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Take Five
Quilting book
Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1982
7 people are currently reading
1777 people want to read
About the author
D. Keith Mano
10 books21 followersD. (David) Keith Mano graduated summa cum laude from Columbia University in 1963. He spent the next year as a Kellett Fellow in English at Clare College, Cambridge, and toured as an actor with the Marlowe Society of England. He came back to America in 1964 as a Woodrow Wilson Fellow at Columbia. He has appeared in several off-Broadway productions and toured with the National Shakespeare Company. Mano married Jo Margaret McArthur on 3 August 1964, and they had two children before their divorce in 1979. Mano left the Episcopal church for the Eastern Orthodox in 1979. He lived, until his death in September 2016, in Manhattan with his second wife, actress Laurie Kennedy.
Mano's nine novels emphasize religious and ethical themes and focus on contemporary issues seen from the point of view of a conservative Episcopalian. The novels are rich with comic action and written in an energetic style that occasionally caves in on itself from too much straining for effect.
Mano's nine novels emphasize religious and ethical themes and focus on contemporary issues seen from the point of view of a conservative Episcopalian. The novels are rich with comic action and written in an energetic style that occasionally caves in on itself from too much straining for effect.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews
March 25, 2021
There are five known senses: taste, smell, touch, hearing and sight… The protagonist loses them all in sequence – one by one…
One fine morning Simon wakes – cocksure and foolish – and the countdown commences…
Simon is a brazen and ignorant extravert… He boasts exhibitionistic manners… He is an epitome of vulgarity…
Simon is a con artist… He is an artistic beggar… He is a man of art… He makes movies…
Five senses lost – a cur’s fate for a cur.
An afterthought brown apple gets pitched from the low-rent altitude, fine arm action and follow-through, hooking leftward, sharp slider. It hits the ancient chimney, bounces, bursts to mouthfuls, which bounce, burst and are gone.
Under the roof Simon Lynxx wakes, wants. He has been wanting. The garbage noise mumbles away. Nude, Simon drowses, screening outtakes of dreams just filmed. He chews.
One fine morning Simon wakes – cocksure and foolish – and the countdown commences…
“What does he care for Jews, blacks, homosexuals, women? Not a thing. Simon is the one totally unbigoted person I’ve ever known – he treats everyone like a Polish joke. If you have a pimple, he’ll mention it. If you have one leg, he’ll ask you to run a forty-yard dash… Also it helps to be six-three and crazy. I’ve seen him knock a Puerto Rican heavyweight all the way over a compact car with one punch. Nobody, but nobody, can out-insult Simon Lynxx. He’s an institution. You’d be surprised how polite even the famous and the infamous can be when they get near him.”
Simon is a brazen and ignorant extravert… He boasts exhibitionistic manners… He is an epitome of vulgarity…
Simon is a con artist… He is an artistic beggar… He is a man of art… He makes movies…
“See, I’m making this film, Jesus 2001, which could be Godfather II and my salvation, or a turkey so grosso y’could fly it in Macy’s parade – one gust of wind and twelve clowns get carried over the Verrazano Bridge… Solid-state scripture, works in a drawer. Mary, Joseph, Pilate, Judas the Carrot, all your favorite storybook people in a new form…”
Five senses lost – a cur’s fate for a cur.
August 9, 2013
And God said, Let there be LIGHTs CAMERA nnnnnn ACTION!
Cut! Cut! Kaa-utt! Simon ends the whole thing even before it started. He can’t take any command from God. After all in God he antitrusts. I didn’t trust Simon either. I didn’t trust his strength as a fictional character and there was no way I trusted myself to love or even like the way he talks and he talks n talks n talks. But I trusted Mano. I trusted him right away after reading the first sentence of this book which basically consists of a single word. Emptying. On reading the first two sentences of the second paragraph, I knew this is going to be fun: Under the roof Simon Lynxx wakes, wants. He has been wanting. And after reading some ten pages more, I was intimidated. Intimidation is good in my humble opinion and I gave in, stubborn and fascinated to tackle a novel which moves in reverse gear and I imagined it to throw warning signs to its readers at the end of every part- Watch Out! Watch Out! More Complications Ahead (or behind!).
Take Five is about Simon Van Lynxx. Simon wants to make a movie. Simon wants money to make that movie. Simon loves his body. Simon loves his nakedness. Simon loves to insult others. Simon loves to talk. Simon loves to offend. Simon loves his metaphors. Simon loves to hate. Simon loves to love. Himself.
I’ll give you fifteen and an orgasm. They wanted t’use my orgasm as a thrill ride at Great Adventure.
In all this, it’s not easy to love Simon. It took me some time to get used to him and I understood why people around him in the novel were also used to him. But unexpected happened and I found myself getting addicted to him. The world of Simon is pretty unreal and it’s hard to believe in it. It’s even harder to be a part of that world but that’s exactly what well written books do to us. Mano through his writing made me a part of Simon’s world and it felt like living in the real world only. Some days are good, some days are bad; some are ridiculous, some are sad and if luck is on our side, then many of them are perfect too. But they all carry one assurance with them – that we are living our lives. Simon is also living but along the way, he’s paying a high price to live through each day. We got to find out what that price is. Meanwhile, we can enjoy his day to day histrionics with his film crew, his uncle (a Priest), a girl (with a secret) and many more crazy and random characters. In this process, one learns that Simon, besides being an orphan (again with a dash of some secrets) had a lousy childhood, thanks to his parents, Aldo and Bettina.
I was the only kid in Bayside without a vaccination mark. I felt disadvantaged. I used to poke myself with dirty needles.
This novel is mostly written in dialogues and without much surprise, majority of those dialogues belongs to Simon who says them with appropriate/inappropriate sound effects. He’s a prisoner of his birth and a prisoner of this world. He talks as if to seek freedom from his inner demons and the demons residing within others around him. He has embarked on a journey which passes through many levels. It has the sadness of his childhood, the recklessness of his youth and wastage of his genius. He has an understanding of art, his art, but there are no sponsors because there is no audience. Irony.
The high point of this novel resides in flashbacks which Simon experience that mainly features his mother, Bettina. They are, quite frankly, Mesmerizing. The magnificence of Mano’s prose is best captured in these episodes. His words create an effect which gently draws you into the universe which is marked with all the poetic feelings of the world: love, nostalgia, sadness and so on. These flashbacks, some schizophrenic passages and observations rather than a narration fill the remaining part of this book. But they are also the parts which demands maximum attention from readers. They are a little complicated but needs to be dealt with in order to receive what this book sets out to give. I think some of the most complicated narratives hide within themselves some simplest of the themes and some of the most conventional morals of stories. And the reason of complication is also pretty simple - that we don’t forget those lessons we learnt after making some effort. The same is with Take Five too. The journey which Simon inadvertently undertakes ends in redemption and for us readers; it ends in a fruitful reward. THIS BOOK IS SUPER FUNNY TOO, especially if getting offended is not your favorite pastime.
My minor grudges lies with some of the dated stuff Mano has included here. Some of the dialogues are too clichéd and some of the instances are too predictable. I personally find it irritating when an explanation is provided for something which is quite obvious from the very start. And when it comes to a book like Take Five, which wonderfully displays what Mano is capable of as a writer, these small issues magnify themselves on their own because they look stupid (for the lack of better word) in front of something genius. But trust me, they are minor points in comparison to some of the brilliant things this novel has to offer.
This book doesn’t recommend itself in supreme glory and after writing this long review, even I’m hesitant to highly recommend it to everyone. We all have our priorities as a reader; some have rigid ones, some have flexible. I’m homeless when it comes to such priorities and most of the times I view a book as if that’s the only book which exists in the world. That’s how I viewed Take Five too. So anyone out there who also has same notions should go ahead and read it.
From Me to Mano
Mr. Mano said: I am desolate. People have enjoyed my fiction. But no one has ever needed it.
Me: Well sir, I would politely beg to differ.
October 31, 2014
Reasons why you should read this novel:
1. It is funny.
2. Very very funny.
3. The prose is flinty.
4. The prose is fluid.
5. The prose is happy to be contradictory and incompatible with
itself.
6. The story is deeply moral.
7. The story is deeply immoral.
8. It will make you love our species a little more.
9. It will make you hate our species a little more.
10. It proves that anti-Semitic comments do not an anti-Semite
make.
11. And that racism can sometimes be the best way to combat
racists.
12. Did I mention how fucking brilliant the prose is?
13. It has more twists and turns than an episode of Sunset Beach.
14. Its hero is not, I would argue, an anti-hero but a bona-fide,
straight up hero – after the horrors of that childhood, the
fact that he remained (despite all his bluster) a deeply
caring and moral person is pretty close to a miracle.
15. It is one hell of a fun ride. So much so that I have twice, so
far, nearly missed my train stop on the way home from work as
I was too absorbed in reading.
16. It is profoundly terrifying.
17. It is truly Christian, which is a very rare thing, and therefore has great power over a grumpy old atheist like myself.
18. Because the last 20 or so pages will leave you speechless with admiration.
1. It is funny.
2. Very very funny.
3. The prose is flinty.
4. The prose is fluid.
5. The prose is happy to be contradictory and incompatible with
itself.
