Stuff I've read

August's book was Memoir from Antproof Case, a novel by Mark Helprin. Written in the style of an autobiography, Helprin weaves the incredible recollection of memories that a man is storing up in an antproof case to leave behind for his son.

He's a certified lunatic, a war hero, a thief, an investment banker, and a murderer who is hiding, from assasins, in Brazil. It's just insane enough to remind you that it's fiction. But it's sharp enough to convince you that it's real.

I bought Memoir from Antproof Case several years ago, mostly because the narrator's most vicious battle is against coffee. Admist stories of Arnold American's life as a World War II fighter pilot, his meetings with popes and presidents, his accidental and purposeful killings of men, and his theft of the century, he rants ruthlessly about the consumption of coffee and its effects on humanity.

And I love coffee.

It took me awhile to sink my teeth into this "memoir," but it's absolutely classified now as one of my favourites, a tale of immeasurable worth because even in its fictitiousness, it wasn't meant for me. It was meant for Funio, Arnold's only son, with whom he has too little time. Books are about opening doors, building bridges from one universe to another, but this one is somehow different. Reading if feels private, as if somewhere in the world (this one or some other one) an old man had one hell of an adventure and wanted to share it with his child.

The writing is superb, bringing detail and life in the most flawless of ways, allowing the reader to be the creator of imagery as well as simultaneously showing him exactly what to see. It's a must-read. I started this book in the dog-days of a Georgia summer and finished it in the middle of a Sydney winter. Truly, a book for all seasons.

 I was once one of the richest men in the world, and once a kid who worked hard and saved his money for a sugared donut and some sheet music. I fought alongside angels high above the earth where the air is as thin as helium and defeat is an exploding sun. I have tightened my grip and narrowed my eyes, rushing toward gunfire like gravity. I have been in a great army that took years to conquer half the world. I have sailed across the ocean, rocketed into the clouds, skimmed the Hudson and cut apart its lily pads with my propeller, and I have seen the demise of nations, as new nations arise.

Had this been a quiet century and had my country been a backwater, perhaps I would have been more easily contented, but the world was swept by great and terrible things, and I was at the heart of them.