects the biblical world with modern America).  Many of the characters converse and interact with angels.  A major premise of the story is that God abandoned the world in 1906 (evidenced by the San Francisco earthquake), and his angels have struggled to cope with his absence.  In a climactic scene towards the end of the play, Joe demands that the angels take divine legal action and sue God for abandonment: "If he ever dared come back... if after all this destruction, after all the terrible days of this terrible century, he returned to see how much suffering his abandonment had created, if all he has to offer is death, then you should sue the bastard.  Sue him for walking out.  How dare he."  (5.4.47)

Stylistically, this play has a distinct American flavor.  I think that's what makes it so brilliant.  The language is grandiose and magnificent.  The characters are constantly longing for innocence and new life.  Basically, the entire story is facing to The West, towards the beautiful unknown, and desperately hoping for a new beginning.  The play's central conflict is found within the characters' inability to be completely free of the past.  Kushner reveals that the American community is horribly afflicted by the disease of individuality (to a greater extent than AIDS, even), and that only through communal bonds are Americans able to find the hope that they so desperately long for.

The play ends on a hopeful note.  Harper gets on a plane headed West, and her monologue is one of the most beautiful passages ever written: 

"Night flight to San Francisco.  Chase the moon across America... The ozone was ragged and torn, patches of it threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was frightening.  But I saw something that only I could see because of my astonishing ability to see such things: Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead, of people who had perished from famine, from war, from the plague, and they floated up, like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning.  And the souls of these departed joined hands, clasped ankles, and formed a web, a great net of souls, and the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules of the stuff of ozone, and the outer rim absorbed them and was repaired.  Nothing's lost forever.  In this world, there's a kind of painful progress.  Longing for what we've left behind, and dreaming ahead.  At least I think that's so."

Tony Kushner presents to us a potent, distinctly American-yet-completely-universal challenge in Angels in America.  I was hesitant to write about this play because I still don't feel that I've completely grasped it.  This work is raw and real to the point of being harsh and terrifying.  This is one of the few books I've ever encountered that attempts to tell the uncensored story of mankind and actually succeeds.   

I've been talking for a while, and I still feel like I haven't said enough.  I really hope you read Angels in America.  It's bold and truthful and magnificent.  You will never be the same.  

~Spence 

Stardust

I love fantasy literature; I'll be the first to admit it (I also used a semicolon in the first line of this post, so you know I'm on my game today). If you have a book that involves a dragon terrorizing a clan of pygmy Giants or a prolonged quest to find the Soul of Excalibur, I will most likely be reading it in the near future if I haven't already read it. It doesn't matter if the story line couldn't hold up against an ant sneeze (if anyone can prove that ants do in fact sneeze, I'll let you run this blog), I love fantasy enough that I'll engross myself in whatever straw the author grasped at for a story. So, when I was handed the book Stardust by a friend of mine I figured I would love it no matter what the so called "critics" said, which, were actually a lot of positive things. Upon finishing the work, I was content, but not the overwhelmed, grab my plastic shield and sword, let's-save-the-troll-princess nerd I usually turn in to.

The story of Stardust is actually quite fascinating and written by Neil Gaiman, who's British as hell, so this story obviously takes place in England. We enter the tale in a town called Wall, due in part to the small farming village being located at the base of a massive wall that separates our world from Faerie, the mystical land that reminded me mostly of Narnia (except without Peter and his teenage angst to annoy everyone. I see you Peter, and you don't know angst until you've listened to My Chemical Romance.). When our main character, Tristran Thorn (don't forget the second "r" in Tristran, it makes it more fantasy-like), sees a shooting star land somewhere in Faerie, he tells his hauntingly beautiful female crush, Victoria Forester, that if he goes and retrieves the star for her, she must promise to give him anything he desires. Adventure and a witch that is very similar to the one in Narnia ensue.

I speak lightheartedly about the novel because it's very playful in presentation. The world in which Tristran enters is full of wonder and magic and his adventure is cleverly woven in with two other story lines. One of these stories revolves around the lineage of the next king of Stormhold, and which of the three remaining sons of the dying Lord will sit upon the throne next. The third story is that of the witch-queen, who essentially wants to rip out the heart of the fallen star (who, by a stroke of fantasy literature, turns out to be a girl) and consume it in order to be young again. Playful stuff like that.

The story itself reads easily and is well thought out. Gaiman is technically sound in his telling of Stardust and it felt more like he was reading it to me (British accent not included) than writing it. All I had to do was merely sit back and enjoy a Chicken Soup for the Soul kind of tale of a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve. And I think that's what I enjoyed most about the work, that the main character was so similar to a lot of young men, like myself, who want to prove to their Beatrices that they would catch a star right out of the sky if it meant they could capture her heart. Tristran is a true lover, so we welcome him into the ranks here at Whiskey Before Breakfast as one of our own. Men, you would be surprised at how much you see yourselves in Tristran Thorn.

Where the story failed for me was how little of Faerie you actually discovered or saw. I thought being in a whole new realm would incite a few chapters devoted to the landscape, or the creatures, or at least a bullet point on the history, but Gaiman chooses to leave much of this out and only describe the immediate surroundings to his readers. This is all good and well, but being a fantasy junky at heart, I longed for the history of why the Goblins wanted to take Stormhold, or have a little light shed on how the trees in the forest came about growing acid leaves that would melt their prey's skin away. This could be a technique in order to preserve the magic in the story, but the world, as wondrous as is was, was only a smokey image of what it could have been. Also, the story is somewhat predictable and won't be blowing anyone's tunic off their chest.

All in all, if you enjoy technically sound fantasy I would say go get this book. Neil Gaiman is also a man you should have on your bookshelf if nothing more than to tell your non-literary friends, "Yeah, I read Gaiman. He's British."

Till next time friends!

-- Zach

On Writing Well

Faithful readers,

New Content Monday is upon us once again! In order to ensure that you are celebrating this weekly holiday with gusto, we have opted to share several pieces of advice from our favorite authors about the craft of writing. Enjoy these words of gold.

Also, Zach and I are hard at work preparing our collection of short stories, which is due to be released this fall! If you've ever had reason to be excited about anything in your life, this is it.

"Read, read, read. Read everything--trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out the window."
-William Faulkner

“Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It's about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.”
-Stephen King

“If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”
-Ray Bradbury

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
-Ernest Hemingway

"Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very'; your editor will delete it and your writing will be just as it should be."
-Mark Twain

As always, bring us your questions, comments, and opinions. We'd love to hear from you!