6. The story is deeply moral.
7. The story is deeply immoral.
8. It will make you love our species a little more.
9. It will make you hate our species a little more.
10. It proves that anti-Semitic comments do not an anti-Semite
make.
11. And that racism can sometimes be the best way to combat
racists.
12. Did I mention how fucking brilliant the prose is?
13. It has more twists and turns than an episode of Sunset Beach.
14. Its hero is not, I would argue, an anti-hero but a bona-fide,
straight up hero – after the horrors of that childhood, the
fact that he remained (despite all his bluster) a deeply
caring and moral person is pretty close to a miracle.
15. It is one hell of a fun ride. So much so that I have twice, so
far, nearly missed my train stop on the way home from work as
I was too absorbed in reading.
16. It is profoundly terrifying.
17. It is truly Christian, which is a very rare thing, and therefore has great power over a grumpy old atheist like myself.
18. Because the last 20 or so pages will leave you speechless with admiration.
Read
May 20, 2017Take Three -- will there be the final TWO Takes too?
"In Which Links Are Created"
Knig ::
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
Ali, aka, John O'Brien pilfered ;;
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
The Dalkey Fellator, aka Emma Jay ::
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
Garima, Taker of the Bulk of the Likes ;;
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
OR, just go the easy way, directly TO=GO, smaoke those Likes ::
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24...
And Below, the First Two Takes Too :: [read on]
Take Two
In his own words:
THE WRITING OF TAKE 5: One novelist's big book obsession
By: D. Keith Mano
Forbes, 10/23/1995 FYI, Vol. 156, Issue 10
Take Five took nine. Years, I mean, for me to write it. But, hell, that was okay. When Art buffeted you about the head, gorgeous women of a certain wise and literate ardor would come and turn your bed covers down. So I had been told. And a photo of Marilyn Monroe with--good grief--Arthur Miller nailed it flat.
In 1963, when I came out of Columbia, everybody semi-senstive was writing his or her Great American Novel. You remember us then? We read Ulysses and even enjoyed parts of it. In that year Updike brought out The Centaur. It required both attention and responsibility to language. Updike got the National Book Award--and a wise, enthusiastic readership. Many women, I suspect, offered to turn his bed covers down.
Then things went sour with serious prose. Television, film, personal computer, rock, VCR, Nintendo--whichever or all, somehow I didn't notice. From 1968 through 1973, I made myself extrude six novels ("an epic from Bob Southey every spring"), all well enough received. But I didn't have my big book. The one that, when placed in a briefcase, will crush your egg salad sandwich. And so I came up with this: a novel about someone who would lose his senses one after another, said book to begin on page 555 and end at zero, numbered (but not read) backward, and all about, yes, the numeral five.
Stigmata. Great Lakes. V. The Soviet economic plan. Fifth Avenue. Dah-dah-dah, DAAHH from Beethoven. One glove. A Brubeck tune. Oh, penta-anything. My protagonist, Simon Lynxx (count the letters), born on May 5, 1955, deprived gradually of sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, is drawn, against his will, through a spiritual fifth dimension. All this was one major pain to concoct, believe me.
But you ain't seen bupkis yet. Take Five was supposed to be my big book, you recall. So I wrote the entire text--dialogue aside--in iambic pentameter blank verse, which I later set as prose. Adhering to this unappealable law throughout: "You may not repeat any of the following until ten words or more intervened after a usage." You may not repeat any of the following (repetition for emphasis I do not encourage): a, to, for, of, until, since, before, unless, in, on, at, from, by, so, is, are, was, were, through, had, have, would, could; every conjunction except "and"; all -ed, -ing, -ly, -tion, -ous, -ible, -er, con-, dis-, pre-, un-, word forms; and--get this killer--your letter "s" as plural, possessive or present tense indicator. (Take Five is written in the present tense.) You could get spiritual phlebitis gerrymandering all that.
Obsessive madness? Well, no kidding. Weird part is, though: if you practice my repetition rule scrupulously, your prose will improve. Guaranteed. Take this famous under-achievement as just one example:
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought fourth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."
Fair writing, certainly. Yet the repetitions, as italicized, are awkward and show lax effort. Run it all though my dependable prose-enhancer and you might get instead:
Near one full century ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, born in the seed-time of freedom and certain at heart that all men are created equal.
Which, as honest Lincoln would admit, is better.
When I presented the 1,400-page manuscript of Take Five to my editor, she said:
"After nine years' work, I guess, well. . . you won't be changing any of this."
"Ah, no. I think I've got it right by now."
"Good," she said, "then I won't have to read it."
1,756 copies of Take Five were sent out for sale. The critical response was spectacularly generous.Nonetheless, somehow, 1,817 were returned. Jesus did a similar trick when feeding the 5,000. Am I bitter?No, not now--more than 13 years later. In 1995, I realize, a novel as ambitious as mine simply could not be published at all. I was fortunate.
Probably you didn't notice, but this entire piece--quotes excepted--was written in Take Five prose. There is one forbidden repetition. Write me, care of FYI, for a 55-cent prize if you can locate it.
By that time you'll know how Simon Lynxx felt (or couldn't feel) on page zero.
[My thanks to Friend B0nnie for the library work.]
Take One
The Epitaph
"It's exercise, Sepsis. It's the U.S. prime stamp of a great associative mind. Name-calling, listen to Falstaff, name-calling is metaphor-making, and the history of the metaphor is the history of art. See a face, see an image. Be quick, quick, quick. Poke-check their soft places before they poke-check yours. Do I care if you're a Jew, a black, an anthropophagus with head beneath your shoulders? I'm defining things. I'm naming you. Don't believe those liberal-left bumper stickers--all men are brethren. Bah. There's no art in it." --Simon Lynxx, p 510.
The Preface
Once upon a time we all knew the story. There were only a few and no one really made much money selling them. At that time we marveled at the skill of the storyteller reweaving and performing a familiar story for us with a bravura performance; the excitement of anticipating what we knew was just around the next twist. Now we've learned to consume books like we consume articles made out of No. 2 field corn. In order to support our habit, our fantasy that there is an untold/unknown story available for shooting into our necks, we protect ourselves from learning anything about it before we eat it. We are filled with anxiety at the thought of a possible 'spoiler' which might spoil the market price for the next bit of commodity. Therefore, ye spoiler-nervous, suck it! Go see the next big thing--Jesus 2001!
The Review; Improper
We take our clue from John O'Brien's Preface to the Dalkey edition (and with a tip of the hat to all those know-better readers with opinions about editing mega-novels):
Take Five, starring Simon Lynxx, directed by D. Keith Mano.
The Words After
Google Books is stupid. They've put up the book backward, beginning with the back cover, proceeding then to ∞, then to page 2, 3, 4 etc. amazon's look-inside now contains John O'Brien's complete Preface (now it doesn't). Recommended.
The O'Brien Preface has been provided by Friend Ali HERE.
___________________
Mr Mano's inscription in my copy:
"For Miriam Berkley - Who had an intimate relationship with me on the Joe Franklin. Best Wishes, D Keith Mano." How's that for cool?
"In Which Links Are Created"
Knig ::
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
Ali, aka, John O'Brien pilfered ;;
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
The Dalkey Fellator, aka Emma Jay ::
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
Garima, Taker of the Bulk of the Likes ;;
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
OR, just go the easy way, directly TO=GO, smaoke those Likes ::
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24...
And Below, the First Two Takes Too :: [read on]
Take Two
In his own words:
THE WRITING OF TAKE 5: One novelist's big book obsession
By: D. Keith Mano
Forbes, 10/23/1995 FYI, Vol. 156, Issue 10
Take Five took nine. Years, I mean, for me to write it. But, hell, that was okay. When Art buffeted you about the head, gorgeous women of a certain wise and literate ardor would come and turn your bed covers down. So I had been told. And a photo of Marilyn Monroe with--good grief--Arthur Miller nailed it flat.
In 1963, when I came out of Columbia, everybody semi-senstive was writing his or her Great American Novel. You remember us then? We read Ulysses and even enjoyed parts of it. In that year Updike brought out The Centaur. It required both attention and responsibility to language. Updike got the National Book Award--and a wise, enthusiastic readership. Many women, I suspect, offered to turn his bed covers down.
Then things went sour with serious prose. Television, film, personal computer, rock, VCR, Nintendo--whichever or all, somehow I didn't notice. From 1968 through 1973, I made myself extrude six novels ("an epic from Bob Southey every spring"), all well enough received. But I didn't have my big book. The one that, when placed in a briefcase, will crush your egg salad sandwich. And so I came up with this: a novel about someone who would lose his senses one after another, said book to begin on page 555 and end at zero, numbered (but not read) backward, and all about, yes, the numeral five.
Stigmata. Great Lakes. V. The Soviet economic plan. Fifth Avenue. Dah-dah-dah, DAAHH from Beethoven. One glove. A Brubeck tune. Oh, penta-anything. My protagonist, Simon Lynxx (count the letters), born on May 5, 1955, deprived gradually of sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, is drawn, against his will, through a spiritual fifth dimension. All this was one major pain to concoct, believe me.
