Ronald Reagan, My Father - Softcover

Davis, Brian Joseph

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1550229176 ISBN 13: 9781550229172

Verlag: ECW PR, 2010

Inhaltsangabe

“An elegant, wise-ass rush of truth, hiding riotous social commentary in slanderous jokes … It almost feels like he’s leading a palace coup.” — Spin Magazine on Portable Altamont“Davis’ brilliant media deconstructions are pointed and hilarious at the same time.” — Kenneth Goldsmith“The book of your fever dreams.” — Slate on I, TaniaThe elderly take to the streets at night for illegal and cathartic electric scooter racing. (Think Two-Lane Blacktop but starring Abe Vigoda and Estelle Getty.)A copy editor suffers brain damage from West Nile virus and is suddenly filled with cannibalistic violence and award-winning minimalist poetry. (It’s a little like Awakenings, but directed by David Cronenberg.)Mayor McCheese visits a sexually repressed British couple in the early 1970s and touches their lives forever. (Okay, try this: Pasolini’s Teorema but with Mayor McCheese.)A Texas doctor transplants the mind of a meth-addicted convict into the body of a suburban web developer, resulting in America’s first “death-penalty case that turned into a custody case that turned into a right-to-die case.” (It’s like a hole drilled in your head and five HBO original movies poured in all at once.)Startlingly original but anchored by vivid characters, Ronald Reagan, My Father weaves all these ideas, and more, into a bleakly hilarious vision that’s both human and uncanny — as if Raymond Carver was marooned on Mars with ten hours to live.

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Brian Joseph Davis is an artist and the author of Portable Altamont and I, Tania, as well as the cofounder of Joyland.ca. He has written for Eye Weekly, the Globe and Mail, and Utne. He lives in Toronto, Ontario.

Brian Joseph Davis is an artist and the author of Portable Altamont and I, Tania, as well as the co-founder of Joyland.ca, which the CBC called “the go-to spot for readers seeking the best in short fiction.” Davis has written for the Globe and Mail, Utne, and Eye Weekly. He lives in Toronto.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Ronald Reagan, My Father

By Brian Joseph Davis, Michael Holmes

ECW PRESS

Copyright © 2010 Brian Joseph Davis
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-55022-917-2

CHAPTER 1

The Unicorns, Part One

MOST DAYS YOU WOULD HAVE ALREADY CHECKED THE CARGO DOOR WITH A WEAK TUG, HIT THE LIGHT SWITCH AND WATCHED THE OVERHEAD FLUORESCENTS STUTTER OUT. YOU WOULD HAVE TAKEN PRINTOUTS OF THE DAY'S LAST ORDERS, PUT THEM ON TOP OF A BLACK TRAY, GRABBED YOUR WINDBREAKER, AND LEFT THE LIGHT INDUSTRIAL PARK THAT YOU'VE WORKED IN SINCE YOU WERE A TEENAGER.

BUT TONIGHT, LONG AFTER QUITTING TIME, YOU SAT, DIGGING YOUR NAILS INTO YOUR FATHER'S OLD OAK DESK. YOU WERE A PRINT-ON-DEMAND PUBLISHER AND YOU WERE BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY THE HUSBAND AND WIFE TEAM RESPONSIBLE FOR THE 872-PAGE Index of Equine Characters in Fantasy Fiction. IT HAD NOT RECEIVED A SINGLE ORDER, AND ITS AUTHORS WERE UPSET AND ARMED.

THE COUPLE HAD SIMILAR FEATURES: COMPETING JOWLS AND ODDLY CHOPPED CURLY HAIR THAT WANTED TO ESCAPE WHAT IT WAS ATTACHED TO. AT SOME POINT IN HIS LIFE THE MAN HAD CHOSEN TO WEAR CARGO SHORTS, A JOKER TSHIRT, AND NOTHING ELSE. THE WOMAN LAYERED MISMATCHED JOGGING APPAREL WITH A JEAN JACKET COVERED IN BEDAZZLER UNICORNS. YOUR BUSINESS WAS DESIGNED SO THAT YOU WOULD NEVER HAVE TO MEET THESE PEOPLE—A BOOK IS SUBMITTED, AND FOR A FEE IT IS LAID OUT. EDITING IS EXTRA. IT GETS STORED ON A COMPUTER UNTIL SOMEONE ORDERS A COPY. YOU INHERITED THE BUSINESS FROM YOUR FATHER. WELL, NOT QUITE.

