"Gary the Four-Eyed Fairy and Other Stories" by Frank Mundo

BOOK TITLE: Gary the Four-Eyed Fairy and Other Stories
AUTHOR: Frank Mundo
YEAR: 2011
GENRE: Fictional Short Stories
SUBGENRE: Contemporary
GRADE: Mixed

Let’s talk for a minute about the writing style of this book. It is easy to digest, which means reading sessions will generally last longer for audience members who tire too quickly. However, there are times when the style is a little TOO easy to digest. If we’re talking actual digestion, I was hoping for the middle ground between tough dry meat and a breath strip. Unfortunately, I got the breath strip end of the spectrum. There are times where he tells instead of shows (especially in the opening story). There are fight scenes and other dramatic moments that go by too soon. Some of the language sounds like it’s objectifying women. And then we have the repetition. In case you didn’t know it, the little girl in the first story smells like bologna. Don’t believe me? The author will tell you a gazillion times. This could be a literary technique I’m not privy to, but Frank Mundo does this throughout the entire book and it’s more noticeable than Gary’s bruises in one of the later stories. Because of these elements in the writing style, stories that were supposed to be emotionally impactful came across dryly.

Awkward writing style aside, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t pick out favorites when it comes to entries in this collection. The second story, Remorse, has two different narratives going on at the same time and they’re both tragic in the way they end. One narrative is about a college student falsely accused of rape and the other is about a sickly grandmother who wants JT (the main character) to kill her and put her out of her misery. Remorse was painful to read about and I mean that in the good way. I consider it one of the best stories in this entire collection. But it’s not without its glaring problems, namely the way Frank Mundo handles the subject of rape accusations and the intricacies of consent. In his mind, if someone gets drunk on beer and has sex afterwards, all bets are off and there is no case. Not the most sensitive way to handle such a topic. While false rape accusations do happen (albeit rarely), it does make me wonder how Frank Mundo views women and it worries me. He even refers to the accuser by a particular below the belt body part. The story still hit me where it hurts given how both narrative threads ended, but still, it can also rub people the wrong way in a negative light.

A Friend in Need, on the other hand, was appropriately handled. It’s a story about a college kid trying to write a letter to the parents of his deceased roommate. What’s the catch? The deceased roommate, Walter Garcia, has a drawer full of child pornography. The main character has to carefully word his letter so that he doesn’t offend the parents while also not masking his own disgust with Walter. And because he’s writing the letter on an old-fashioned typewriter, he keeps throwing away the pages whenever he makes a mistake or hates his writing in general. This story is one example where the simplistic writing style doesn’t hamper the emotional impact of it all. Frank Mundo can get away with it this time around. Not all the time, but this time around. The simplistic style allows for a speedy narrative and that’s the kind of pace you want when talking about a guy who’s struggling with his racing thoughts. This story is another one of my favorites from the collection.

There are times when it’s hard to enjoy this book, but enjoy it I did. Throughout my reading journey, I kept asking myself what kind of grade I would give it. Would I fail it because of the haphazard writing style? Would I pass it based on the content alone? After wrestling with myself in a mat classic, I settled on three stars out of five. Not the worst, not the best. It’s simply just there. Having given this book a mixed grade, would I recommend it to other readers? I guess it depends on the reader in question. In general, though? That’s going to require some more self-wrestling.

Song of Myself

***SONG OF MYSELF***

This past Monday night, instead of watching WWE Raw, I went to the Showbox SoDo in Seattle to listen to the epic music of Nightwish along with their opening acts Sonata Arctica and Delain. It was a fun and exciting night, one that I will cherish as much as when I saw them in 2008 at the same venue, if not more so. Nightwish was one of the many bands that got me through a lonely life at college from 2007 to 2009. To repay them for their awesomeness, I will do another lyric journal, but with their namesake. “Song of Myself” was released on their 2011 album Imaginarium, the final CD to feature second lead singer Anette Olzon. While I don’t know if her departure was on sour terms, I do miss her a lot, but that’s not to take anything away from Floor Jansen, who’s just as awesome as her first two predecessors. But no matter who the lead singer is, she’ll have Tuomas Holopainen’s genius lyrics to guide her through every song. Let’s get busy!


The nightingale is still locked in the cage
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys

A song of me song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me verse in need
Of a pure-heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

All that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end
What is left for encore
Is the same old dead boy's song
Sung in silence
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

A midnight flight into Covington Woods
A princess and a panther by my side
These are Territories I live for
I'd still give mt everything to love you more

A silent symphony
A hollow opus #1, 2,3

Sometimes the sky is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

Resting pipes, verse of bore
Rusting keys without a door

Sometimes the within is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand.
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.
I do, but walk by.

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic
It's half-light and he's in tears.
When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.
All pride has left his wild eyes.
I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.
She's never loved him more.

An obese girl enters an elevator with me.
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.
Terribly sweet perfume deafens me.
She's going to dinner alone.
That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall.
A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.
A city that worships flesh.