But you ain't seen bupkis yet. Take Five was supposed to be my big book, you recall. So I wrote the entire text--dialogue aside--in iambic pentameter blank verse, which I later set as prose. Adhering to this unappealable law throughout: "You may not repeat any of the following until ten words or more intervened after a usage." You may not repeat any of the following (repetition for emphasis I do not encourage): a, to, for, of, until, since, before, unless, in, on, at, from, by, so, is, are, was, were, through, had, have, would, could; every conjunction except "and"; all -ed, -ing, -ly, -tion, -ous, -ible, -er, con-, dis-, pre-, un-, word forms; and--get this killer--your letter "s" as plural, possessive or present tense indicator. (Take Five is written in the present tense.) You could get spiritual phlebitis gerrymandering all that.
Obsessive madness? Well, no kidding. Weird part is, though: if you practice my repetition rule scrupulously, your prose will improve. Guaranteed. Take this famous under-achievement as just one example:
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought fourth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."
Fair writing, certainly. Yet the repetitions, as italicized, are awkward and show lax effort. Run it all though my dependable prose-enhancer and you might get instead:
Near one full century ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, born in the seed-time of freedom and certain at heart that all men are created equal.
Which, as honest Lincoln would admit, is better.
When I presented the 1,400-page manuscript of Take Five to my editor, she said:
"After nine years' work, I guess, well. . . you won't be changing any of this."
"Ah, no. I think I've got it right by now."
"Good," she said, "then I won't have to read it."
1,756 copies of Take Five were sent out for sale. The critical response was spectacularly generous.Nonetheless, somehow, 1,817 were returned. Jesus did a similar trick when feeding the 5,000. Am I bitter?No, not now--more than 13 years later. In 1995, I realize, a novel as ambitious as mine simply could not be published at all. I was fortunate.
Probably you didn't notice, but this entire piece--quotes excepted--was written in Take Five prose. There is one forbidden repetition. Write me, care of FYI, for a 55-cent prize if you can locate it.
By that time you'll know how Simon Lynxx felt (or couldn't feel) on page zero.
[My thanks to Friend B0nnie for the library work.]
Take One
The Epitaph
"It's exercise, Sepsis. It's the U.S. prime stamp of a great associative mind. Name-calling, listen to Falstaff, name-calling is metaphor-making, and the history of the metaphor is the history of art. See a face, see an image. Be quick, quick, quick. Poke-check their soft places before they poke-check yours. Do I care if you're a Jew, a black, an anthropophagus with head beneath your shoulders? I'm defining things. I'm naming you. Don't believe those liberal-left bumper stickers--all men are brethren. Bah. There's no art in it." --Simon Lynxx, p 510.
The Preface
Once upon a time we all knew the story. There were only a few and no one really made much money selling them. At that time we marveled at the skill of the storyteller reweaving and performing a familiar story for us with a bravura performance; the excitement of anticipating what we knew was just around the next twist. Now we've learned to consume books like we consume articles made out of No. 2 field corn. In order to support our habit, our fantasy that there is an untold/unknown story available for shooting into our necks, we protect ourselves from learning anything about it before we eat it. We are filled with anxiety at the thought of a possible 'spoiler' which might spoil the market price for the next bit of commodity. Therefore, ye spoiler-nervous, suck it! Go see the next big thing--Jesus 2001!
The Review; Improper
We take our clue from John O'Brien's Preface to the Dalkey edition (and with a tip of the hat to all those know-better readers with opinions about editing mega-novels):
A better editor might have required Mano to head his chapters in the way the eighteenth-century novels are: "In which our hero. . ." In Simon's case, this might be "In which our hero remembers the first time a girl dropped her drawers for him" or "In which our hero sees his mother naked."Therewith, I present our lost Rabelais:
Take Five, starring Simon Lynxx, directed by D. Keith Mano.
The Words After
Google Books is stupid. They've put up the book backward, beginning with the back cover, proceeding then to ∞, then to page 2, 3, 4 etc. amazon's look-inside now contains John O'Brien's complete Preface (now it doesn't). Recommended.
The O'Brien Preface has been provided by Friend Ali HERE.
___________________
Mr Mano's inscription in my copy:
"For Miriam Berkley - Who had an intimate relationship with me on the Joe Franklin. Best Wishes, D Keith Mano." How's that for cool?
December 8, 2010
Take Five is a big bounding satirical heffalump—583 pages, running backwards, in the life of boorish filmmaker Simon Lynxx: a sort of Brooklyn-based Peter Griffin.
The novel is split into five (well, six, actually, but who’s counting?) parts. In each, Simon runs around tormenting his film crew, his backers, his English relatives, and random ladyfolk. At the end of each, he misplaces a sense, starting with taste and ending with sight.
He speaks in a long-winded and dense smart-ass babble, spouting racist, religious and (most often) sexual abuse, insulting and abusing everyone he meets, including the women who willingly offer their bodies to him. In fact, most of this novel is taken up with Simon attempting to have sex, and its capacity for squirm-inducing horribleness knows no limits.
On paper this sounds as appealing as a year-old flan. However, Mano’s writing is truly incredible. This book is clearly a hard-won masterpiece, chocked with glorious prose and dazzling verbage. The style mimics a close-up camera shot, the action described in clipped sentences, then stuffed with mountains of freewheeling brain sputum that goes on and on. It is, evidently, a novel about excess, and in the end, it seems, redemption.
The easiest comparison is Martin Amis’s Money, but even Mart didn’t try and offend everyone (and this novel does offend everyone, barring a small tribe of elders in the Faroe Islands). Simon never loses his knack for mockery and sexual innuendo, even as he is dragged senseless into a marriage with a female priest—who he seduces in a Brooklyn sewer pipe— but he learns to live without greed and fame. It’s all we can expect of him. You wouldn’t catch Peter Griffin in a church, would you?
So: can you spend 583 pages with this putrid and horrible character? I can put up with anything if the writing is good. Others will, more likely, fault the actions of the other characters (his abuse draws people nearer to him, people he seriously screws up, but isn’t that always the way?) or find the prose too dense. So I don’t really recommend it to anyone. Just mention this as “the great overlooked novel of the eighties” at parties. That’ll do.
The novel is split into five (well, six, actually, but who’s counting?) parts. In each, Simon runs around tormenting his film crew, his backers, his English relatives, and random ladyfolk. At the end of each, he misplaces a sense, starting with taste and ending with sight.
He speaks in a long-winded and dense smart-ass babble, spouting racist, religious and (most often) sexual abuse, insulting and abusing everyone he meets, including the women who willingly offer their bodies to him. In fact, most of this novel is taken up with Simon attempting to have sex, and its capacity for squirm-inducing horribleness knows no limits.
On paper this sounds as appealing as a year-old flan. However, Mano’s writing is truly incredible. This book is clearly a hard-won masterpiece, chocked with glorious prose and dazzling verbage. The style mimics a close-up camera shot, the action described in clipped sentences, then stuffed with mountains of freewheeling brain sputum that goes on and on. It is, evidently, a novel about excess, and in the end, it seems, redemption.
The easiest comparison is Martin Amis’s Money, but even Mart didn’t try and offend everyone (and this novel does offend everyone, barring a small tribe of elders in the Faroe Islands). Simon never loses his knack for mockery and sexual innuendo, even as he is dragged senseless into a marriage with a female priest—who he seduces in a Brooklyn sewer pipe— but he learns to live without greed and fame. It’s all we can expect of him. You wouldn’t catch Peter Griffin in a church, would you?
So: can you spend 583 pages with this putrid and horrible character? I can put up with anything if the writing is good. Others will, more likely, fault the actions of the other characters (his abuse draws people nearer to him, people he seriously screws up, but isn’t that always the way?) or find the prose too dense. So I don’t really recommend it to anyone. Just mention this as “the great overlooked novel of the eighties” at parties. That’ll do.
April 10, 2015
The teleprompter screen: PRAISE THE BOOK TO THE SKIES
Take Five is the kind of book a writer gets to write when the Muses smile upon them & then, in a bizarre turn of events, the same book becomes an albatross around their neck because every book that they ever wrote and/or will write would be compared to that & found wanting.
THE SCRIPT SAID SKY-HIGH PRAISE. DINTCHA GET IT?
Umm.
Take Five joins the UNIQUE, ENCYCLOPEDIC shelf, next to Darconville's Cat, and The Tunnel, because these are books that push the boundaries in terms of what fiction can do to expand our consciousness: their art celebrates beauty & creativity despite the sordidness of their material & their controversial protagonists are preferable to the lame goody goody ones because they've looked into the very heart of darkness & lived to tell the tale. I recently came across a Ronald Sukenick quote & it describes such unique books perfectly: "What we need is not Great Works but playful ones in whose sense of creative joy everyone can join. Play, after all, is the source of the learning instinct, that has been proved by indispensable scientific experiments. And what characterizes play? Freedom, spontaneity, pleasure. This is as distinguished from games, games are formalized play.(...) A story is a game someone has played so that you can play it too, and having learned how to play it, throw it away."
TALK ABOUT THE BOOK BUT DON'T REVEAL TOO MUCH.
