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Stained Glass Rain
A coming-of-age novel set in the counterculture of the 1960s.
"Stained Glass Rain is as image dense and metaphysically jam-packed as any acid trip. Yet for all the very accurate descriptions of hallucinatory experience, this book is no mere nostalgia trip.... Like LSD itself, the sixties have been demonized and beatified but rarely have they been humanized as fully as in this novel." --Howard V. Hendrix,
"Stained Glass Rain is as image dense and metaphysically jam-packed as any acid trip. Yet for all the very accurate descriptions of hallucinatory experience, this book is no mere nostalgia trip.... Like LSD itself, the sixties have been demonized and beatified but rarely have they been humanized as fully as in this novel." --Howard V. Hendrix,
460 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1993
138 people want to read
About the author
Bruce Boston
356 books118 followersI've published more than sixty books and chapbooks, including the novels Stained Glass Rain and the best-of fiction collection Masque of Dreams. My work ranges from broad humor to literary surrealism, with many stops along the way for science fiction, fantasy, and horror. My novel The Guardener's Tale (Sam's Dot, 2007) was a Bram Stoker Award Finailist and a Prometheus Award Nominee. My stories and poems have appeared in hundreds of publications, including Asimov's SF Magazine, Amazing Stories, Weird Tales, Strange Horizons, Realms of Fantasy, Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, and The Nebula Awards Showcase, and received a number of awards, most notably, a Pushcart Prize, the Bram Stoker Award, the Asimov's Readers' Award, the Rhysling Award, and the Grand Master Award of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. For more information, please visit my website at http://www.bruceboston.com/
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
March 4, 2018
An intoxicated and intoxicating search for rain made from stained glass; avant-garde in its expression of the 60's haze and a handful of its indwellers.
To depict Stained Glass Rain as a drugged adventure is not inaccurate though that does not uncloth much narrative skin. In truth this novel has such intimacy as to be considered erotic, where mind-altering substances must be seen as but prominently coloured surface areas that only occationally penetrate beyond this. The love found in the tale is more important than the marijuana, its carnality is more important than the alcohol, the agonists' search for life is more important than the speed, their prayers for 'stained glass rain' is more important than the LSD; the introspections and experiences of four intertwined lives is more important than their intoxicants, and more complex. Each of their journies is profoundly personal, necessitating a depth of character to match it. Bruce Boston sacreligiously tosses literary standards on the fire, continually twisting style and language to place us readers before that view which, at any given time, best enables us to cohabit their lives. Seldom have character portraits been painted with such detail – so alive are they in the mind that to close the book and thus wipe their souls from the readers mind, could surely be considered some kind of murder.
As the agonists are what fills our cameras of consciousness, and it is by the lumination of their torches that we view the place, the people, the era – 1965 and '66 according to the observer – then surely some kinds of introductions are in order: The assembling force by which the disjunct quartet eventually gathers is known as Jacobi, first name David. By the grace of those willing to pick up hitchhikers, he has traversed the nation of billboards from west to east, landing in New York; secretly pocketed within his belongings are two-hundred caps of lysergic acid, pills to set ablaze the dense shrubbery of the psyche and put into view the horizon of truths beyond it; this is his revolution, his purpose, to be at once dealer and spiritual guide – to be his answer to the search for 'stained glass rain.' His friend the poet, Michael, is known as the Hermit, thus accurately describing his lifestyle; the brass number plate on his appartment presents his surname as Shawtry, wealthy and lawyer-blooded Shawtry. But Michael forsook that life, exhanged it with a typewriter so as to pour his soul onto it and thus uncover his own individual language. This quest is largely shared by Christine Lesie, former housewife of old money, now a poetess rummaging through her writings to find a purpose for her failed life; a pale, slender, classic beauty, ten years above Jacobi's young age, but his desire for her is infinite and immediate, an illicit amour but an inevitable one. Finally, an epicenter named Botticelli, or possibly Dennis Mulligan, is coming from the west; Jacobi knows this spring storm well but Michael and Christine are utterly unprepared for what is to pass: What he brings is both his gale force personality, a briefcase brimming with 'bennies' and 'caps', and "that stained glass rain that Jacobi and Christine had been praying for."