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering
man telling his story
It was you, the grass under my bare feet
The campfire in the dead of night
The heavenly black of sky and sea

It was us
Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn
Bathing in places no-one's seen before
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature
In early air of the dawn of life
A sight to silence the heavens

I want to travel where life travels,
following its permanent lead
Where the air tastes like snow music
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture
I would bathe in a world of sensation
Love, goodness and simplicity
(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment
I used to experience true love
That love remains infinite,
as I'll never be the man my father is

How can you "just be yourself"
when you don't know who you are?
Stop saying "I know how you feel"
How could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar,
whore, politician, wrongdoer?
I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"
- a child asked me
"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then
I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war
Nothing noble in dying for your religion
For your country
For ideology, for faith
For another man, yes

Paper is dead without words
Ink idle without a poem
All the world dead without stories
Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?
All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?
Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder
If man will never change

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am
Is smoke and mirrors
Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change from G to Em


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Although I posted “Medicine Man” online yesterday, that wasn’t the one that will go into this week’s contest. I have different plans for the “paper hearts” prompt. It’s called “Ninja” and is named after a Skindred song, much like “Medicine Man” is named after a Pantera song. Here’s the synopsis to “Ninja”:

CHARACTERS:

DJ Rouge, African Assassin
Andrew Bradley, English Mercenary

PROMPT CONFORMITY: DJ leaves behind paper hearts as his calling card.

SYNOPSIS: Andrew is assigned by Babylon Bank to raid an African diamond mine in an attempt to bring them a priceless rock known as the Ninja’s Ruby. When he gets there, armed with an AK-47 and a belt of grenades, he begins slaying mine workers and rebel soldiers left and right with no absence of malice. The actual rock he’s looking for isn’t in the mine itself, but in the eye socket of a sword-slinging vigilante named DJ Rouge, who also came to the diamond mine, but to free the slaves instead of kill them. DJ and Andrew engage in a heated battle over the gem and the former’s quickness and stealth earns him the nickname “African Ninja” from his opponent.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the barbecue rack is Courtney Robyn, the psycho-bitch serial killer from “Mastodon”. Is it strange to say that this murderer is scarier to be around than a raging version of the eponymous animal in question? Shit, I’d rather get stepped on by a wild beast than get stabbed in the chest by Courtney Robyn.


***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

KEVIN OWENS: What happened to the guy with the weird hair and the glasses?

MICHAEL COLE: Mauro Ranallo is ill this week.

KEVIN OWENS: Yeah, he probably got sick from listening to your commentary.

MICHAEL COLE: That’s nice.

"Warm Bodies" by Isaac Marion

BOOK TITLE: Warm Bodies
AUTHOR: Isaac Marion
YEAR: 2011
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Zombie Romance
GRADE: Pass


Being a zombie is an endless cycle: eat flesh, fall down, wander around mindlessly, repeat. In the midst of the apocalypse, zombies are regarded as the enemy while the living are automatically revered as heroes. Little do these living humans know that zombies have their own thought processes and emotions as evidenced by those of R, the narrator of this story. As a zombie, R has no idea what the hell he’s doing half of the time nor does he have any recollection of his former life. His life regains purpose when he rescues a beautiful salvager named Julie and the two of them form an awkward, yet important relationship with one another. The more time R spends around Julie, the more human he becomes in his thoughts and emotions.

The first thing I’d like to applaud Mr. Marion on is the sheer creativity it took to write such a novel. The words zombie and romance don’t normally go together so easily, yet the author made them fit perfectly. R is a sympathetic character despite being a dingy zombie and Julie is the perfect friend for him since she doesn’t concentrate on any of his obvious flaws. Even though R only speaks a few syllables at a time, he makes more sense than most of the military officials who want to shoot zombies left and right without second thought. You know the apocalypse is on its way when a budding relationship between a zombie and a human seems more natural than going with their own kind. Breaking down barriers is the first step in healing this screwed up world. Love of all kinds will save us in the end, both in this novel and in the real world.

The second thing Isaac Marion deserves praise for is his system of rules regarding zombie behavior. They have no memory of their past lives, they walk around with a gimp, the only food they care about is human flesh (even though its tasteless and bland), they only speak a few syllables at a time, and their thoughts (though they do exist) are as limited as their speech. The author sticks to these rules all throughout the book and any surprises we do get come naturally instead of being forced. As an author, it’s good to have a set of rules your creatures can live by. Otherwise, the reader will assume the creatures can do whatever the hell they want without limits and can basically end the story anytime. If it wasn’t for the strict set of rules, we’d have flying zombies who could shoot lasers and fart lightning for all we know.

The final thing I have to touch on is the way this story is written. Because of the poetic and descriptive nature of R’s thought processes, the pacing is slightly taken down a few notches. But thanks to the present tense storytelling, it doesn’t have to be that way all throughout the book. When you’re reading “Warm Bodies”, you’re thrust into the moment and you can never leave until the author says you can. That is what I call true storytelling: showing the readers why R is a likeable person instead of shoving it down their throats. Trust me, you’re going to have enough problems with your throats after reading the painful descriptions of how necks and chests are eaten with such brutal violence. Yes, this book is romantic on so many levels, but let’s not get complacent when it comes to the fact that zombies are zombies and they crave human flesh and organs.

It should come as no surprise that this novel was made into a movie. The descriptions are picturesque and the youth of it all makes R and Julie into perfect movie stars. I don’t visit Rotten Tomatoes that often, so I wouldn’t know how well the movie has done in theaters. The book, on the other hand, no question about it: Isaac Marion is an A+ student of the literary game and he gets a passing grade for it.