-Spence

The Dharma Bums

Lovers, haters, and everyone else,

We're back, and we have all kinds of things to discuss.  Not to be Negative Nancy, but it's officially been summer for a whole month already, so I hope you're making progress on your summer reading lists.  Carpe diem!

Jack Kerouac is one of our favorite authors here at Whiskey Before Breakfast.  You may have read On the Road--Kerouac's most famous book as well as the defining novel of the Beat generation (post-WWII).  Kerouac writes with a furious, chaotic style.  I've heard his writing described as "literary jazz"--distinctively rhythmic and lively.  His stories and characters are so tremendously American, too: crazed with excitement and adventure, free of the past, and vibrantly innocent.  

The Dharma Bums centers around Kerouac and his adventures with his friend, Japhy.  Like many of their fellow Beat generation writers, Kerouac and Japhy became disillusioned with the buttoned-up middle-class life of the 1950s.  They reacted against the repressed, materialistic culture by practicing Buddhism and declaring themselves "Dharma Bums": seekers who rejected the pursuit of wealth and possessions, and instead chose to live a minimalist lifestyle, devoid of all but the most essential things.  Kerouac and Japhy hitchhiked throughout North America, practicing meditation, reading Buddhist texts, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, dropping "benny" tablets (amphetamines) then writing poetry, and looking for truth in unexpected places.  

Kerouac's journey culminates with his summer spent in solitude as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak, Washington.  He writes a beautiful account of his time spent meditating and finding himself in the powerful tranquility of nature (you may be reminded of Krakauer's Into the Wild; for a WBB review, click here).  At this point, Japhy has gone over to Japan to pursue Buddhism further, and Kerouac writes a powerful tribute to his friend and expresses his joy at experiencing transcendence in the wilderness.  

The Dharma Bums is not a book for everyone.  It doesn't claim to be.  Kerouac's journey can be a paradox; he seems to find himself in wild parties as well as peaceful journeys through the wilderness.  I've found his writing to be refreshing, if only because he didn't spend his time repressing his dreams and wishful longings; he went out and experienced the world as furiously as he possibly could.  When you view his work in the context of 1950's America, it makes a lot of sense.  Especially if you're a twenty-something liberal arts student.   

If you're interested in reading more works from the Beat generation, I recommend On the Road by Kerouac as well as Howl by Allen Ginsberg.  

If you'd like to read more about Buddhism and/or Eastern monism, I recommend Siddhartha by Herman Hesse.  I've come to find Eastern patterns of thought and philosophy to be fascinating, and it can be rewarding to grapple with these ideas, particularly when told through a fictional or semi-fictional story.  

As always, we'd love to hear your feedback!  Have you read The Dharma Bums or anything else by Kerouac?  What are your thoughts?  

Love,

~Spence

New Content Mondays

Welcome back everyone! We've missed you and are wishing many blessings upon your literary endeavors. As you can probably guess, it's that time of the week for us to fill you with all those lovely contents that are fresh from the basement of Whiskey Before Breakfast. I thought it might be appropriate this week to discuss writing since we've been on a pretty hard tear of book reviews.

Let me open up by saying something very important: You are all writers! Whether you scribble some words of poetry down on a napkin for that cute redhead that works at Starbucks or burn the midnight oil in order to crank out the next novel that will change the way the world sees corn soufflé, you are all writers. Now, the Muses may speak a little louder to some of you than others, but that's all right because we all have the ability to say something creative and worthwhile. There are too many variables to count when determining who's a serious writer and who just does it because they have to, but in my years of studying the craft, reading books and winning my fair share of contests, I've noticed one thing: those who call themselves writers live breathe and revel in the craft. This isn't to say that you need to cram your skulls with everything that's literature, but it should give you an idea of what it takes to be a writer.

Now, I want to break down this discussion in to two categories so I'm reaching all of you people out there. Yes, I'm talking to you, oh most timid reader who laughs and cries at our reviews, but cripples at the thought of actually asking us a question or two in our comments section. I'm calling you out, son! This post will be broken down into tips for both the serious writers and those who just don't want to look stupid on their next term paper. I've wavered in both camps and so I feel like I have some good authority to say something about them. Also, it's my blog. This could be a longer post than usual so sit back, pour yourself a cup of that bold Colombian coffee (the good stuff, none of that processed crap that's usually on sale) and let me caress your minds with some wisdom on writing.

For the Real Writers

I'm somewhat hesitant to dedicate this section to "real writers" because anyone who puts that ink to the pasty white paper is a writer (technically). But, for the sake of space and time I'll define these "real writers" as those who one day hope to make something of themselves off of words and wish to buy that nifty Raider's hat they've always wanted (just kidding, no one likes the Raiders). To begin this section let me take you back into the life of Zach Butler when I was just a wee lad of fifteen and had not a care in the world other than when Hey Arnold would be on television. I was introduced to the world of writing and stories by a close friend of mine at the time who currently works for a small video game review site last I heard. What I got out of a five hour hang out session with him, which consisted mostly of a conversation on writing and why he liked books when he was in high school, was that in order to be a decent writer I needed to start writing and do it damn near every day.

This sparked my interest and so I began writing. It didn't matter what I wrote either and that's what you need to understand. Write anything! Write a poem, a haiku, a sermon, a page, a song, an epic, a word, it doesn't matter, just write. When people ask me what I do for writing (yes, people actually ask me from time to time) I tell them I try to write 2,500 words a day. This is a tip I picked up from reading Stephen King's memoir/writing book, On Writing, which I recommend you all read at some point in your careers. Like working out or playing Call of Duty, in order to see any improvement in your craft you need to keep practicing and training so you can take it to those high school punks who say really inappropriate things about your mothers. Because that’s what writing is all about, telling high schoolers that they can’t do that. A really neat thing will begin to happen over time as you write and that is this: you'll start to see that 2,500 words is really nothing at all and you'll start writing 3,000 or 4,000 or even 7,000 words a day! Like with any habit, good or bad, the process becomes easier as you do it more.

There are hundreds of thousands of books out there that will tell you hundreds of thousands of ways to improve yourself as a writer or how to be published or how to drink coffee properly, but it really all boils down to one thing: write! It's in your title for goodness sake. Start small (you don't need to rewrite the Odyssey in Creole after all) and slowly progress towards bigger and better endeavors.

For the Everyday Writers

I think it's safe to say that most of our readers probably fall in to this category. These are the writers who only call themselves such when it's about two in the morning and they just remembered they have a research paper due at eight. Or, if you're like me, you realize this during your nine o' clock class and skip the rest of the day in order to turn that paper in under your teacher's door all incognito. For those of you who ride this struggle bus let it be known that you are in good company. Now, let's change that.

This section of the post shouldn't be taken as a "How To Improve Your Writing Skills" because every college/high school has a writing center where people get paid to tell you how to write (not necessarily better I might add). Since we don't get paid, I'm going to take a different approach and talk to you as one who loves literature and has seen the benefits of devoting one's self to the craft. I'm also not here to tell you that you need to become a bestselling novelist in order to pass your next Humanities Course paper (although, if you attended a certain school in Western Pennsylvania you might think otherwise).

For the everyday writer, literature and the actual process of writing is usually not the first thing on their mind. This is perfectly fine because there are far more important things to think about other than how you're going to kill your main character at the end of your novel with a pair of demon cursed chopsticks. Please, for the sake of your sanity and social life, go on thinking about whatever you think about! But, for those seeking to improve their writing, even in the slightest, take heed of my next sentence. A book, and I mean any book, is a monumental way to start improving your writing and vocabulary. Since we are no longer chained to our chairs in junior high and forced to take "Vocab Quizzes" we begin to take words and the scope of words we know for granted. When that begins to happen, our literary prowess begins to dampen and so we sit, wracking our brains for synonyms for the words "good" or "strong". I've found that the best way to expand your vocabulary and be able to throw down words like "clairvoyance" or "apotheosis" is to simply read.

I'm going to assume for a moment here that most of you reading this have a soft spot for literature, no matter how small or cramped that spot is. Why else would you be reading a blog on book reviews unless you just love reading our writing (which, we know, is pretty life-altering)? So, since I've caught you with your proverbial pants down I'm going to say this: read people! Read until your eyes wither from your sockets and fall to the ground like little plastic bags. Read till your brain misfires and you actual do think Tupac is alive and well in Mexico. Read until there is nothing left to read. And when you read, don't just read the words; see how the author constructs sentences, notice the pace and the rhythm at which they write, hear the voice they are writing in and begin to understand how to write. When you start reading like this you'll notice two things. One, you’ll actually enjoy and appreciate the work more than if you were just to process a story in your mind. Two, you'll start to see these techniques and concepts reflected in your own writing. I only see a win-win here.

Of course, you could go out and buy books and subscribe to websites and sit in conferences in order to hear and see thousands of other ways to become a better writer, but I think you'll start to see that it really comes down to the two things I had mentioned earlier: reading and writing. This post is really only laying the foundation for effective writing I understand, but we need to start somewhere right? Also, as writers, you've got to make time to do both reading and writing, especially if you ever want to take yourself seriously. Challenge yourself this week and try to write and read every day, even if it's only for a fleeting moment.

Okay, I'll step off the soapbox now. We needed to dust it off anyways, it's been sitting in the closet a while. Till next Monday/Tuesday!

-- Zach 

Catch-22

Beloved readers,

I hope this post finds you well.  If it does not, then I am exceedingly grateful that you decided to read Whiskey Before Breakfast despite your apparent un-wellness.  You is smart, you is kind, you is important.  (Name that movie/novel in the Comments section and we'll make a big deal out of your brilliance in our next post).

In 1953, Joseph Heller began writing Catch-22.  In 1961, it was published.  In 2013, Spence finally got around to reading it.

Catch-22 centers around Captain John Yossarian, a U.S. bomber pilot during World War II.  Yossarian has completed the mandatory number of missions required for each pilot, so he is allowed to return home.  However, every time that he meets the quota of flight missions, the authorities raise the requirement, forcing him to remain in combat.  As he becomes overwhelmed by the stress and horrors of war, he finds himself a victim of Catch-22, a bureaucratic nightmare: A man is considered insane if he willingly continues to fly dangerous combat missions, but if he makes a formal request to be removed from duty, he is proven sane and therefore ineligible to be relieved.  (The phrase Catch-22 originates with this novel, i.e. a no-win situation).

The narrative itself is a chaotic patchwork of seemingly random anecdotes and stories.  The reader is introduced to a number of Yossarian's fellow pilots and comrades, and each of them deals with Catch-22 and other conflicts in humorous, ridiculous ways.

I need to make it clear that Catch-22 is absolutely hilarious.  I found myself laughing out loud quite a few times.  The dialogue is quick and witty in a sort of nonsensical way (you'll know exactly what I mean when you read it, or if you've already read it).

My favorite part of the novel occurs towards the end.  Yossarian flies another dangerous mission, and his plane is shot with anti-aircraft cannons.  When he lands, he goes back to discover that his gunner has been mortally wounded.  He tries to help him, but the gunner dies in his arms, splattering Yossarian's uniform with blood and gore.  Yossarian refuses to wear his uniform again, and he stands in line to receive a medal for bravery--completely naked.  It's a strange combination of laugh-out-loud hilarious and morbidly depressing.  You're free to draw your own conclusions.

Critics of the novel would say that it becomes extremely repetitive, Heller is a one-trick pony, the story doesn't make logical sense, etc.  I think that's missing the point.  20th century warfare was essentially the systematic destruction of human life, directed by a faceless bureaucracy that never saw the damage it caused.  The emotional and psychological consequences for the individuals at the front lines were tremendous.  The suffering was so great that Yossarian cannot decide who the "bad guys" are--himself, his authorities, or the enemy whom he is attacking.  So even though this book doesn't always make sense, that's the only reason it makes any sense at all.  The horrors of war cannot be condensed into a neat and tidy treatise.  War is moral chaos.  Catch-22 is an attempt to make sense of this chaos through humor and satire.

Also, Stephen King named Catch-22 as one of the two greatest American novels.  I probably don't need to remind you that we hold Stephen King in extremely high regard here at Whiskey Before Breakfast.  (The second great American novel is Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace.  We're working on that one.  All 1300+ pages of it.)

Writing a review about Catch-22 is like telling one of those "you had to be there" stories.  I can't really do justice to this book without actually handing it to you and making you read it.  Catch-22 is a literary experience, and a rewarding one, at that.

I love you all.  Class dismissed.

~Spence

New Content Mondays

Some of you reading this post may have a small cloud of confusion gathering over those "common sense" neurons firing in your brains. I'll save you the suspense, it's not Monday. But hey, just because it's not Christmas doesn't mean I can't hand out a present or two! And I like to think that our weekly(ish) reviews and rants are like little gifts to all of you who follow us so faithfully.

So, in honor of "New Content Monday" on Tuesday, I would like to start this post by saying: we have some really exciting news here at Whiskey Before Breakfast. It might be the grains of sand and salt water still lingering in our orifices from sabbatical, but Spence and I have been refreshed and renewed both in mind and body. Our brief stint along the coast has stirred the creative juices and let me just say, when those babies start flowing you don't let 'em go to waste. This is all to say that after a pretty extensive car ride and a week with great books, Spence and I have decided to promote ourselves and leave you all with a little teaser of things to come.

This fall, coming to a blog near you (you can probably guess which one), Spence and I will be releasing our first anthology! For those of you who aren't aware of what that word means, it's a compilation of short stories that usually have a running theme or motif that the author is trying to convey. We're still in the "brainstorming" phase of our anthology, so much of this is subject to change. We're really excited to bring you something of our own for once that we've even begun to talk about it with our families. We talk a lot about other authors and their great accomplishments so we're thrilled to start on this great venture to produce something of equal quality (because, you know, we aim for the distant stars here). I'm sure there will be more teasers and information to come as the summer fades into fall, but until then, let this stimulate your palates and tingle your naval cavities. Romantic stuff.

Till next Monday!

-- Zach

Joyland

Apparently we are on a pretty hard Stephen King binge here at Whiskey Before Breakfast. It's summer after all and although I wouldn't put King's novels in the "Beach Book" category, he's nonetheless a Big Mac and fries kind of author (he said it himself, look here). Somehow McDonald's and summertime reading are related. Aside from that, both Spence and I share a slightly disturbing love for this man's work and of the macabre he chooses to write on. So, without further ado, I give you Stephen King's newest novel, Joyland.

If you were to climb back into the depths of our blog you would probably uncover a couple more Stephen King reviews lurking behind a pile of cat skulls or eating the remains of that black ooze leaking from the post above it. Yet, with all the hotel hauntings and broken ankles that King has forever burned into our mortal memories, this time around he's decided to pursue the longtime niche genre of Hard Case Crime, a brand of novels that were huge when King was younger. Joyland is part mystery, part Hardy Boys, part coming of age and small part ghost story (just to reminded the reader that it's Stephen King writing after all).

It's a novel that centers around the twenty-one year old college student, Devin Jones, who takes up a summer job at the carnival/amusement park Joyland in the summer of 1973. The story takes place in Heaven's Bay, North Carolina, which, to any die-hard King fan, knows this is surprisingly outside the normal setting the author usually deals with. Don't worry though, Devin is from Maine so it's not completely without ties to the homeland. When the novel opens, Devin has just taken up residence at a local beach-side accommodation where he learns of the legendary murder of Linda Gray, a girl who was visiting Joyland four years before with her secret lover, only to have been murdered in the classic carny attraction, Horror House. This is where you would think the novel would barrel headfirst into a Mystery Gang search for the killer and put whatever is haunting the Horror House to rest, but much of this is shoved to the side as the story of Devin takes over.

This work is very much the story of a young man confronting heartbreak and the effects that follow along with the ebbs and flows of hardship that every life seems to bring. A central theme would be "coming-of-age" much similar to that of King's short story "The Body", except with a slightly older crowd. The reader learns the carny lingo, otherwise known as the Talk, as well as what "wearing the fur" means (which, to be honest, didn't turn out as horrific as I had imagined). Devin grows up and changes as the novel progresses and the reader does right along side him. But, because this is a King novel, much of the book is spent on developing character and character relationships. I would say this was the one downfall of the work because not much happens until the last twenty pages or so. This isn't to say that the novel is a bust or not worth your while, but it was somewhat jarring when I hit page 250 and was suddenly thrown back into Hardy Boy mode. All in all though, the ending is a solid one and will pull at those heart-guts and leave every reader satisfied.

I'm usually not one for mystery novels (in fact, I hate them), but because my boy Stephen King is such a great writer I am throwing this one up on the Summer Reading List for you guys. But, in light of it not being a true "horror novel", some of you may actually brave a King novel for the first time, and to that I say, "about time!" So, don your detective caps and break out those family photos from the 70s (you know, the ones that Nickleback likes to sing about) and settle in for a good summer read.

-- Zach

Fair Extension

Beautiful people,

Here at Whiskey Before Breakfast, we understand the importance of balancing work and leisure.  Even though Zach and I have retreated to the coast for a brief sabbatical, we still intend to make your visit to our blog worthwhile.  So while you recline at your desk and casually entertain yourself with this short missive, please remember that we risked sunburn, rip currents, and sharks to bring this to you.

While on the road, Zach and I selected a book on CD from the wide array of entertainment options available to travelers these days.  After extensive deliberation, we opted for Full Dark, No Stars, one of our favorite Stephen King short story selections.  In particular, we listened to "Fair Extension," the shortest of these short stories.

"Fair Extension" begins with Dave Streeter, a man dying of lung cancer.  While driving home, he stops to talk to a salesman named George Elvid, who claims to sell "extensions."  If you want more money, beauty, happiness, power, etc., you can obtain an extension from Mr. Elvid.  However, there is a catch: to gain more of something, you have to take it from someone you know.  After some consideration, Streeter makes a deal with Elvid: he gets a life extension of fifteen prosperous, happy years, if he gives Elvid 15% of his salary and transfers all of his unhappiness and misfortune onto his childhood friend, Tom Goodhugh, who married Streeter's high school girlfriend and has experienced good luck all his life (often at Streeter's expense).  

The rest of the story reads fairly quickly, almost like a grocery list.  Streeter's cancer disappears, and his life begins accelerating in a positive direction.  His marriage improves, he gets promoted, and his children become wealthy and successful.  Conversely, Tom Goodhugh's life takes a drastic turn for the worse.  His wife dies of cancer, his children endure seemingly random tragedies, his health deteriorates, and his money drains away.  At the end of the story, Streeter and his wife are stargazing and contemplating their good fortune.  The planet Venus appears in the night sky, and Streeter asks his wife to make a wish.  She admits that she can't think of anything, because they have everything that they've ever wanted or needed.  Streeter then makes a silent wish--for more.

"Fair Extension" begins like a typical morality tale.  Someone makes a deal with the devil (Elvid = Devil--we see you, Steve) and goes on to experience the consequences.  "Fair Extension" deviates from this structure, in that Streeter's deal with the devil doesn't backfire in a contrapasso kind of way.  As Elvid says, "I'm just a businessman."  Streeter makes a casual business exchange, and then watches his own life improve while his friend's life falls apart.  Unlike traditional morality plays, "Fair Extension" isn't warning people about the dangers of "making a deal with the devil."  Instead, Stephen King is showing that the worst sins don't come from the devil, they come from within ourselves.  It's disturbingly easy to trade another person's suffering for your own personal gain, if granted that power.

I also had the vague notion that King was satirizing American religion in this story.  If you shake hands with God and give Him enough money, you'll be loaded with blessings, and you're not obligated to really care about your fellow man, because his life is "between him and God," and doesn't concern you.  Or something like that.

Once again, Stephen King opens the lid on human nature and shows us who we really are.  This story is pretty short (~30 pages) and is definitely worth your time.  For those of you who are taking a road trip or going on vacation, Full Dark, No Stars is a great choice for an entertaining, interesting read.

~Spence

I Go Among Trees

Faithful readers,

In the spirit of New Content Monday (although I'm sure for some of our readers with a keenly developed sense of danger, it's always New Content Monday), I have decided to share a favorite poem of mine: I Go Among Trees by Wendell Berry.  

I go among trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet

around me like circles on water.

My tasks lie in their places

where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes

and lives a while in my sight.

What it fears in me leaves me,

and the fear of me leaves it.

It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.

I live for a while in its sight.

What I fear in it leaves it,

and the fear of it leaves me.

It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,

mute in my consternations,

I hear my song at last,

and I sing it. As we sing,

the day turns, the trees move.

I won't bore you with a long explication, but I've always loved this particular poem.  The wilderness has always been a source of renewal and vitality, and I don't think anyone understands this quite as well as Wendell Berry (the agrarian of agrarians--look him up!).  Only after listening to the song of the wilderness is the speaker able to understand and know himself.  

Zach's and my college fraternity brothers often adventure into the great outdoors, and this poem strikes a sentimental chord for me.  Being connected to nature is extraordinarily important, for reasons I don't even completely understand yet.  So... after signing up for Whiskey Before Breakfast email updates... get out there!  

"One impulse from a vernal wood/ Can teach you more of man,/ of moral evil and of good,/ Then all the sages can."  

~Spence 

New Content Mondays

Well folks, here it is! The day and content you've all been waiting for. I've entitled this post 'New Content Mondays' for a couple reasons. The first is I feel like Monday gets a bad rap compared to all the other days of the week. Friday, the King of Days, is usually at the forefront of the average work-a-day citizen and is viewed as something close to a godsend. It was as if the Romans (or whoever made our calendar. Don't look at us, we just follow the structure not the history) decided that Friday would always be seen as the Michael Jordan of days, while Monday would sit wallowing in hate-filled pity as people loathed and dreaded its very existence. Heck, there's even a disease out there that employees fall back on when they are lacking in productivity (ever hear of "a case of the Mondays"?). That's not fair Monday and we know that. We like you and appreciate the time and effort you put in every week on the calendar.

The second reason was that I simply decided to upload the new content today. We still like Monday, but come on, Friday is clearly a better day (don't tell Monday we said that). So, as promised, here is your new content. I'll give a brief description and then let you take care of the rest.

This video was shown to me by a friend not too long ago and made me laugh enough that I decided to watch it during my free time. I'm not a huge YouTuber, but this stuff really cracks me up and if you appreciate literature or writing or words, then you should enjoy this as well. It's called "Your Grammar Sucks" and is a video series on all the horrendously awful YouTube comments posted by people who either haven't cracked open a book or spoken normal English in a while. We may not have the most consistent grammar here at Whiskey Before Breakfast, but we still don't suck this bad (at least, that's what we tell ourselves). Basically, if you don't do this in your writing I guarantee you will see an improvement in both your writing quality and social stigma. Hope ya'll enjoy!

-- Zach

Scar Tissue

Drugs. What comes to mind when you read or hear the word "drugs"? Some of you may think of the slightly megalomaniacal med-student with the lazy eye that sits behind that big counter at your local Rite Aid. He fills your prescriptions and gives you the goods, but what is he really doing back there behind all those shelves and boxes (and what's in those boxes, asks Brad Pitt)? Or, some of you may think of what I'm actually referring to and that's illegal substances (unless you live in Colorado or Washington, I guess). These are the ones that are all hopped up on dopamine and serotonin in order to give you all those  good feels and that depressing and abysmal crash later. This, and a little bit of the making of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, is what Scar Tissue is all about.

I'll be upfront and honest with you, I picked up Scar Tissue because I wanted to know how messed up Anthony Kiedis', the lead singer for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, life was. And boy was it incredible! We here at Whiskey Before Breakfast often talk about the mountaintops we've reached with the various virtues and vices that we've attempted. These are mostly metaphorical and we try to use some discrepancy when considering which one to conquer next. Kiedis, on the other hand, literally has made it to these mountaintops, saw that he wasn't quite high enough (pun intended) and then proceeded to construct a psychedelic stairway to Pluto, just to ask it how it feels about not being a planet anymore. Oh, and this stairway was made out of drugs. And sex.

I've read reviews on how this book describes the darker side of rock and roll and how rock and roll really does destroy a musician's moral spirit if they are not careful. To that I say: bull crap! Kiedis wasn't duped or swindled by a "bad side" of rock and roll, he was completely consumed by drugs and having a good time. The book is a really great read and takes you through the life of the RHCP's lead singer and how he formed friendships and bonds along the way.Obviously, it's a biography, but in the same way, it's much more than that. It's a story of a man who recognizes his own destructive ways, but is having too good of a time to stop until it's too late.

Never have I been one to really love the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but I can honestly say that this book has helped me appreciate their music more. Kiedis reveals the stories and thought processes behind the writing of their songs as well as the struggles that the band faced throughout their existence. For the music lovers out there, you should pick this up just to see if any of your band members might be showing signs of drug addiction similar to that of Kiedis. For those who just want to be entertained, pick it up because your jaw will be bruised by the end of it for how many times it will hit the floor.

Some highlights of the book are as follows. None of these are really spoilers, but if you are one of those who likes to preserve the magic and integrity of a new read, then just skip ahead to the conclusion.

         -- Kiedis, at the age of 11, had sex for the very first time with his dad's "girlfriend". It was in his bedroom at his dad's house.

         -- At the ripe old age of 12, Kiedis smoked pot and dropped acid. He said that the acid trip was one of the best experiences he's ever had.

        -- In high school, Kiedis attempted to jump off a building into a swimming pool with his friend. He missed the pool and broke his back. Six weeks later, his friend busted him out of the hospital despite the doctor's best wishes.

        -- While spending time in Michigan with his mom, Kiedis got belligerently drunk one night after having a dry spell of coke. Attempting to get in his car and drive home, he smash into a tree just miles down the road and completely broke his face. He sang on tour a week later.

This man took Life by the gonads and told it to give him all its Skittles. I couldn't believe what I was reading at times, and what was more, I couldn't believe it was all true! Kiedis created his own mountaintop out of drugs and partying and yet was a complete success by all standards of the definition. Pick up Scar Tissue today and settle back with your acid strips and bongs for a great summer read!

-- Zach

The Summer Update (You'll Want to Read This)

Welcome back friends, lovers and everything in between! It's been a while. How are you? That's great to hear. Now that we've gotten the formalities out of the way I've decided to write a little something while Spence is out of the office getting us coffee and new candles (we haven't paid the bills in a while). We realize that while summer has graced us with beautiful weather and suspicious ice cream truck drivers with the word "HATER" tattooed on their necks, we here at Whiskey Before Breakfast have not been delivering reviews as consistently as we would like to. Don't get us wrong, we've been reading a lot of great stuff, we're just having trouble finding the time finishing that great stuff. This partially our fault and more partially not. We don't know what the "partially not" is, but we feel good about it so we'll go with it.

This post wasn't written to ask if we're doing our jobs or not. No, instead it was written to involve you, our beloved fans and fellow readers, in all the great things this blog allows us to do. Besides bringing you eye-melting, mind-incinerating, awesome reviews of the books we've been reading, we've also extended the invitation for you to converse with us in our comments section (which, as we see, you've all taken full advantage of *sarcasm*). That's all well and good, but I still feel like there's something lacking in this blog. It's that feeling you get while listening to a Ke$ha song or when talking about Lance Armstrong's biking career. Okay, maybe not that, but there's still something missing from this blog that we have only recently come to a conclusion on.

Starting this upcoming week (or roughly around that time...it's us after all) we are going start writing posts that include tips, books, videos, letters, speeches, telegrams, smoke signals and any other mediums of communication that have to do with anything literature related or writing related. In other words: NEW CONTENT!

 Now, you may think this all sounds pretty vague, and quite honestly, it probably is. But, isn't there a saying out there that says "vagueness breeds creativity"? Well, there should be. In order to bring a little more "BAM" to this blog like Emeril Lagasse's tater tots, we want to start providing resources and exciting content on how to both improve your literary awareness as well as your writing skills so you can finally finish that eulogy for your dead hamster. This, like what was stated above, can include books on writing or videos or even tips from the backwaters of our own sleep deprived and slightly insane minds. It also gives you a chance to apply some of our nonsense to your own repertoire and see what comes of it. We're not saying we're always right (we are), but maybe somewhere amidst the smoldering pile of ash that were once our ideas you may find something to dust off and take home to put on your shelf. The sky's the limit here.

Hopefully you're as excited about the new content as we are. There should be a new section link in the upcoming days that will be strictly devoted to the new content in order to make it easier to find. I hear Spence coming up the stairs now and he won't like it that I'm not wearing pants in his favorite chair. Until next time.

-- Zach

Where Things Come Back

Welcome back lovers and bloggers! I would love to take the time to update you on our lives here at Whiskey Before Breakfast, but I simply can't because I would like to dive right into the review of Where Things Come Back by John Corey Whaley. The reason being is that I think this will mark the first time a negative book review will be done by our blog. So let's get started.

As you know from my previous post on Looking for Alaska I am a fan of young adult fiction novels. If you didn't know that then you should go back and read that review. So, in the spirit of the genre I decided to purchase a lesser known work by John Corey Whaley who fairly recently came out with his debut novel Where Things Come Back. My process for purchasing said work was solely based on the cover and a brief reading of the inside flap. There was something about it that had an inviting and benevolent feel to it. And although it had piles of interesting and page turning material to work with, it utterly failed.

It's the story of Cullen Witter who lives in the godforsaken town of Lily, Arkansas where there is nothing to do and is described as a place that you would move to a short time before you die. It's the archetypal dull town of the south that most young adult fiction novels take place (such as When Zachary Beaver Came to Town) and the kids are forced to cope with the drudgery of life. The thing is, there is a lot happening in Lily ever since a massive woodpecker, known as the Lazarus woodpecker, was reportedly sighted in the backwoods of the town and not to mention that Cullen's younger brother, Gabriel, has gone missing. With the combination of these two events the reader should be pumped to dive into the story, but what they soon find is that they are wading into an ankle high pool of terrible writing and underdeveloped plot lines. It was like buying Gushers only to find that all the goo on the inside had been sucked completely dry.
 
Whaley tells the story in an interesting way where the chapters alternate between the first-person point of view with Cullen and the third-person point of view of a parallel story line that starts with a missionary boy named Benton Sage. To be completely honest, I was more interesting in the third-person point of view story than I was with anything Cullen had to say. Cullen's story line was too flat and repetitive. He is a seventeen-year-old boy who somehow gets laid twice in the book, but he himself claims to be awkward and no ladies man. Also, Whaley decides to start about 90 percent of Cullen's paragraphs with the phrase "When one is..." in order to escape the limited first-person point of view. Look, if you're going to tell a story from a certain point of view, at least stay true to its nature and don't try and find cheap ways to get around it so you can fill your reader in on other characters' traits or behaviors that you forgot to mention earlier in the story.

The writing was horrifyingly awful during the parts that Cullen was telling the story. Actually, I found myself skipping some of Cullen's sections in order to read more of the parallel story that was going on, not because it was written any better, but because it was actually interesting. Here is how I can sum up Cullen's parts for you: "My name is Cullen, not to be mistaken for Edward Cullen, and I'm sad because I had a great relationship with my younger brother that actually wasn't developed much in the story and you should be sad with me. Also, I'm kind of a dick to my best friend who tries to help me through the loss of my brother, but I would rather just hook up with two random girls who play no significant part to the story." You can now skip those parts.

Okay, so I might be laying into Whaley's debut book a little too much and must give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he hasn't been in the game of authorship long enough to know the "do's" and "don'ts" of young adult fiction. Yet, Mark Twain once wrote, "Show, don't tell" and apparently Whaley skipped that eighth grade English class. He left nothing up to the imagination or for the reader to figure out because when he would mention or allude to something that could allow the reader to develop his own thoughts, he would immediately explain what he meant in the next sentence or paragraph. You're not stretched in this novel because the author won't allow you to think outside of the world of his story.

One final note on the work was that Whaley had a tendency to fail with description or just word choice in general. At many times when characters would be speaking, Whaley would revert to the "hyphen tactic" as I like to call it. Here's an example: "'What happened?' I asked in that I-hope-it's-okay-if-I-talk-right-now kind of way." Oh really? As opposed to what other kind of way when you ask a question? Were you speaking in the way where you hope you don't talk about the question you just asked? Another case is when Cullen's best friend Lucas is trying to get him to run a race and is being insistent on the subject. Cullen describes Lucas' look as that "waiting-for-me-to-give-in-to-his-odd-request-and-just-go-with-the-flow sort of look on his face." Thank you John, I wouldn't have been able to guess the look on an insistent person's face unless you would have hyphenated sixteen words together. Believe it or not, this is a common occurrence.

Overall, this novel just didn't have any gusto. The message was lost in the stagnant and flat writing of Whaley. It was sad when I finished the work, not because of the ending (which, actually was one of the strongest parts), but because there was so much material to work with, but never developed. I think Cullen actually summed up this novel perfectly when he said that "all I felt like doing was fading into the background." And the background is where this work shall fade.

-- Zach

Looking for Alaska

Welcome back lovers and faithful bloggers. I apologize for the extended reprieve we recently took, but with college coming to a close and job searching in full swing, it has been difficult to get online and tell you about all the wonderful things we have been reading here at Whiskey Before Breakfast. To save you from any further excuses or apologies we may have let's just dive in to the review you all have been on the edge of your seats for.

Teen fiction is a genre of books that I find myself enamored with more than any other genre. I wouldn't go as far as to say it's a "guilty pleasure" of mine, but just a fascination. Yet, as I dig deeper and deeper into this genre, I'm beginning to discover there is more breadth than depth in both content and topics, more substance than sustenance. In an age where teen books seem to thrive on pathetically written series and one word titles such as "Desire", "Crossed", "Blamed", or "Twilight", it really is like finding a diamond in the rough when one actually captivates you. The diamond I recently discovered was John Green's Looking for Alaska.

Before giving you my review I want to briefly paint you a picture of Green and I's relationship. No, I've never met the man, but my first impressions of him formed from merely seeing his name in the Teen Fiction aisle of my local book store. Since I am one to hold The Perks of Being a Wallflower as one of the few groundbreaking, life-changing novels of this generation, I am always quick to dismiss anything or anyone that attempts to come close to it. When I saw that Green had four books already published and a couple of awards under his belt, my first thought was, "fraud". Of course, I had absolutely no evidence to support such a claim, but I thoroughly convinced myself in those four seconds that this man was not a writer, but merely taking advantage of the wave of teen fiction novels that seem to have flooded our shelves. I was also convinced that this man was probably friends with Stephenie Myers. Two months later, I purchased his work Looking for Alaska more out of the inclination to prove a point than to actually read something worthwhile. I was very wrong.

Looking for Alaska is a raw novel about a boy named Miles "Pudge" Halter who enrolls in the Culver Creek Preparatory High School in Alabama after leaving his public school in Florida. He is a tall, lanky glass of water with an overwhelming fascination for famous last words. It is through this "hobby" that he stumbled upon Francois Rabelais's last words -- "I go to seek a Great Perhaps" -- and considers this transfer his time for seeking. At Culver, Pudge meets an estranged and cigarette addicted cast of characters who become his closest and best friends. More importantly, he meets Alaska Young. If there was one thing that I took away from Alaska, aside from her self-destructive ways and unpredictable mood swings, was this: curves. Green's understanding of language and craft pleasantly surprised me and I soon found myself captivated and enthralled by the story that unfolded. The work follows Pudge and his friends as they battle and prank both the Weekday Warriors (the rich students that leave on weekends to be with their rich families) as well as the Eagle (the Dean of Students). Through all of this, Pudge confronts something more than love or friendship or loyalty, but comes face to face with the question of: "What is the labyrinth?". It is a question that Alaska poses to Pudge when discussing their favorite books/last words and is a running theme throughout the work (and one all the kids struggle to answer). Three days after I had the book in my hands I finished it.

Some critics and reviews have mentioned this work in the spirit of Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye and I have to forcefully disagree. I saw no similarities between the two aside from some deviant behavior and a fair amount of swearing. Pudge is far more innocent and retrospective than Holden. In all honesty, he compares more to Charlie from Perks than Holden. But, I can agree on the fact that this book rivals that of most revered teen fiction novels this day an age and should be read if nothing more than to suck a little more marrow out of the bones of life. This novel doesn't surround itself with themes of forbidden love or werewolves or zombies, but begs the question of "what is the labyrinth" and asks the reader to do the same.

-- Zach

The Life of Pi

As school continues to slowly progress through its monotony like a river filled with molasses, I found time to ponder the human existence. It was an experience that started back in January (or was it December? I can't remember) and has led me on a fruitful journey up until this past week. Of course, such an experience could only come from a book, for I know of no other medium that could examine such an issue so in depthly and prolifically. That book is Yann Martel's, The Life of Pi.

First off, I know that Hollywood has stolen this great work and has attempted to string some lights and flashy special effects to it in hopes of making it more appealing. To that, my literary heart breaks because the novel itself is far more appealing and beautiful than anything Hollywood can shop together in their studios. This may just be the purest in me (actually, it is), but The Life of Pi is a stunning work that gently draws the reader into a young boy's life and then refuses to release its grasp until the very end.

At its essence, the story is about the life of Piscine Molitor Patel, an Indian boy from Pondicherry where his father owns a zoo. When his family decides to move to Canada, they set out on a voyage that ends in a horrific and unexplained sinking of the ship, leaving Pi stranded on a lifeboat with only one other companion: a full grown Bengal Tiger. From the opening pages of the novel, the reader gets a sense that Pi is a boy who's thoughts consume him more than anything else. He often makes deep spiritual connections with the zoo animals his father has and the world and ideologies around him. It must be stated now because it's practically unavoidable, but this novel will force you to think (and to think critically at that). At one of the more amusing parts of the novel, Pi becomes a Christian, Hindu, and Muslim all at the same time due to his curiosity of each religion. He doesn't understand the contradiction that these three pose to each other, but rather, views them as all parts of a unified God.

 If anything, this work is intending to explore the existence of God and the multifarious religions and worldviews that saturate this world. Pi attempts to synthesize these parts into something he can understand which is what makes the novel so fascinating. He isn't a boy searching for one Utopian religion or something to unify the world, but just trying to figure out his own life.

It's interesting that I chose two works to read that so closely compliment, yet contradict, each other. I'm of course referring to Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, where the novella seems to be a very nihilistic and naturalistic look at life. The Old Man who plays the protagonist in Hemingway's work, views the events occurring around him as "just happening", because the universe is indifferent to man and on the whole, cares not for his existence. As for Pi and his boat, there is a reason and harmony to why he is in his situation. He looks for a God and tries to understand Him. It's a journey that reflects our own lives so clearly that the reader can't help but see a small part of him in Pi.

There is far more to the work than just spirituality if that's what the reader's tentative of. Though the philosophy is one that is filled with spiritual notions, there are plenty of other characters and moments that examine other outlooks on life. There is something in this novel for everyone from the apathetic Christian to the devout Atheist, and is still worth investing in.

-- Zach

The Yellow Wallpaper

Avid readers and faithful fans, I would like to welcome you all back to another episode of Whiskey Before Breakfast. I do apologize for the delay, but with the start of a new semester many events and outings have been brought to the table thus, sucking away any time to write for this blog. Luckily I am taking an American Literature class so if my laziness proves to be a hindrance on my outside reading, then at least this class will force me to have some content. I would like to thank you all again for being such great fans and lovers of books for without you, Spence and I are nothing more than semi-established authors.

Since I mentioned American Literature in the previous paragraph I find it somewhat fitting to review a story from that class. This short story is fresh in my mind and still haunts me in the late hours of the night. American author, Charlotte Perkins Gilman published The Yellow Wallpaper in 1892 and ever since, set the feminist discussion into motion. Now, before you disregard this work as propaganda for women's rights, let me say that this story is chilling. It revolves around a compilation of journal entries written by an unknown woman who is locked away in her bedroom due to a severe nervous depression or "hysteria". The woman's husband, along with her physician, believe that the lack of interactions with people and the absence of intellectual stimulation will eventually cure her. Of course, they are unaware of her journal writings. As the story progresses the reader begins to see the slow dip into insanity that this woman is taking as her entries become more fantastical and all the more horrifying.

If Poe had a female voice this would be it. If Stephen King was born at the turn of the century this would be his story. I say this because there are many elements of the psycho-deterioration of one's mind where Poe and King find the most horrific stories to thrive. I found myself remembering Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart  and kept expecting this woman to hear heart beats and begin tearing up floor boards. In fact, there are some instances of her insanity manifesting themselves in the room and around the house. Throughout the story the woman refers to the wallpaper around her room to be disgusting and oblique. This drives her up the wall (pun intended) to the point where she spends hours a day just staring at the paper, trying to understand its pattern. Again, as her sanity begins to fade, she starts to believe that a woman lives behind the wallpaper and at night she wanders around the room in the moonlight.

The ending to the story is as eerie as you would expect. Yet, at the same time, there is a fairly strong feminist message in all of this, as I mentioned earlier. At the time, physicians and experts hadn't fully understood postpartum depression so they believed that women who suffered from it shouldn't be allowed to stimulate their intellect or any part of their brain for that matter. That, of course, escalated the situation and Gilman attempts to expose that truth by alluding to her own struggles with depression in this story. By rebelling and writing in a journal, the woman in The Yellow Wallpaper is attempting to save the little sanity that she has left.

Reading classic American Literature will never hurt anyone and to be honest, it has far more substance that most of the trash that makes it to the shelves these days (I'm looking at you Hunger Games). Educate yourself and pick up The Yellow Wallpaper today.

-- Zach

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Hello friends and lovers,

It's 2013, and the world is still here.  I hope your New Year's resolutions include a great reading list.  As always, if you want to recommend books to us, or if you want recommendations for books from us, don't be shy.  After all, Whiskey Before Breakfast is dangerous by yourself, but it's a lot of fun with friends. 

Jonathan Safran Foer wrote Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in 2005.  You may have heard of this novel, or the film based on the novel, which was released in 2011.  I have not seen it, but I have watched the trailer on YouTube.  You should, too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_quK9SEGYE.

Extremely Loud follows nine year-old Oskar Schell as he struggles to understand the world after his father dies in the World Trade Center during the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001.  Oskar feels a sense of personal responsibility for the death of his father.  He works through his feelings of guilt, anger, and sadness as he searches New York City to find the owner of a key that he discovers in his father's closet.  As he meets and interacts with various strangers, he learns more about his father, as well as himself. 

The narrative is primarily told through the young but brilliant Oskar, in his distinctive stream-of-consciousness style. His imaginative narration is woven together with several of his own notes and photographs, as well as a series of letters written by his grandparents.  They tell their own life stories, filled with sadness, pain and loss, as well as profound advice for living and loving. 

Side note: Oskar's grandparents write extensively about the World War II bombing of Dresden, Germany--an event which they both survived.  You may be familiar with the Dresden bombing, particularly if you have read Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut.  Foer draws a fascinating parallel between the senseless destruction of Dresden and the tragedy of September 11th.  Oskar's close relationship with his grandmother becomes more powerful and meaningful as you begin to understand their shared pain and similar circumstances.  End note. 

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close may be the most emotional novel I've ever read.  There are long chapters of heart-wrenching despair and grief, yet the narrative is punctuated with stunningly beautiful moments of triumph and love.  Because Oskar is so young, his feelings have a certain undiluted potency; he describes everything as "extremely" this or "incredibly" that (hence the title).  Oskar is so fascinating because he speaks and thinks with a sense of clarity and rationality far beyond his years, but he feels emotion with the raw intensity of a child.  He's painfully real, too. 

The novel itself is fairly long (300+ pages) and somewhat daunting.  This book is not written in a clean, linear format.  It tends to be run-on, jumbled, and even chaotic.  But that's the beauty of it!  Emotions are messy!    The human experience is extremely cruel and incredibly painful.  Oskar desperately wants to rationalize the horrific tragedy that took his father's life, but he slowly learns the fundamental truth: we do not enjoy life because we understand it; we enjoy life precisely because we don't understand it.  Each moment is too precious to be spent in bitterness or selfishness.

As Achilles (Brad Pitt) famously said in Troy: "The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now.  We will never be here again."

You really should read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.  I hope I've convinced you, at least a little bit.  Oskar is one of the most emotionally honest protagonists I've ever encountered.  This novel will remind you of what it is to be a child, and that essentially each one of us is a child, looking for his or her reflection in a mud puddle. 

--Spence

P.S.  This novel has an extraordinarily well-developed sense of place.  A true New Yorker might appreciate this story a little more than the rest of us.  Oskar's sadness is compounded by the fact that his father died in the city he loved.