A gander at the different reviews of Stained Glass Rain reveals how understudied this book is. The importance of the prayer's for 'stained glass rain' is expressed in no uncertain terms within the novel – which is further boldened by the fact that the title, which is supposed to epitomize the contents, consist of these very three words – yet not a single review which this reviewer has managed to dig up has attempted to debate these prayers, and there seems to exist no deeper literary analyses beyond those found in these reviews. (These results were limited to Google's benevolence.) Numbers, i.e. popularity, facilitate debate, and it would seem that Stained Glass Rain never managed to find habitation in any notable quanta of bookshelves. This reviewer suspect the fault may lie with the ill-chosen cover. Having quickly consultet four friends, presenting them with the '93 edition, demanding that they guess what kind of book it was in mere three seconds, thus having them rely solely on their first impressions: Two guessed that it was a book for teaching math, one guessed that it was a book for teaching language (which would be my assessment as well), and one thought it an unspecified sort of coursebook; five voices hardly make solid evidence, but I feel that my claim has some validity. Also, it has a lumpy spine which one would not expect from a professional press. The '03 reprint by Wildside Press suffer a similar problem only that now it has the guise of an art-book or a factual presentation regarding church windows.
Mr. Boston writes with a high precision, when a word is chosen and a sentence made then one can expect them to have undergone a stringent screening process. He is first and foremost a poet, an occupation he has held since the 60's, rewarding him with a trained eye for perfecting expressions. Thus one must expect that the term 'stained glass rain' is the most ideal one for what he intended it to represent, and it is not unlikely that it was chosen because no existing term sufficiently conveyed his intention. It seems to this reviewer that 'stained glass rain' represents some undefinable spark of magic whose effect makes you feel like life is special. Stained glass is many-coloured, and shiny droplets of it will let its surroundings reflect in them or permit the surroundings to be viewed through them, in both cases they will re-present the world in a rainbow's worth of colour; beholding the world, or oneself, through these spheres will turn whatever is beheld into something vivid and spectacular, perhaps even overworldly. And these droplets constitute rain, which begins and ends at its own leisure, making this experience of magic both fickle and finite; but also rain is the lifegiver, and a drizzle of the wonderous will sustain those affected by it through the colourless normality of arid times.
Stained Glass Rain is a read which puts demands on one's vocabulary and ability to digest far-reaching uses of literary devices and figurative language – particularily once the text dips into its soliloquys there will be parts which can be quite opaque – however the language does as often revert to the downright base and simple, it is all a matter of what most perfectly portrays the experience of a given moment and Boston goes to great lengths to achieve this. The text can at one point be organized into chapters, then alter its course into a epistolary sequences of letters or diaries to allow for their uninterrupted monologues to present the happenings retrospectively, or the text could turn into a dramaturgy to underline the superficialness of the situation, or memory might be presented as a single endless sentence through which a continuous throughtstream passes – and then this reviewer will content himself with adding an et cetera to better restrict the size of this sentence. In short, this is one unique novel and that is at least as much because of how it is written as due to the story itself. Let me present a few quotes just to finish this topic with Boston's own words:
"Throughout the meal he talked about his parents—'My father's the original phantom capitalist, scarcer than eel bones. Even I have to make three appointments before I get to see him.'—and when the check arrived it was Jacobi who wound up paying most of it——'Look, man, I'm a little low on cash until I see my mother again, and you know that scene. I'm just not up to a third-degree right now.'"
"('Do you want more?' 'Yes, more, still more.') Christina, the flavour of America is catsup and carcinogens, apple pie and anesthetics."
"Central Park is a joy on acid. Ask David Jacobi. Ask Christine Leslie. Ask Michael Shawtry. Ask Dennis Mulligan, but don't believe what he tells you."
There seems to be a general agreement that Stained Glass Rain does a good job at recollecting the life of youth in the 1960's. This reviewer was not alive during that time period and so have to trust this consensus. Nor can I confirm that the depictions of drug use has any anchoring to reality. What I cannot doubt, however, is how believable the descriptions and characters are, how the tale presents itself with such utter tangibility that it comes closer to true life experience than fiction. It is a remarkable feat of penmanship.
To depict Stained Glass Rain as a drugged adventure is not inaccurate though that does not uncloth much narrative skin. In truth this novel has such intimacy as to be considered erotic, where mind-altering substances must be seen as but prominently coloured surface areas that only occationally penetrate beyond this. The love found in the tale is more important than the marijuana, its carnality is more important than the alcohol, the agonists' search for life is more important than the speed, their prayers for 'stained glass rain' is more important than the LSD; the introspections and experiences of four intertwined lives is more important than their intoxicants, and more complex. Each of their journies is profoundly personal, necessitating a depth of character to match it. Bruce Boston sacreligiously tosses literary standards on the fire, continually twisting style and language to place us readers before that view which, at any given time, best enables us to cohabit their lives. Seldom have character portraits been painted with such detail – so alive are they in the mind that to close the book and thus wipe their souls from the readers mind, could surely be considered some kind of murder.
As the agonists are what fills our cameras of consciousness, and it is by the lumination of their torches that we view the place, the people, the era – 1965 and '66 according to the observer – then surely some kinds of introductions are in order: The assembling force by which the disjunct quartet eventually gathers is known as Jacobi, first name David. By the grace of those willing to pick up hitchhikers, he has traversed the nation of billboards from west to east, landing in New York; secretly pocketed within his belongings are two-hundred caps of lysergic acid, pills to set ablaze the dense shrubbery of the psyche and put into view the horizon of truths beyond it; this is his revolution, his purpose, to be at once dealer and spiritual guide – to be his answer to the search for 'stained glass rain.' His friend the poet, Michael, is known as the Hermit, thus accurately describing his lifestyle; the brass number plate on his appartment presents his surname as Shawtry, wealthy and lawyer-blooded Shawtry. But Michael forsook that life, exhanged it with a typewriter so as to pour his soul onto it and thus uncover his own individual language. This quest is largely shared by Christine Lesie, former housewife of old money, now a poetess rummaging through her writings to find a purpose for her failed life; a pale, slender, classic beauty, ten years above Jacobi's young age, but his desire for her is infinite and immediate, an illicit amour but an inevitable one. Finally, an epicenter named Botticelli, or possibly Dennis Mulligan, is coming from the west; Jacobi knows this spring storm well but Michael and Christine are utterly unprepared for what is to pass: What he brings is both his gale force personality, a briefcase brimming with 'bennies' and 'caps', and "that stained glass rain that Jacobi and Christine had been praying for."
A gander at the different reviews of Stained Glass Rain reveals how understudied this book is. The importance of the prayer's for 'stained glass rain' is expressed in no uncertain terms within the novel – which is further boldened by the fact that the title, which is supposed to epitomize the contents, consist of these very three words – yet not a single review which this reviewer has managed to dig up has attempted to debate these prayers, and there seems to exist no deeper literary analyses beyond those found in these reviews. (These results were limited to Google's benevolence.) Numbers, i.e. popularity, facilitate debate, and it would seem that Stained Glass Rain never managed to find habitation in any notable quanta of bookshelves. This reviewer suspect the fault may lie with the ill-chosen cover. Having quickly consultet four friends, presenting them with the '93 edition, demanding that they guess what kind of book it was in mere three seconds, thus having them rely solely on their first impressions: Two guessed that it was a book for teaching math, one guessed that it was a book for teaching language (which would be my assessment as well), and one thought it an unspecified sort of coursebook; five voices hardly make solid evidence, but I feel that my claim has some validity. Also, it has a lumpy spine which one would not expect from a professional press. The '03 reprint by Wildside Press suffer a similar problem only that now it has the guise of an art-book or a factual presentation regarding church windows.