It's such a simple tale really: Simon Van Lynxx, filmmaker, last scion of a once illustrious New York family, now fallen upon hard times, lacks funds to complete his latest project Jesus 2001: the narrative recounts his various shenanigans towards this goal— now see what hijinx pyrotechnics Mano brings to it!
Dysfunctional families bring forth dysfunctional children but as those memorable opening lines remind us "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," Simon's life, with its strange twists & turns and dark family secrets, itself becomes compulsive cinema material. Take Five pulsates with manic energy & Simon, the dynamo, is the heart & soul of that: "to become an audience for exhibitionism and particularly for Simon, Mr. Exhibit A himself."(516) It's a character-& -dialogue-driven book.
NOW DANCE: Da-d'jah, da-de-dah and a jah.
(Huh? Hanh? I mean aaarh! You mean make this review dance? Not gonna happen. My reviews just about manage to crawl- talk about dancing!)
This is Mano's "big book," written over nine years ( he shd've taken five years, no?), dealing with the number five in all things: "Oh, penta-anything. My protagonist, Simon Lynxx (count the letters), born on May 5, 1955, deprived gradually of sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, is drawn, against his will, through a spiritual fifth dimension."
As a number 5 person all that emphasis makes me very happy! Those interested in numerology would notice that number 5 falls under the planet Mercury: the ruler of communication & change. And how Simon talks!!! Words are his biggest weapon.
And the changes, as & when they come, would've completely broken a lesser mortal but Simon couldn't really care less— break quicksilver into thousand globules, they'll recombine & become whole again! Number five people always bounce back.
In a way, Mano gave this book his all: his religious fervour, theatrical passion, the struggles of a creative artist...Halfway through the book, I became aware of the constraints & it was fun marking the forbidden words & their recurrence. One could read this book without being aware of all that, but once you know the efforts that have gone into the writing of this book; you truly appreciate the genius of it.
PRETEND TO REVIEW
( I seriously think this teleprompter is malfunctioning!)
Hey, if there's one thing Simon Lynxx taught me— it's to be spontaneous-- improvise improvise! I'm not gonna follow any prompts/scripted demands.
"Well, Mala, you know where Simon's improvisations took him?"
Huh, what's this?! Am I having a three-way conversation with myself- I, you, & her! I'll leave the Heideggerian Being-ness to Merry-- she does it prettily in one paragraph.
Choose Your Own Simon Lynxx Adventure:
What's one to make of the series of bizarre events that happen to Simon?
His girlfriend would take a philosophical & a practical ( see the doctor) view.
His priest uncle would like to interpret it as the "dark night of the soul."
But Simon rejects both: "In God he anti-trusts," & he hates "abstract thinking."
Where does that leave us? Mano's religious leanings are spread across his entire oeuvre & in an interview he directly states: "In a sense my novel Take Five is written as a plea to God to let me escape (the body) and let me also make the effort that I've gone through and the risks I've taken worthwhile by somehow transmitting the knowledge that I've gotten by being a very strange Christian, to make it useful and grace-filled to people who can understand what I'm saying."*
Simon says Jesus in almost every sentence— he remembers Christ even without meaning to! Simon's religiosity, his morality is not apparent on surface level because it ain't— it goes deep. Look at the number of people dependent on him, look at his encounters with various human types & just cause he robs Peter to pay Paul...
Next to Merry Allen, Simon is the most moral character in this book. The Duke of Derision is really a big baby at heart.
But Mano doesn't shove this lesson down his readers' throat: the nihilists may take it as meaning nothing, the rationalists might view it via psychosomatic lens— Take Five remains open to various interpretations but at heart it is a morality play on the excesses of modern life & where they lead us. Take Five, lose five.
The Fifth Dimension:
The fifth dimension is the spiritual realm not constrained by time & space. Its beings have special characteristics, some of which are hinted at in Simon, but the biggest allusion comes via the epigraph chosen from St. Luke, 23:26, "And as they led him away, they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country...", Mano purposely leaves the line incomplete: "and on him they laid the cross, that he might bear [it] after Jesus.)"
So Simon suffers for the sin of humanity?! Does that seem like a long stretch?
Recall then the John O'Brien Preface to the Dalkey Edition wherein he brought parallels from Flannery O'Connor & Graham Greene of the most grotesque/unlikely characters achieving grace and salvation.
But the question is not that Simon achieves salvation, the question is, has that religious experience been conveyed convincingly enough? How do you convey the incommunicable— via symbols, metaphors? Recall the opening image of this book—Emptying...the garbage...& Simon Lynxx wakes, wants. Simon, the man of Rabelaisian appetites, is progressively emptied of material elements. He is turned into an empty vessel so he can be filled with light, with grace.
How is it for double whammy that personal & professional revelations occur one after another, ( Section III, Chapter 3) leading to introspection & a re-evaluation of his life— Simon, who is not much of a thinker- a doer, an action man, is forced to think.
Mano's biggest influence is John Donne, otherwise I was wondering if he had Beckett's The Unnameable in mind because Simon becomes a pure spirit- just a voice, but
GIVE ME THE KEY TO THE CITY.
Simon, is that you?! Hahaha how funny! Dear Readers, did I tell you this book breaks the Richter scale in fun quotient? It's a laugh riot which is kind of strange because it's a very sad book too. This book brims over with paradoxes: it's comic, it's tragic, it's banal, it's sublime, Simon is a devil, Simon is an angel— it is like life itself because it contains multitudes. How strange that morality-immorality, horror-sublimity, tragedy-comedy...instead of being immiscible, form a harmonious narrative. But I digress.
Anyway, I'm not sharing your van, man. Those rules don't apply to me. I'm reviewing this buried book of yours; the least you can do is behave!
AAARH, YOU DIDN'T GIVE MY BOOK ENOUGH PUBLICITY.
Sorry about that. I'll share some of your gems in the Quote section. I was afraid that out of context they'll look like sexist drivel.
Friends, D. Keith Mano is a Buried writer & his 9 distinct works on GR have a combined ratings of 112 & only 33 reviews .
My copy: Doubleday, first edition, hardback—somewhat smallish print but thick, solid pages. I bought it from Better World Books where it was donated by the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh. It was taken out only thrice, that too in 1983. Shame, really.
As for publicity, I'll let John O'Brien have the final take: when I read that, I felt that Take Five would never get more powerful, more insightful words than those— I still feel that way.
SIMON SAYS: KEEP THE FAITH, BABY!
I do. XD
In case you didn't notice, this review was written in iambic pentameter blank verse which was then converted to prose!
************
(*) MANO : "What I have been saying about going through the body is essential to my thinking. I could not do it any other way because my body is an insistent animal. But at some point you have to let the body go. And it's not just a matter of giving up sensuality, it's a matter of giving up inspiration. When you don't want to write any more and you don't want to get laid any more, what are you? You have to deal essentially with a new kind of emptiness. The emptiness of the creative spirit as an artist has to be replaced with the creative spirit of the spirit. That's what's happening to Simon Lynxx in Take Five. Gradually his body is being taken away as I hope mine will be--and seems to be and as the Lord ironically seems to be leading me with Parkinson's."
Source: http://wittenburgdoorinterviews.blogs...
************
Quotes
Take Five is the kind of book a writer gets to write when the Muses smile upon them & then, in a bizarre turn of events, the same book becomes an albatross around their neck because every book that they ever wrote and/or will write would be compared to that & found wanting.
THE SCRIPT SAID SKY-HIGH PRAISE. DINTCHA GET IT?
Umm.
Take Five joins the UNIQUE, ENCYCLOPEDIC shelf, next to Darconville's Cat, and The Tunnel, because these are books that push the boundaries in terms of what fiction can do to expand our consciousness: their art celebrates beauty & creativity despite the sordidness of their material & their controversial protagonists are preferable to the lame goody goody ones because they've looked into the very heart of darkness & lived to tell the tale. I recently came across a Ronald Sukenick quote & it describes such unique books perfectly: "What we need is not Great Works but playful ones in whose sense of creative joy everyone can join. Play, after all, is the source of the learning instinct, that has been proved by indispensable scientific experiments. And what characterizes play? Freedom, spontaneity, pleasure. This is as distinguished from games, games are formalized play.(...) A story is a game someone has played so that you can play it too, and having learned how to play it, throw it away."
TALK ABOUT THE BOOK BUT DON'T REVEAL TOO MUCH.
It's such a simple tale really: Simon Van Lynxx, filmmaker, last scion of a once illustrious New York family, now fallen upon hard times, lacks funds to complete his latest project Jesus 2001: the narrative recounts his various shenanigans towards this goal— now see what hijinx pyrotechnics Mano brings to it!
Dysfunctional families bring forth dysfunctional children but as those memorable opening lines remind us "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," Simon's life, with its strange twists & turns and dark family secrets, itself becomes compulsive cinema material. Take Five pulsates with manic energy & Simon, the dynamo, is the heart & soul of that: "to become an audience for exhibitionism and particularly for Simon, Mr. Exhibit A himself."(516) It's a character-& -dialogue-driven book.
NOW DANCE: Da-d'jah, da-de-dah and a jah.
(Huh? Hanh? I mean aaarh! You mean make this review dance? Not gonna happen. My reviews just about manage to crawl- talk about dancing!)
This is Mano's "big book," written over nine years ( he shd've taken five years, no?), dealing with the number five in all things: "Oh, penta-anything. My protagonist, Simon Lynxx (count the letters), born on May 5, 1955, deprived gradually of sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, is drawn, against his will, through a spiritual fifth dimension."
As a number 5 person all that emphasis makes me very happy! Those interested in numerology would notice that number 5 falls under the planet Mercury: the ruler of communication & change. And how Simon talks!!! Words are his biggest weapon.
And the changes, as & when they come, would've completely broken a lesser mortal but Simon couldn't really care less— break quicksilver into thousand globules, they'll recombine & become whole again! Number five people always bounce back.
In a way, Mano gave this book his all: his religious fervour, theatrical passion, the struggles of a creative artist...Halfway through the book, I became aware of the constraints & it was fun marking the forbidden words & their recurrence. One could read this book without being aware of all that, but once you know the efforts that have gone into the writing of this book; you truly appreciate the genius of it.
PRETEND TO REVIEW
( I seriously think this teleprompter is malfunctioning!)
Hey, if there's one thing Simon Lynxx taught me— it's to be spontaneous-- improvise improvise! I'm not gonna follow any prompts/scripted demands.
"Well, Mala, you know where Simon's improvisations took him?"
Huh, what's this?! Am I having a three-way conversation with myself- I, you, & her! I'll leave the Heideggerian Being-ness to Merry-- she does it prettily in one paragraph.
Choose Your Own Simon Lynxx Adventure:
What's one to make of the series of bizarre events that happen to Simon?
His girlfriend would take a philosophical & a practical ( see the doctor) view.
His priest uncle would like to interpret it as the "dark night of the soul."
But Simon rejects both: "In God he anti-trusts," & he hates "abstract thinking."
Where does that leave us? Mano's religious leanings are spread across his entire oeuvre & in an interview he directly states: "In a sense my novel Take Five is written as a plea to God to let me escape (the body) and let me also make the effort that I've gone through and the risks I've taken worthwhile by somehow transmitting the knowledge that I've gotten by being a very strange Christian, to make it useful and grace-filled to people who can understand what I'm saying."*
Simon says Jesus in almost every sentence— he remembers Christ even without meaning to! Simon's religiosity, his morality is not apparent on surface level because it ain't— it goes deep. Look at the number of people dependent on him, look at his encounters with various human types & just cause he robs Peter to pay Paul...
Next to Merry Allen, Simon is the most moral character in this book. The Duke of Derision is really a big baby at heart.
But Mano doesn't shove this lesson down his readers' throat: the nihilists may take it as meaning nothing, the rationalists might view it via psychosomatic lens— Take Five remains open to various interpretations but at heart it is a morality play on the excesses of modern life & where they lead us. Take Five, lose five.
The Fifth Dimension:
The fifth dimension is the spiritual realm not constrained by time & space. Its beings have special characteristics, some of which are hinted at in Simon, but the biggest allusion comes via the epigraph chosen from St. Luke, 23:26, "And as they led him away, they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country...", Mano purposely leaves the line incomplete: "and on him they laid the cross, that he might bear [it] after Jesus.)"
So Simon suffers for the sin of humanity?! Does that seem like a long stretch?
Recall then the John O'Brien Preface to the Dalkey Edition wherein he brought parallels from Flannery O'Connor & Graham Greene of the most grotesque/unlikely characters achieving grace and salvation.
But the question is not that Simon achieves salvation, the question is, has that religious experience been conveyed convincingly enough? How do you convey the incommunicable— via symbols, metaphors? Recall the opening image of this book—Emptying...the garbage...& Simon Lynxx wakes, wants. Simon, the man of Rabelaisian appetites, is progressively emptied of material elements. He is turned into an empty vessel so he can be filled with light, with grace.
How is it for double whammy that personal & professional revelations occur one after another, ( Section III, Chapter 3) leading to introspection & a re-evaluation of his life— Simon, who is not much of a thinker- a doer, an action man, is forced to think.
Mano's biggest influence is John Donne, otherwise I was wondering if he had Beckett's The Unnameable in mind because Simon becomes a pure spirit- just a voice, but
GIVE ME THE KEY TO THE CITY.
Simon, is that you?! Hahaha how funny! Dear Readers, did I tell you this book breaks the Richter scale in fun quotient? It's a laugh riot which is kind of strange because it's a very sad book too. This book brims over with paradoxes: it's comic, it's tragic, it's banal, it's sublime, Simon is a devil, Simon is an angel— it is like life itself because it contains multitudes. How strange that morality-immorality, horror-sublimity, tragedy-comedy...instead of being immiscible, form a harmonious narrative. But I digress.
Anyway, I'm not sharing your van, man. Those rules don't apply to me. I'm reviewing this buried book of yours; the least you can do is behave!
AAARH, YOU DIDN'T GIVE MY BOOK ENOUGH PUBLICITY.
Sorry about that. I'll share some of your gems in the Quote section. I was afraid that out of context they'll look like sexist drivel.
Friends, D. Keith Mano is a Buried writer & his 9 distinct works on GR have a combined ratings of 112 & only 33 reviews .
My copy: Doubleday, first edition, hardback—somewhat smallish print but thick, solid pages. I bought it from Better World Books where it was donated by the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh. It was taken out only thrice, that too in 1983. Shame, really.
As for publicity, I'll let John O'Brien have the final take: when I read that, I felt that Take Five would never get more powerful, more insightful words than those— I still feel that way.
SIMON SAYS: KEEP THE FAITH, BABY!
I do. XD
In case you didn't notice, this review was written in iambic pentameter blank verse which was then converted to prose!
************
(*) MANO : "What I have been saying about going through the body is essential to my thinking. I could not do it any other way because my body is an insistent animal. But at some point you have to let the body go. And it's not just a matter of giving up sensuality, it's a matter of giving up inspiration. When you don't want to write any more and you don't want to get laid any more, what are you? You have to deal essentially with a new kind of emptiness. The emptiness of the creative spirit as an artist has to be replaced with the creative spirit of the spirit. That's what's happening to Simon Lynxx in Take Five. Gradually his body is being taken away as I hope mine will be--and seems to be and as the Lord ironically seems to be leading me with Parkinson's."
Source: http://wittenburgdoorinterviews.blogs...
************
Quotes
August 19, 2016
The Great American Novel, along with J R and that one about the giant white Dick. Any case, writing reviews has seemed beyond me recently, so see the usual sources on why. Gargantua of American Narratives. All of life is a scam and sham in America, so Art, the greatest scam and sham of them all, is the Redeemer. Our flesh made our God, inversed, etc. I've said these things before but no one listens. Manic laughter in the static air above the cemetery, u.s.w. This here's called writing. Read.
October 10, 2019
It took me a long time to get my hands on this one, and I began it as soon as I did. That's a rare occurrence. It fully deserves its place on the shelf of exemplary American derring-do alongside Gaddis, Barth, Coover, that whole frantic comic-rage-genius act. So if that's not your thing, don't bother, because Mano's crowning virtue here is in being consistently funny and surprisingly astute, a feat all the more impressive for being sustained at so high a pitch for so long a time. Dalkey Archive has done an inestimable service in making this near-masterpiece available, and founder John O'Brien provides a sterling introduction.
Though fairly large, it reads briskly: neither quite maximalist nor encyclopedic, though it travels in tandem with those modes. There's no "cruft" or "mastery," no labyrinthine parataxis, and despite a better than average vocabulary (more word-buzzed than word-drunk) there is virtually no wordplay in the punnilinguistic sense.
The episode in which Simon masquerades in blackface could not end soon enough. I am by no means easily offended, but I found tell-tale bits of the "yassuh dis ole darkey" routine to be tasteless. Smelled fishy. It was out of touch. I couldn't hear the redemptive music. Couldn't see eye to eye. Low five.
And yes, I was put off not only by the dedication to William Fucking Buckley, but by the nagging sense that despite all the flirtation with heresy, blasphemy, apostasy, and godless freethinking in general, the eschatological pull would be too strong for Simon to be anything but another prodigal son gratefully chastened.
Qualms with character, plot, and themes aside--it's a brilliant catalog of observations even if it fails as a novel of ideas--page for page Mano displays as sharp a wit and keen a mind as his more renowned cohort. To even get a flawed masterpiece on that "for fans of..." shortlist takes an immensely talented accomplishment.
Though fairly large, it reads briskly: neither quite maximalist nor encyclopedic, though it travels in tandem with those modes. There's no "cruft" or "mastery," no labyrinthine parataxis, and despite a better than average vocabulary (more word-buzzed than word-drunk) there is virtually no wordplay in the punnilinguistic sense.
The episode in which Simon masquerades in blackface could not end soon enough. I am by no means easily offended, but I found tell-tale bits of the "yassuh dis ole darkey" routine to be tasteless. Smelled fishy. It was out of touch. I couldn't hear the redemptive music. Couldn't see eye to eye. Low five.
And yes, I was put off not only by the dedication to William Fucking Buckley, but by the nagging sense that despite all the flirtation with heresy, blasphemy, apostasy, and godless freethinking in general, the eschatological pull would be too strong for Simon to be anything but another prodigal son gratefully chastened.
Qualms with character, plot, and themes aside--it's a brilliant catalog of observations even if it fails as a novel of ideas--page for page Mano displays as sharp a wit and keen a mind as his more renowned cohort. To even get a flawed masterpiece on that "for fans of..." shortlist takes an immensely talented accomplishment.
August 20, 2013
Mano’s turbo charged spiel strummed up my blood pressure an octave or so: the man clearly lives in fast-forward, the motor mouth equivalent of Man with a Moving Camera, but faster. I’m not using that reference idly neither. Take Five is a haptic mobius strip: its peppered with references, trademarks, imagery and celebrities who debut for a nano second in the klieglight and then absorb in the albedo of Names. Protag Simon talks a mile a minute, and its me whose breathless. As a literary technique: kudos: a narrative race propelled by dialogue rather than plot, speed through speak rather than action.
Now, I know I’m supposed to ‘go with the flow’ and let it (it being the endless diatribe) slide like water off a ducks back, but bejezuss, not when theres 50 references per page I don’t get. Just what am I supposed to flow with: the prepositions and definite articles? On any given page, here is a smorgasboard of what I’m ignorant of:
1. Ipana (discontinued toothpaste)
2. Pennsy Pinkie (discontinued rubber balls. Pink).
3. Lum and Abners
4. Rootie Kazootie
5. Gidget gets an abortion (ref Gidget gets married).
6. Naughty Marietta
7. Eric Savareid
8. Gordon Liddy
9. Jerome Mackey (fitness studio. Yup: discontinued)
10. Howard Cosell
11. Mack Sennett
12. World’s most experienced airline (aka panam. Yup: discontinued
13. Currier and Ives
All of the above: discontinued, more or less. A dazzling gallery of vintage zeitgeist bric-a-brac.
And because Mano is deft with words and an awe-full raconteur, much is hidden and parlays as an inside joke only if you’re in the know. So for example, Protag Simon says ‘If Flash Gordon over there thinks he’s Juliet of the spirits, geez, you can’t blame me’. Notice how spirits is lower case to discombobulate the hoi polloi. You’d have to know it was a film to get it. So yes, I took notes for research purposes: and, gulp, maybe my notes were a page or two short of the book itself: I’m not saying.
But OK, lets go with the flow. Yes, even an ignoramus (ahem like me) can enjoy this. It is a hard slog, even though the narrative is on speed. Protag Simon can talk the hind legg offa donkey: yet its brilliant. In fact, so brilliantly brilliant, I had a premonition: the kind I get when I’m enraptured, and the author is dead (or dying). Its my superhero reading power: If I love the write, the author is necessarily a depressed, alcoholic has been. So, a quick look-up: and voila: a development of sorts. Mano may or may not be dead or depressed, the jury is out as there is practically nothing on him in the ether, but, from the little there is, its clear to me he is certifiably, bona fide insane. That figures: genius and insanity are often separated only by the thinnest of threads. Here he is at his’ raviest’
http://wittenburgdoorinterviews.blogs...
Now Take Five: its like Nathaniel West’s ‘A cool Million’ where Semuel Pitkin is brutally dismembered, piece by piece, but this here is in Technicolor, and yes: the lion roars. Non stop. Anti-Horatio Alger, a Bildungsroman or should I say Bildungrossman, where Protag Simon Van Lynxx loses all five of his senses one by one. But whereas West is political and satirical, Mano is more subversive: there is a scattergun approach which lashes out indiscriminately to razor a wide spectrum of the value-system: its an equal opportunities opportunism in that respect. The trouble with such blanket nihilism is the difficulty of ‘anchoring’: who and what am I supposed to be rooting for? Signs of redemption here can be misleading: Protag Simon is ‘rescued’ by occasional love interest Merry whom he marries after he has degenerated into a pool of blubber: helpless like a baby and a newly minted Helen Keller. Only a supercilious mind could possibly see absolution here: the dynamics are such that this Pyrrhic redemption is commemorative of a mysoginistic causus, meant as punishment: a cautionary aside ripped from Aesops Fables, a veritable bankers credo at work: thou shalt only lend your friend an umbrella when the sun is shining, never when its raining. Or some such. Although I suspect Mano would whop my butt for that: its clear he’s plying a religious angle like a bull in a china shop. Of course its not clear exactly what: well. This is, after all, the man who can’t decide if Jesus was male or female. I would love it if he’d read Curzio Malaparte’s essay ‘Hitler is a woman’: they could have been such friends.
Now, I know I’m supposed to ‘go with the flow’ and let it (it being the endless diatribe) slide like water off a ducks back, but bejezuss, not when theres 50 references per page I don’t get. Just what am I supposed to flow with: the prepositions and definite articles? On any given page, here is a smorgasboard of what I’m ignorant of:
1. Ipana (discontinued toothpaste)
2. Pennsy Pinkie (discontinued rubber balls. Pink).
3. Lum and Abners
4. Rootie Kazootie
5. Gidget gets an abortion (ref Gidget gets married).
6. Naughty Marietta
7. Eric Savareid
8. Gordon Liddy
9. Jerome Mackey (fitness studio. Yup: discontinued)
10. Howard Cosell
11. Mack Sennett
12. World’s most experienced airline (aka panam. Yup: discontinued
13. Currier and Ives
All of the above: discontinued, more or less. A dazzling gallery of vintage zeitgeist bric-a-brac.
And because Mano is deft with words and an awe-full raconteur, much is hidden and parlays as an inside joke only if you’re in the know. So for example, Protag Simon says ‘If Flash Gordon over there thinks he’s Juliet of the spirits, geez, you can’t blame me’. Notice how spirits is lower case to discombobulate the hoi polloi. You’d have to know it was a film to get it. So yes, I took notes for research purposes: and, gulp, maybe my notes were a page or two short of the book itself: I’m not saying.
But OK, lets go with the flow. Yes, even an ignoramus (ahem like me) can enjoy this. It is a hard slog, even though the narrative is on speed. Protag Simon can talk the hind legg offa donkey: yet its brilliant. In fact, so brilliantly brilliant, I had a premonition: the kind I get when I’m enraptured, and the author is dead (or dying). Its my superhero reading power: If I love the write, the author is necessarily a depressed, alcoholic has been. So, a quick look-up: and voila: a development of sorts. Mano may or may not be dead or depressed, the jury is out as there is practically nothing on him in the ether, but, from the little there is, its clear to me he is certifiably, bona fide insane. That figures: genius and insanity are often separated only by the thinnest of threads. Here he is at his’ raviest’
http://wittenburgdoorinterviews.blogs...
Now Take Five: its like Nathaniel West’s ‘A cool Million’ where Semuel Pitkin is brutally dismembered, piece by piece, but this here is in Technicolor, and yes: the lion roars. Non stop. Anti-Horatio Alger, a Bildungsroman or should I say Bildungrossman, where Protag Simon Van Lynxx loses all five of his senses one by one. But whereas West is political and satirical, Mano is more subversive: there is a scattergun approach which lashes out indiscriminately to razor a wide spectrum of the value-system: its an equal opportunities opportunism in that respect. The trouble with such blanket nihilism is the difficulty of ‘anchoring’: who and what am I supposed to be rooting for? Signs of redemption here can be misleading: Protag Simon is ‘rescued’ by occasional love interest Merry whom he marries after he has degenerated into a pool of blubber: helpless like a baby and a newly minted Helen Keller. Only a supercilious mind could possibly see absolution here: the dynamics are such that this Pyrrhic redemption is commemorative of a mysoginistic causus, meant as punishment: a cautionary aside ripped from Aesops Fables, a veritable bankers credo at work: thou shalt only lend your friend an umbrella when the sun is shining, never when its raining. Or some such. Although I suspect Mano would whop my butt for that: its clear he’s plying a religious angle like a bull in a china shop. Of course its not clear exactly what: well. This is, after all, the man who can’t decide if Jesus was male or female. I would love it if he’d read Curzio Malaparte’s essay ‘Hitler is a woman’: they could have been such friends.
May 4, 2017
To me, this text is Heraclitean: Short, clipped sentences that are nonetheless complex. An offensive antihero, who reaches for the sublime by way of the grotesque. Religiously anti-religious, secularly sacred. Both sickeningly sentimental and raucously cynical. Satirically authentic. The road up is the road down.
I docked it a star for some of the gratuitous feeling too easily moves from repulsion to attraction in characters. But that star may return with introspection. (Especially since the finish left me with much the same feeling as Confederacy of Dunces.)
After all, where else can you find a Heideggerian précis in dialogue, a thrownness of disclosing the clearing by burning everything down?
I docked it a star for some of the gratuitous feeling too easily moves from repulsion to attraction in characters. But that star may return with introspection. (Especially since the finish left me with much the same feeling as Confederacy of Dunces.)
After all, where else can you find a Heideggerian précis in dialogue, a thrownness of disclosing the clearing by burning everything down?
March 2, 2018
And God said, Let there be light and the Word and made the world in six days, rested on the seventh, AND that's when D Keith Mano took the helm and produced this manna monstrosity from heaven of a book. Open wide, part the sea, we're goin' on a journey to milk & honeyland ifin you read this miracle of miracles madcap, pyrotechnics on every page, hell every line, romp into the mind and out of the mouth wunderkind "Simon Lynxx" filmmaker, flim-flammer, flamboyant skirt chaser extraordinaire. He'll insult you, your mother, and her mother's mother not to mention any/all race/creed/religious denomination with equal rigor/candor and righteous egalitarian shuffle. If this is a parable story then I'm a carny barker with a three elephant sideshow. You'll need to dig in to read this, maybe commit to burning the ship 'cause once yer init you really are a goner; it'll take days and books to clear this mayhem from my imprinted cortex. There's some decent write-ups here on GR's and that ain't my game anyway so read it if you buy this hype. But damn, what a corker!
October 30, 2013
A madcap mind-riot of a novel with a cyclone of a protagonist whirling and tailspinning through absurdity. His five senses diminishing as the novel inversely counts down from page 600 to 1. Genius.
February 27, 2024
One of the best postmodern novels I have read. A carnival of wordplay mostly centered around the character of Simon Lynxx, who manages to be lovable and insulting, inspiring and degenerate, massive and disturbing all at once. Tons of wacky antics ensue as Simon barrels his way through numerous situations destroying everything and somehow thoroughly enjoying himself in the process. This is a novel that deserves to be read broadly and widely.
Read
July 3, 2025Sometimes a big zany Pynchon-style novel is just too big and zany, and this might be one of those cases (a close friend said the same about Coover, but he’s just wrong about that, Coover rules). But Mano… I mean, the premise is fun, the prose is often very fun, but this nightmare of Reagan-era excess grates over time, and it just isn’t that amusing on the whole, or even particularly technically innovative. I enjoyed whole sections, but by god I was exhausted by the end.
March 24, 2011
quite a masterpiece of gonzo and a classic mistrustful protagonist you both love and hate. originally published in 1982. funny how times have changed as "random house" [oopps, "doubleday", whatever] today wouldn't touch this piece with a ten foot pole, but then were proud they published it. Dalkey Archive re-published if that is any indication to you this is both significant and wild.
December 21, 2014
I've agonised over how exactly to review this behemoth, this tsunami of cultural references (both high and low), scatology and eschatology, racism, shlock and Joycean stream-of-perception. For the sake of honesty, I'll state that a big chunk of it just went beyond me: I couldn't Google all of the myriad references (where I was even able to detect them; the many shrewd injokes I laughed atgacve me a gleaming of how much I must have missed), nor, in the absence of an e-copy (having had to order this from Amazon, and hopefully putting some bread in the jar of the good people at Dalkey Archive), unable to look up the words I didn't understand, I must plead the incapacity to give over a comprehensive, thought out review. All I can offer is some fragments of my gut reaction (and in parts, this is a novel which affects the reader exactly there). And recommend the very helpful notes by the author quoted by Nathan "N.R." Gaddis in his review.
Certainly this book is sui generis. The language is dense and daunting. Consider this opening:
I mean - I think I know what's going on there, but I can't account for every word. That was my experience with the rest of the book, too. Which is paginated (and enchaptered) backwards, from around 600 to (what else?) ∞. But, weaving around that, there is a brisk, surprisingly slapstick, funny plotline, involving the abrasive and obscenely prejudiced last scion of an old WASP family trying to finance and make a modernised film version of the life of Jesus. In so doing, he dresses up as a Spanish revolutionary to reënact the nostalgic memories of a bed-ridden old woman, attends a party thrown by a creepy artist who makes sculptures based on microscopic images of bodily fluids, lies, offends, wheedles and suffers the progressive loss of his five senses.
And here's another thing: there's a deep religious sensitivity underpinning this book, mostly in the guise of the hero's uncle, a disgraced Episcopalian priest, but also another whose identity comes as something of a surprise (I won't spoil it). I've read that Mano's work grapples with the future direction of Christianity; making him, a playwright, novelist and TV scriptwriter, quite an ecumenical character. His formidable learning shows up in discussions about Heidegger and theology, but just when you're hooked on that, there's a dick joke and an escaped monkey or two. Mano's immersion in New York's various subcultures in second to none - his use of yiddishisms and Jewish mystical terminology is terrific. (The book's characterisation of black people, though, is shameful and shows its age.)
In sum: a book I was frustrated and enthralled by in equal measures. One that I would probably not recommend to anyone, but also one of undeniable depth, possessed of poetic scansion and raucous sensibility peculiar to its time and place. Few people would dedicate the time to writing a book like this, and not many more would read it; but certainly we are all richer for it.
Certainly this book is sui generis. The language is dense and daunting. Consider this opening:
Simon.
Simon.
Simon - you'll forgive him, the deaf seem rude among us - Simon is on a dig again. Claw up dirt, catch it, raise - aaaar-um, sprocket wheel around and dump: the fifth hole he has exhumed tonight, todawn. His sandhog immigrant hand dredge and pry.
I mean - I think I know what's going on there, but I can't account for every word. That was my experience with the rest of the book, too. Which is paginated (and enchaptered) backwards, from around 600 to (what else?) ∞. But, weaving around that, there is a brisk, surprisingly slapstick, funny plotline, involving the abrasive and obscenely prejudiced last scion of an old WASP family trying to finance and make a modernised film version of the life of Jesus. In so doing, he dresses up as a Spanish revolutionary to reënact the nostalgic memories of a bed-ridden old woman, attends a party thrown by a creepy artist who makes sculptures based on microscopic images of bodily fluids, lies, offends, wheedles and suffers the progressive loss of his five senses.
And here's another thing: there's a deep religious sensitivity underpinning this book, mostly in the guise of the hero's uncle, a disgraced Episcopalian priest, but also another whose identity comes as something of a surprise (I won't spoil it). I've read that Mano's work grapples with the future direction of Christianity; making him, a playwright, novelist and TV scriptwriter, quite an ecumenical character. His formidable learning shows up in discussions about Heidegger and theology, but just when you're hooked on that, there's a dick joke and an escaped monkey or two. Mano's immersion in New York's various subcultures in second to none - his use of yiddishisms and Jewish mystical terminology is terrific. (The book's characterisation of black people, though, is shameful and shows its age.)
In sum: a book I was frustrated and enthralled by in equal measures. One that I would probably not recommend to anyone, but also one of undeniable depth, possessed of poetic scansion and raucous sensibility peculiar to its time and place. Few people would dedicate the time to writing a book like this, and not many more would read it; but certainly we are all richer for it.
January 10, 2018
D. Keith Mano is clearly a verbal and comic genius, and I'm surprised that this book of his doesn't have a larger fanbase. Simon Lynxx is a character so outrageous, self-absorbed and generally repugnant that he makes Ignatius J. Reilly seem like a perfect gentleman! His rapid-fire mouth is a thing of wonder, constantly alchemizing vulgarity, cruelty, and a kind of smart-assed vaudevillian patter into comedy gold. As he stumbles from one disastrous incident or encounter to another (involving some truly crazy and dazzling scenes: Simon disguised as a Spanish lothario to woo a wealthy-but-senile widow at a bizarre "scripted" soirée; Simon roaming the streets of Manhattan while in blackface and an African dashiki, etc.), gradually losing each of his five senses along the way (what a comeuppance!), we too are whirled along on a continually surprising exploration of identity, creativity, and soteriology. This (Anti-)Hero's Journey is a wild, wicked, and witty one, and one that more people should experience (if they dare).
February 4, 2021
There are interesting formal components to this book (the backwards numbering, the section written as a film-script). There are some more interesting scenes in the second half. The book seems to get described as sort of Recognitions-esque book for that reason but it's not really: the plot is pretty easy to follow, and it's more discursive and wordy than complex really. So far: a mediocre experimental novel with some interesting features.
BUT this is an anti-pluralist novel, which makes it both different from the above and very unpleasant. Mano was a Christian animated by a disgust of secular modernity (the book is dedicated to William F. Buckley Jr), and this makes it really, really difficult (impossible, I'd argue) to find a way to justify most of the deeply abject material that is in the book. Yes, it is satire, and yes it is meant to be shocking. I don't mind books with tendentious content, but the satire here is in service of anti-pluralist sentiment that is irredeemable in my view (and many readers found it discomfiting upon publication in 1982).
Even if I could set aside the above (and I wouldn't!), I am not convinced that this is particularly artful example of the experimental/difficult novel. The staccato prose is functional, but not particularly masterful. The absurdist, wacky plot turns are, yes, similar to those in writers like Pynchon, but just...you know...worse? Humour is subjective, but the jokes here are vaudeville scatology when they aren't explicitly racist or sexist--and I just didn't find it funny, though I was very conscious of the fact that I was supposed to find it funny. The second half is better in some respects (more human, less abjection/bigotry for the sake of it), but also cloyingly didactic at points (eg. the mention of St Paul in the final pages). I guess I'd say the book manages to be abject but also sort of hokey.
I am frankly a bit surprised this has a reputation as under-read classic. It's not a classic, and its fortunes will likely be improved by remaining under-read: I suspect most contemporary readers would be a lot less generous with it than I have. I guess it's a potentially interesting cultural artefact insofar as it's a complex Christian response to (and rejection of) modernity that draws on modernist traditions? Maybe for some! But to quote Bugs Bunny: 'Eh, NEXT!'
BUT this is an anti-pluralist novel, which makes it both different from the above and very unpleasant. Mano was a Christian animated by a disgust of secular modernity (the book is dedicated to William F. Buckley Jr), and this makes it really, really difficult (impossible, I'd argue) to find a way to justify most of the deeply abject material that is in the book. Yes, it is satire, and yes it is meant to be shocking. I don't mind books with tendentious content, but the satire here is in service of anti-pluralist sentiment that is irredeemable in my view (and many readers found it discomfiting upon publication in 1982).
Even if I could set aside the above (and I wouldn't!), I am not convinced that this is particularly artful example of the experimental/difficult novel. The staccato prose is functional, but not particularly masterful. The absurdist, wacky plot turns are, yes, similar to those in writers like Pynchon, but just...you know...worse? Humour is subjective, but the jokes here are vaudeville scatology when they aren't explicitly racist or sexist--and I just didn't find it funny, though I was very conscious of the fact that I was supposed to find it funny. The second half is better in some respects (more human, less abjection/bigotry for the sake of it), but also cloyingly didactic at points (eg. the mention of St Paul in the final pages). I guess I'd say the book manages to be abject but also sort of hokey.
I am frankly a bit surprised this has a reputation as under-read classic. It's not a classic, and its fortunes will likely be improved by remaining under-read: I suspect most contemporary readers would be a lot less generous with it than I have. I guess it's a potentially interesting cultural artefact insofar as it's a complex Christian response to (and rejection of) modernity that draws on modernist traditions? Maybe for some! But to quote Bugs Bunny: 'Eh, NEXT!'
February 5, 2024
Simon Lynxx has to be one of the best characters I've ever encountered. Yes he's a misogynistic bigot but as the story progresses and he gradually loses all five of his senses he evolves as a person and is transformed. D. Keith Mano is a superb writer and this book is fantastic. Great read!
March 7, 2015
I do honestly not know how to review this, so to keep it short: This is one of those books that succeeds entirely on it's own terms. The writing is pitch perfect, staccato and beautiful. The story is simultaneously funny, sad, and touching, and besides some very inventive set-pieces has meaningful things to say on subjects such as faith, creativity, class, love and family. There's a bit of Pynchon in the strange mixture of slapstick and tenderness and some Gaddis in the way scenes seem go on and on just that bit too much, but in general this book is entirely it's own beast. So: Big recommendation: Go read it!
April 8, 2025
A clear five stars for ambition alone, a rollicking non-politically correct Christian parable of self-indulgence being thwarted at every turn will not disappoint the postmodern reader. Somehow I feel that this one sentence review is perfect for such a verbosely ranty novel. Not in my favorites column, but I really admired it's chutzpah.
September 18, 2025
Funeral march as lurching tragicomedy, where slapstick, satire, and metaphysical terror collapse into one another. The doomed inevitability of Simon’s mortality is refracted through manic vernacular excess and haunted by his unquenchable needs and the conflicted echoes of peripheral Christianity. It contains some of the sharpest fiction on desire I’ve read, and one of the most vivid renderings of psychedelic experience. Wildly offensive, wonderfully human, the novel performs the uncanny trick of anticipating its own vanishing.
May 20, 2024
A little work, a lot of fun. My favorite kind.
Approach and style reminded me a lot of The Manifold Destiny of Eddie Vegas.
Approach and style reminded me a lot of The Manifold Destiny of Eddie Vegas.
December 27, 2015
Entertaining, if schticky as hell. Mano certainly has a way with words; however, the "losing one sense after the other" scheme is uneven and doesn't work as intended, and it's not really convincing as a redemption or potential redemption narrative.
November 7, 2022
Should never trust a Keith or a man using a one-letter first initial probably. Way too much bad Barth, sadly very little Pynchon or Coover even plus the sports metaphors I know they’re jokes but none of this ages well.
January 14, 2019
Probably one of the most hilarious books ever written, and certainly one of the most underrated.
The story here is of Simon Lynxx, a fast-talking, gleefully offensive director working on production of an absolutely ridiculous modern retelling of the life of Christ. As he barrels through a series of absurd episodes, he begins to lose his senses, one by one (each section of the book is marked by the loss of another sense).
D. Keith Mano uses the inevitability of Simon’s eventual fate to toy with dramatic irony in a brilliant way. We rarely feel bad for Simon, but it’s hard not to cringe when you know he’s about to go deaf/blind/etc. in the next few pages, and Mano takes full advantage of this technique without ever having its outcomes feel cheap or unearned.
I could go on and on about this book: how the dialogue pops like firecrackers, how the prose is jaw-droppingly excellent, how the characters are all so well-done and memorable, no matter how minor they are... but I’ll leave that up to you to figure out. This book was a perfect way to start 2019, and I highly recommend it.
The story here is of Simon Lynxx, a fast-talking, gleefully offensive director working on production of an absolutely ridiculous modern retelling of the life of Christ. As he barrels through a series of absurd episodes, he begins to lose his senses, one by one (each section of the book is marked by the loss of another sense).
D. Keith Mano uses the inevitability of Simon’s eventual fate to toy with dramatic irony in a brilliant way. We rarely feel bad for Simon, but it’s hard not to cringe when you know he’s about to go deaf/blind/etc. in the next few pages, and Mano takes full advantage of this technique without ever having its outcomes feel cheap or unearned.
I could go on and on about this book: how the dialogue pops like firecrackers, how the prose is jaw-droppingly excellent, how the characters are all so well-done and memorable, no matter how minor they are... but I’ll leave that up to you to figure out. This book was a perfect way to start 2019, and I highly recommend it.
April 26, 2022
"It's just a saying. Just a jerky American saying. Ahh-why do they call it a chicken leopard? Eats them, I suppose. Chickens."
"Uh-uh. Makes tracks like a big chicken. Three toes. Eats mealies. Destroy my father's cornfield."
"I'll be damned."
"Uh-uh. Makes tracks like a big chicken. Three toes. Eats mealies. Destroy my father's cornfield."
"I'll be damned."
November 12, 2014
I met Keith Mano at a writers workshop when he was about to launch this book. I sat at a reading he gave and was blown away by the sheer genius and power of his writing. (And yet, some women walked out of the reading, feeling his book was misogynistic and crude.) I'll never forget that. Not an easy read -- the fact that it is paginated backward, the loss of senses of his main character in fairly gruesome ways, and the particular style Mano used in using serial colons. But I loved this book. A work of genius.
July 17, 2010
What a slog! I used to think "Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die!" was the worst book published by Dalkey Archive.
September 2, 2020
How much empathy can a misanthropic, misogynistic, egotistical motormouth independent (and therefore broke) movie maker expect from the people he insults, prevaricates about, uses to advance his movie-making, emotionally abuses for his own pleasures and generally aggravates and makes trouble for? A lot, it turns out. In his frantic quest to get money to continue his dubious made-on-the-fly movie about (sort of) Jesus in the 20th century, Simon Lynxx never shuts up, constantly talks, throwing out rapid-fire allusions to and jokes or puns about everything from ancient myths through high modern literature to urban hipster decadence, finding all sorts who aid and abet him in his often preposterous antics. Those antics rob him of his senses one by one (he loses his sense of taste by setting his mouth on fire, for instance. Actually flaming fire, not just ingesting hot peppers). But finally, those losses seem to humanize him and reconcile him to the people who stuck by him, which purifies his soul--or something like that--as he dies. (Mano was apparently a devout Christian who could believe in redemption, even for the most lost and emotionally and morally forlorn.)
A pretty nutty novel, paginated from 583 backward, which was actually nice to have, easy to see how much more there was to go. A more readable book than I had anticipated. Simon's rants are impressive, his range of reference seems vast, a few things were very obscure to me, but most everything made sense in the sense that the action was able to be clearly pictured, though a few of the minor characters seemed hard to distinguish.
I'll remember Simon's brash fuck-'em-all personality, his single-minded focus on getting money to continue his movie, his unconcern whether anyone he is talking to fully understands all the allusions, jokes or insults he continually tosses out. A rather fun book. More D. Keith Mano is worth tracking down.
A pretty nutty novel, paginated from 583 backward, which was actually nice to have, easy to see how much more there was to go. A more readable book than I had anticipated. Simon's rants are impressive, his range of reference seems vast, a few things were very obscure to me, but most everything made sense in the sense that the action was able to be clearly pictured, though a few of the minor characters seemed hard to distinguish.
I'll remember Simon's brash fuck-'em-all personality, his single-minded focus on getting money to continue his movie, his unconcern whether anyone he is talking to fully understands all the allusions, jokes or insults he continually tosses out. A rather fun book. More D. Keith Mano is worth tracking down.
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