Anyone read this? It's the story of a teamster who ends up going to the Valley and through a chain of events ends up with a farm there and wonderfully supportive neighbors. The problem with this was London just left out the part about how he did exactly the same thing (the reason he knew enough to write the book) and he could afford the land and the start up costs for a farm because he had made money from his books. The teamster got a farm because the wonderful folks gave it to him. I never finished it, because my bullshit detector went off. I've read Cormac McCarthy and Phillip Roth over the years and have reached the point of no return with both because of the bullshit detector. It beats me how gifted talented writers, who are successful and well recieved and given lots of awards can contune to churn out black dismal stories about imaginary worlds and imaginary characters that they cannot possibily know or relate to on any level because they are so self-absorbed and rich at this point. We've been shoveled up works that are written very well, and mean nothing.
Jack used to buy story ideas from "Red" Lewis when he needed them. Perhaps we should offer our grand old men some fresh themes and plots to work with because they obviously need them. We should be concerned about our own tastes when the latest and greatest things are all about the end of the world or the end of someone's talent. If I'm just out for the entertainment, I'd rather read Edgar Rice Burroughs. He never thought he was Nobel Prize worthy- as opposed to some of our literary lions.
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