HE STARTED IT AS A SONG POEM RECORD COMPANY. CUSTOMERS WOULD SEND IN THEIR LYRICS AFTER FINDING AN AD IN THE BACK OF TABLOIDS OR MUSIC MAGAZINES THAT PROMISED TO Set Your Poems To Music. Songwriters Make Thousands of Dollars. Free Evaluation. YOUR FATHER WOULD PERFORM THE LYRICS, NO MATTER WHAT THEY WERE, TO EITHER A THIN POP WALTZ OR A MILD COUNTRY STOMP AND SEND BACK A BADLY PRESSED 7-inch. Though at home he kept copies of the more ribald or peculiar ones—attempts at novelty songs about the Academy Awards streaker of 1974, OR JINGLES ABOUT Deep Throat—AND PLAYED THEM FOR FRIENDS DOUBLED OVER IN LAUGHTER AFTER SEVERAL MAKER'S MARKS, YOUR FATHER TAUGHT YOU NOT TO PUT YOURSELF ABOVE THE CUSTOMER. "BE AT LEAST A LITTLE BIT BESIDE THE CUSTOMER," HE SAID. "IT HELPS."

YOU MOVED INTO THE SHOP SLOWLY, WITH YOUR NEW IDEAS AND PHOTOCOPIERS. AS CUSTOMERS BOUGHT COMPUTERS AND REALIZED THEIR TERRIBLE DESIRES IN PRIVATE, YOUR FATHER'S ORDERS SHRANK TO A TRICKLE. BUT YOU OFFERED SOMETHING DIFFERENT, A HEFTIER OBJECT THAT WAS THE END RESULT OF PEOPLE BUYING COMPUTERS, AND THE ORDERS FOR BOOKS INCREASED. THEN ONE DAY, WITHOUT TELLING HIM, YOU SOLD THE 7-INCH PRESS AND THE LATHE CUTTER TO A SMALL RECORD COMPANY. THE NEW OWNERS—TOO YOUNG FOR THEIR BEARDS—HIGH-FIVED AFTER THEY LOADED THE GREASY CONTRAPTIONS INTO A BATTERED WHITE VAN. LATER, YOUR FATHER STARED, CONFUSED, AT THE EMPTY SPOT WHERE THE WALL PAINT LAYERS ENDED IN THE SHAPE OF THE OLD MACHINES. HE STOPPED COMING IN.

IT WAS YOUR BUSINESS NOW, AND FACELESS SENIOR CITIZEN MEMOIRISTS PAID YOUR LEASE. THERE WERE VARIATIONS IN ROUTINE. YOU ONCE PUBLISHED A CHILDREN'S BOOK TITLED Mommy, Please Don't Wash Your Hands Again BY A HOUSEWIFE FROM TOLEDO. SHE HAD SENT THE ORDER THREE TIMES.

THIS MAN AND WOMAN WERE THE FIRST AUTHORS YOU HAD EVER MET, AND YOU WERE SURPRISED BY HOW MUCH THEY LOOKED LIKE THE CUSTOMERS IN YOUR HEAD, THE ONES YOU THOUGHT ABOUT AS YOU RELOADED TONER INTO THE PHOTOCOPIER ON WAN MORNINGS. YOUR FATHER WAS A MUSICIAN, BUT YOU HAD NEVER BEEN A WRITER, AND YOU FELT YOU LACKED AN UNDERSTANDING OF THESE PEOPLE THAT HE NATURALLY HAD.

YOU TRIED TO REASON, HANDS WAVING IN THE AIR, THAT THEY HAD CHECKED A WEB DIALOGUE BOX, INDICATING THEY UNDERSTOOD THAT YOU PRINTED BOOKS AND FACILITATED SALES AS A SERVICE PUBLISHER, BUT MARKETING WAS UP TO THEM. YOU WANTED TO BE BESIDE THESE PEOPLE, BUT INSTEAD THEY WERE IN FRONT OF YOU, RUINING YOUR TIGHT-AS-A-DUCK'S-ASS, WHOLLY DIGITAL BUSINESS WITH THEIR THREE-DIMENSIONAL REALNESS.

WHEN SHE TOOK OUT A GUN, YOU FINALLY UNDERSTOOD PEOPLE: THEY WILL KILL JUST TO BE HEARD, AS EASILY AS THEY WILL SPEND $39.95 TO BE PUBLISHED. YOU SAID, "TAKE WHATEVER YOU WANT. TAKE MY CAR KEYS."

THE MAN ASKED YOU, "HAVE YOU EVER WRITTEN SOMETHING? HAVE YOU EVER ACTUALLY WRITTEN SOMETHING?"

THE WOMAN SCREAMED, "CALL ME SHADOWFAX!"

THEY DEMANDED YOU PERFORM FOR THEM. "WRITE SOMETHING," HE IMPLORED, AS IF YOU HAD FORGOTTEN WHAT THEY WERE DEMANDING.

"CALL ME SHADOWFAX," SHE SAID AGAIN, WITH A SLIGHT NEIGH.

YOU HAD OFTEN THOUGHT OF STORIES WHILE PUTTING TOGETHER SHIPMENTS OR SOURCING NEW LASER STOCK, BUT YOU NEVER HAD THE TIME TO WRITE THEM DOWN.