Mr. Boston writes with a high precision, when a word is chosen and a sentence made then one can expect them to have undergone a stringent screening process. He is first and foremost a poet, an occupation he has held since the 60's, rewarding him with a trained eye for perfecting expressions. Thus one must expect that the term 'stained glass rain' is the most ideal one for what he intended it to represent, and it is not unlikely that it was chosen because no existing term sufficiently conveyed his intention. It seems to this reviewer that 'stained glass rain' represents some undefinable spark of magic whose effect makes you feel like life is special. Stained glass is many-coloured, and shiny droplets of it will let its surroundings reflect in them or permit the surroundings to be viewed through them, in both cases they will re-present the world in a rainbow's worth of colour; beholding the world, or oneself, through these spheres will turn whatever is beheld into something vivid and spectacular, perhaps even overworldly. And these droplets constitute rain, which begins and ends at its own leisure, making this experience of magic both fickle and finite; but also rain is the lifegiver, and a drizzle of the wonderous will sustain those affected by it through the colourless normality of arid times.
Stained Glass Rain is a read which puts demands on one's vocabulary and ability to digest far-reaching uses of literary devices and figurative language – particularily once the text dips into its soliloquys there will be parts which can be quite opaque – however the language does as often revert to the downright base and simple, it is all a matter of what most perfectly portrays the experience of a given moment and Boston goes to great lengths to achieve this. The text can at one point be organized into chapters, then alter its course into a epistolary sequences of letters or diaries to allow for their uninterrupted monologues to present the happenings retrospectively, or the text could turn into a dramaturgy to underline the superficialness of the situation, or memory might be presented as a single endless sentence through which a continuous throughtstream passes – and then this reviewer will content himself with adding an et cetera to better restrict the size of this sentence. In short, this is one unique novel and that is at least as much because of how it is written as due to the story itself. Let me present a few quotes just to finish this topic with Boston's own words:
"Throughout the meal he talked about his parents—'My father's the original phantom capitalist, scarcer than eel bones. Even I have to make three appointments before I get to see him.'—and when the check arrived it was Jacobi who wound up paying most of it——'Look, man, I'm a little low on cash until I see my mother again, and you know that scene. I'm just not up to a third-degree right now.'"
"('Do you want more?' 'Yes, more, still more.') Christina, the flavour of America is catsup and carcinogens, apple pie and anesthetics."
"Central Park is a joy on acid. Ask David Jacobi. Ask Christine Leslie. Ask Michael Shawtry. Ask Dennis Mulligan, but don't believe what he tells you."
There seems to be a general agreement that Stained Glass Rain does a good job at recollecting the life of youth in the 1960's. This reviewer was not alive during that time period and so have to trust this consensus. Nor can I confirm that the depictions of drug use has any anchoring to reality. What I cannot doubt, however, is how believable the descriptions and characters are, how the tale presents itself with such utter tangibility that it comes closer to true life experience than fiction. It is a remarkable feat of penmanship.
December 11, 2010
The sixties etched in glass, reflecting the lives of characters transcending time, finding truths inherent in the human condition.
Stained Glass Rain is the griffin of Jack Kerouac's, "On the Road."
Stained Glass Rain is the griffin of Jack Kerouac's, "On the Road."
October 22, 2018
Remarkable book. Definitely one of the top ten books I've ever read.
November 13, 2011
for a change, here is the truth about being young in the mid-sixties
August 30, 2024
When I first read this, I said it was the best book I ever read, and it remains so - the best book of its kind. Crafted with the skill of a Grand Master Poet, but with a writer's talent as well, it has poetry and a play as well as fiction, all woven together beautifully. His characters come alive so vividly, you recognize their traits in strangers as well as friends. Boston paints the 60's in light and shadow; a young man searches for meaning, drugs like LSD are part of it, but the story isnt about drugs. You'd be wise to own this book, it's about an era that should not be misunderstood.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews