Jordan Farmer
Autor de Lighthouse Burning (Harlan Winter Book 1)
Obras de Jordan Farmer
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Lighthouse Burning (Harlan Winter) por Jordan Farmer
Strange. Not sure what the point of it is.
Lighthouse burning by Jordan farmer is a novel about the future in a small rural town. The writing is simple and direct setting the stage quickly for action. The beginning has an interesting character study of a man with a violent history. His family on the male side has a history of violence and they encouraged Harlan in his youth to fight aggressors. This past helps Harlan to survive in times of severe economic decline in the rural United
States.
Hard times produce groups of people determined to live by uniting individual forces. The novel focuses on the social structure of a semi religious group that takes drastic action for members to survive.
The basic premise of the group is that inspired art can become reality. Jordon develops this concept in a story of inspirational paintings that is reminiscent Haruki Murakami, especially in his novel, Killing Commendatore. Jordon uses Realistic fantasy with shades of Oscar Wilde’s The Portrait of Dorian Gray and Goethe’s Faust to engage the reader.
The novel becomes somewhat convoluted and the integration of art in social structure is lost and the writing is forced and limited. A “conjurers guide” is used to connect the motivations of the characters inside and out of the semi-religious group. Much gory violence in the name of fantasy ensues and my interest in the novel waned considerably.… (más)
States.
Hard times produce groups of people determined to live by uniting individual forces. The novel focuses on the social structure of a semi religious group that takes drastic action for members to survive.
The basic premise of the group is that inspired art can become reality. Jordon develops this concept in a story of inspirational paintings that is reminiscent Haruki Murakami, especially in his novel, Killing Commendatore. Jordon uses Realistic fantasy with shades of Oscar Wilde’s The Portrait of Dorian Gray and Goethe’s Faust to engage the reader.
The novel becomes somewhat convoluted and the integration of art in social structure is lost and the writing is forced and limited. A “conjurers guide” is used to connect the motivations of the characters inside and out of the semi-religious group. Much gory violence in the name of fantasy ensues and my interest in the novel waned considerably.… (más)
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM SKYHORSE PUBLISHING VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
Terry Blankenship is a stand-in for all the boys who grow up queer in homophobic places. He has a dead mother, a drunken abusive father, and a drug habit he steals to support. He's a complete dead-ender, and he knows it; he's not even trying to run anywhere except up into the hills where an abandoned hunting cabin hides him and his eighteen-year-old boyfriend, stoner Davey. Old Man Felts, once the town undertaker, gives Terry, in cash, about half what he's really earned at the end of every day that they try to fix up a badly decayed old house in Lynch, WV, where there's no opportunity and no hope:
So there he is; the way out closed to the likes of Terry a long time ago. He still has Davey, who was the proximate cause of Terry's dad throwing him out of the house after walking in on them, and Davey wants bright lights, big city, maybe Charleston, or Lexington? They need money, so they decide to enter Terry's dog in a dogfight.
This does not, I realize you'll be stunned to learn, go well.
What happens is, the two fools end up owing the local big baddie fifteen hundred dollars. This might as well be a million to these folks. There's no way they can pay it back, so the big baddie (after some murderous threats) tells dear, dim Terry he can work it off: Kill the local sheriff. Here's the gun. Go!
And we're off! Terry escapes the consequences of his crime by going to juvenile prison; there he meets Jason Felts, the sadly crippled (one assumes by in utero exposure to teratogenic substances in the embalming room) nephew of the ex-undertaker and a psychologist at the facility; the big baddie's baby brother; and his doom. Not that Jason doesn't do his goddamnedest to keep Terry from losing his short struggle for life. He does, because his own dreadful disability makes life in this horribly dying corpse-factory of a town such a struggle that he empathizes with its no-hopers.
What Terry cares about, in his time inside juvenile prison, is the dog he used and abandoned. He begs the facility doctor (cold and calloused by the endless parade of the state's wasted youth):
Then he begs Jason, all he wants is for Jason to deliver a letter to Davey, alone in their shared squat at the abandoned cabin, not knowing where Terry was, probably worried sick:
It's completely heartbreaking to me to read books like this, full of the desperation of tiny lives lived in the sweaty asscrack of capitalism, places abandoned because the profit's gone and why should the shareholders pay for crappy, useless people to exist? There's money at stake, fuck their health, their lives, their futures!
This is the burden of the refrain that ran through my head, a grinding sound as the people of Lynch watch the armored cars take the money as the scum run. It's the same the world over, of course; Jordan Farmer has stories to his credit in The Southwest Review, for one example, that explore these same conditions. Like Donald Ray Pollock, he's writing what he knows, or I miss my guess. He's an able talespinner, and he's an above-average writer. His subject is territory he can honestly say is in need of bards. That not one person gets out of this jail free is not his fault, it's simply the truth of the people in the place he writes about.
As the body count mounts, as the damage to the world the small people in here care about grows catastrophic, Jason Felts stands for the Right and the Good. He's lacking in inches, he's been badly served in body by Life, but he does the jobs that no one else wants to do. He ends one long nightmare. It doesn't cost him his life, just his spirit: Rooted forever in Lynch, he's doomed to find his one happy moment far, far away.
It is exactly the right ending.… (más)
Terry Blankenship is a stand-in for all the boys who grow up queer in homophobic places. He has a dead mother, a drunken abusive father, and a drug habit he steals to support. He's a complete dead-ender, and he knows it; he's not even trying to run anywhere except up into the hills where an abandoned hunting cabin hides him and his eighteen-year-old boyfriend, stoner Davey. Old Man Felts, once the town undertaker, gives Terry, in cash, about half what he's really earned at the end of every day that they try to fix up a badly decayed old house in Lynch, WV, where there's no opportunity and no hope:
Even at sixteen, Terry was no stranger to labor and didn't mind the work, but this place felt like a lost cause to him.
–and–
Staying closeted created a certain pain, but it was still an option in a place where being yourself meant risking your life.
So there he is; the way out closed to the likes of Terry a long time ago. He still has Davey, who was the proximate cause of Terry's dad throwing him out of the house after walking in on them, and Davey wants bright lights, big city, maybe Charleston, or Lexington? They need money, so they decide to enter Terry's dog in a dogfight.
This does not, I realize you'll be stunned to learn, go well.
What happens is, the two fools end up owing the local big baddie fifteen hundred dollars. This might as well be a million to these folks. There's no way they can pay it back, so the big baddie (after some murderous threats) tells dear, dim Terry he can work it off: Kill the local sheriff. Here's the gun. Go!
And we're off! Terry escapes the consequences of his crime by going to juvenile prison; there he meets Jason Felts, the sadly crippled (one assumes by in utero exposure to teratogenic substances in the embalming room) nephew of the ex-undertaker and a psychologist at the facility; the big baddie's baby brother; and his doom. Not that Jason doesn't do his goddamnedest to keep Terry from losing his short struggle for life. He does, because his own dreadful disability makes life in this horribly dying corpse-factory of a town such a struggle that he empathizes with its no-hopers.
What Terry cares about, in his time inside juvenile prison, is the dog he used and abandoned. He begs the facility doctor (cold and calloused by the endless parade of the state's wasted youth):
"I need somebody to go by the house and see about my dog," Terry said.
"Not my concern," the doctor said and adjusted his stethoscope.
Then he begs Jason, all he wants is for Jason to deliver a letter to Davey, alone in their shared squat at the abandoned cabin, not knowing where Terry was, probably worried sick:
{Jason} kept thinking about {Terry's} small handwriting, the elegant loop in the cursive P of please. It was capitalized, a single word followed by the dark blot of a period. Words were such fragile, imprecise things, but that please explained everything.
It's completely heartbreaking to me to read books like this, full of the desperation of tiny lives lived in the sweaty asscrack of capitalism, places abandoned because the profit's gone and why should the shareholders pay for crappy, useless people to exist? There's money at stake, fuck their health, their lives, their futures!
This is the burden of the refrain that ran through my head, a grinding sound as the people of Lynch watch the armored cars take the money as the scum run. It's the same the world over, of course; Jordan Farmer has stories to his credit in The Southwest Review, for one example, that explore these same conditions. Like Donald Ray Pollock, he's writing what he knows, or I miss my guess. He's an able talespinner, and he's an above-average writer. His subject is territory he can honestly say is in need of bards. That not one person gets out of this jail free is not his fault, it's simply the truth of the people in the place he writes about.
As the body count mounts, as the damage to the world the small people in here care about grows catastrophic, Jason Felts stands for the Right and the Good. He's lacking in inches, he's been badly served in body by Life, but he does the jobs that no one else wants to do. He ends one long nightmare. It doesn't cost him his life, just his spirit: Rooted forever in Lynch, he's doomed to find his one happy moment far, far away.
It is exactly the right ending.… (más)
The Poison Flood by Jordon Farmer is a 2020 G.P. Putnam’s Son’s publication.
Disjointed, by very innovative…
The premise of this book intrigued me because I thought the story would primarily focus on environmental issues.
However, the plot is mostly centered around Hollis Bragg, a musician whose ghostwritten songs have provided his childhood friend, Angela, with a successful and lucrative music career.
Hollis, however, is isolated, living off the beaten path in West Virginia. His hunchback is a source of great physical pain and mental anguish at times, and is a major factor in his decision to stay in the background and avoid taking credit for his music.
But, when a combination of events take place, almost simultaneously, one being a massive chemical spill, and the other being recognized by a fan, which leads to even further complications, Hollis’ quiet life is suddenly upended.
Despite the stress of the upheaval, which forces Hollis out of his protective bubble, he finally receives long overdue liberation and confidence.
The story is offbeat, original, and truly shines in some ways, but is often uneven and fails to connect the various themes in a solid cohesive manner.
Still, at the end of the day, Hollis’ journey is a wonder to behold. He battles demons from his past, copes with romantic entanglements, and dubious characters out to use his talent to their advantage.
As Hollis takes stock of his life, he steps outside of his comfort zone and learns to take up for himself and forge his own little place in the world with a stronger sense of self worth.
This is a quick read, somewhat erratic and unstable with all the subplots and eccentric characters, but despite some rough edges it works for the most part. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, but it was a rewarding read, overall.
3.5 stars… (más)
Disjointed, by very innovative…
The premise of this book intrigued me because I thought the story would primarily focus on environmental issues.
However, the plot is mostly centered around Hollis Bragg, a musician whose ghostwritten songs have provided his childhood friend, Angela, with a successful and lucrative music career.
Hollis, however, is isolated, living off the beaten path in West Virginia. His hunchback is a source of great physical pain and mental anguish at times, and is a major factor in his decision to stay in the background and avoid taking credit for his music.
But, when a combination of events take place, almost simultaneously, one being a massive chemical spill, and the other being recognized by a fan, which leads to even further complications, Hollis’ quiet life is suddenly upended.
Despite the stress of the upheaval, which forces Hollis out of his protective bubble, he finally receives long overdue liberation and confidence.
The story is offbeat, original, and truly shines in some ways, but is often uneven and fails to connect the various themes in a solid cohesive manner.
Still, at the end of the day, Hollis’ journey is a wonder to behold. He battles demons from his past, copes with romantic entanglements, and dubious characters out to use his talent to their advantage.
As Hollis takes stock of his life, he steps outside of his comfort zone and learns to take up for himself and forge his own little place in the world with a stronger sense of self worth.
This is a quick read, somewhat erratic and unstable with all the subplots and eccentric characters, but despite some rough edges it works for the most part. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, but it was a rewarding read, overall.
3.5 stars… (más)
Estadísticas
- Obras
- 3
- Miembros
- 60
- Popularidad
- #277,520
- Valoración
- 2.8
- Reseñas
- 6
- ISBNs
- 11
- Idiomas
- 1