NOW, HOW MUCH TIME YOU HAD LEFT WAS DEPENDENT ON HOW MANY STORIES YOU COULD WRITE. HANDS UP AND STEADY IN THE AIR, YOU ASKED IF THEY WANTED YOU TO SIT AT THE DESK. SHE WAVED YOU OVER TO YOUR CHAIR WITH THE GUN.

SO YOU WROTE AND BECAME, LIKE THEM, STRANGE.

CHAPTER 2

Ordinary People

PA NEVER WANTED TO HURT PEOPLE: NEITHER BEFORE HIS EXECUTION, AT THE HANDS OF THE STATE OF TEXAS, NOR AFTERWARDS, WHEN HE CAME TO BE THE FOCUS OF THE ONLY DEATH PENALTY CASE THAT TURNED INTO A CUSTODY CASE THAT—MY LAWYER RECKONS—HAS TURNED INTO A RIGHT-TO-DIE CASE.

THE MEDIA TAGGED PA AS "THE ABNORMAL BRAIN" IN THE WHOLE "REANIMATOR OF THE RIO GRANDE" STORY, AS IT CAME TO BE KNOWN, BUT THERE WAS A MAN BEHIND THAT BRAIN. I KNOW YOU EXPECT A DAUGHTER TO SAY SO, BUT IT WAS TRUE.

ACTUALLY, THERE WAS A HALF-DOZEN MEN BEHIND THAT BRAIN—OR, MORE SPECIFICALLY, PARTS OF THEM. BACK SOME TIME AGO, PA WAS ARRESTED AFTER HIS ARMED ROBBERY OF A PIGGLY WIGGLY DONE WENT WRONGER THAN WRONG CAN GET. TWO STOCKBOYS WERE SHOT AND KILLED; THEIR BLOOD SPRAYED ONTO JARS OF PICKLED HOTDOGS, I WAS TOLD.

MA AND ME HADN'T SEEN PA IN YEARS AT THE TIME OF THE ROBBERY. WE HEARD HE TWEAKED OUT ON METH AFTER GETTING LAID OFF FROM A TOOL AND DIE SHOP.

HE WAS NEVER THE SAME AFTER VIETNAM, MA RECALLED. UNTIL HE WAS DRAFTED, HE WAS AS GENTLE AS SWEETGRASS. AFTER HE SHIPPED HOME AND THEY HITCHED UP, HE STARTED BOOZING AND SHE BOOTED HIM OUT NOT LONG AFTER I CAME TO BE. IT HURT HER BAD, SHE SAID MANY TIMES, HAND ON HEART, BUT SHE MADE THE CHOICE FOR MY SAKE.

PA WENT TO TRIAL—AGAINST THE PUBLIC DEFENDER'S WISHES—PLEADING THE MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES OF HIS METHAMPHETAMINE ADDICTION. THE JUDGE REWARDED PA WITH THE DEATH PENALTY. WHEN MA AND I SAID GOODBYE TO HIM THE MORNING OF HIS EXECUTION HE SEEMED MORE TIRED THAN ANYTHING. "AIN'T THIS A HEAP A COWSHIT I ROLLED IN?" HE TOSSED OVER HIS SHOULDER AS THE WARDEN USHERED US OUT. THOSE WERE PA'S LAST WORDS TO ME. HIS FINAL LAST WORDS TO THOSE GATHERED, TRUTH BE TOLD, WERE "THIS GOVERNMENT CAN SUCK MY WEST TEXAS DICK. Y'ALL HEAR THAT?"

THAT WAS HIS WAY WITH WORDS. SO YOU CAN SEE WHY MA AND I WERE SURPRISED THAT PA BEQUEATHED HIS BODY TO MEDICAL RESEARCH. HE FIGURED THERE MIGHT BE SOMETHING TO GLEAN FROM LOOKING AT HIS TWEAKER'S BRAIN. "PROBABLY LOOK LIKE AN OL' DIRTY CARBURETOR WHEN THOSE DOCS PULL IT OUT OF MY SKULL."

WE MOURNED HIM AND MOVED ON, HEARING NOTHING UNTIL, WELL, UNTIL YOU DID. SEEMS THAT THE UNIVERSITY DOCTOR WHO TOOK PA'S BRAIN AWAY THAT NIGHT USED IT AS THE FINAL TOUCH FOR AN EXPERIMENT AS AUDACIOUS AS IT WAS UNHOLY. THIS DOC WENT AND MADE HIMSELF A PATCHWORK MONSTER MAN THAT HE THEN—THROUGH A PROCESS THE DOC TOOK WITH HIM TO THE GRAVE—GOT ALL ALIVE AND LIKE. THE INVESTIGATORS FIGURED THE DOC JUMPED IT WITH A CAR BATTERY, GIVEN THE ELECTRODES ON THE HEAD OF THE MONSTER. UPON WAKING FROM ETERNAL SLEEP, THIS MONSTER DESTROYED THE DOCTOR'S LAB, RIPPED THE...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: ECW PR
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2010
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1550229176
• ISBN 13: 9781550229172
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 137
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar