This is about seven days in the life in a psychotic schizophrenic.
That sounds redundant, but one of the two words by itself wasn't strong enough to do it for me. Crumb's last days--maybe--are chronicled in Johnny Glynn's Seven Days of Peter Crumb (New York, Harper, 2007), as I said yesterday, an evil, disturbing, violent, psychotic novel. But a really good one.
Glynn starts this way:
Write it down, he said--every dirty word, he said--the truth of it--the awful truth of it.Well this tells you you're in for it. The only questions are who the narrator is and who the "he" is.
Well, in the third paragraph we find out who the "he" is. The rest of it you have to slog through the whole novel. But what grips us about this is that Solzhenitsyn quote that started it out. This guy is in every one of us. We spend the novel denying it and accepting it at different levels. We're moved by it and are different at the end, which is the goal of great fiction.
I wouldn't put up up there with The Great Gatsby, but it's worth a read. If you have a strong stomach.
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Writing is for me an entrepreneurial activity. For my ideas on entrepreneurship, go to www.hatman2.blogspot.com and for entrepreneurial real estate go to www.yourstopforrealestate.com/blog and for my ideas on writing and publishing, go to www.kearneymusicschoolmurders.blogspot.com.
Ian Kearney, the director of the Kearney Music School, an elite musical training school in Philadelphia, dies after a fall from a balcony during a recital. World-famous cellist, Henry Harrier, recently forced from the faculty, returns to investigate Ian's death when his prized former student is arrested. Henry shows through his brilliant and single-minded pursuit of the truth that, as usual, they have it all wrong. This Sherlock Holmes-type mystery leads the reader through the world of classical music and lays bare the conflicts which dominate the lives of talented adolescents when placed under the pressure of studying for a demanding, stressful, and often elusive career as a classical music performer. Henry Harrier is part John Le Carre's George Smiley, part Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes, and part Orlando Cole the beloved teacher, renowned chamber musician, and until his own retirement, the premier cellist of the Curtis Institute.
Tim was born in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, on January 30, 1946. In 1951 he moved with his family to Schenectady, New York, where he lived through high school. He attended Baldwin-Wallace College, Berea, Ohio, from 1964 to 1968. He graduated in 1968 with a B.A. in history and philosophy. He received his Ph. D. in history in U.S. history in 1980 from the University of Wisconsin-Madison after spending 2.5 years in the U. S. Army. Most of his army service was completed in Wuerzburg, Germany, from 1969-1971. In 1972 he returned to Madison to complete his doctoral study. His dissertation, Those Who Moved; Internal Migrants in American 1607-1840, combined the statistical analysis of genealogical and biographical data with the study of traditional literary diaries, letters, and journals.