Archive for March 6th, 2006

Just Number Seven…

Sid Lowe tells it like it is on the aftermath of Florentino’s departure:

By departing with a dig at the players, he has left Ronaldo in the eye of the
storm – yet another easy scapegoat – easy prey for new president Fernando Martín
and the Brazilian’s real nemesis: Raúl.

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A Splice of Fiction

Thinking a bit further about the Killshot/Perfume switcheroo, here’s a few more titles lurking on my bookshelves:

The Plot Against Madame Bovary
American aviation hero Charles Bovary becomes the First fascist President of the United States but ends it all after racking up a string of debts and a love affair with a guy called Leon.

A Long Long Da Vinci Code
Royal Dublin Fusilier Willie Dunne goes off to fight for the King of England on foreign fields, and on his return gets shot by a francophile on crutches but is finally redeemed by marrying a blood descendent of Jesus Christ.

No-one Writes To Ulysses
A day’s walking around Dublin ends up with Molly Bloom getting told she has to eat shit because that pension from the Colombian army never seems to arrive.

The Accidental Outsider
Meursault kills an Arab, goes on trial, then shacks up with a ditzy dog walker who helps him come to terms with the loss of his mother, who died on the first page.

Chronicles of Animal Farm
Shortly after recording Oh Mercy with Daniel Lanois in New Orleans, Bob Dylan looks on as the pigs start walking around on their hind legs.

The Prime of Miss Blood Meridian
Schoolmistress’s unorthodox instruction of young girls ends in bloody massacre with gratuitous scalping.

Digging Dutch

I love Elmore Leonard books, but with the exception of Tarantino’s Jackie Brown, I’m not so keen on the film adaptations. Watching the rather lame Be Cool the other night (complete with utterly incomprehensible Finnish subtitles), I remembered a rather unexpected twist to an Elmore Leonard novel I had been reading some time ago.

Page 240 of my copy of the soon-to-be-a-film Killshot ends like this:

There was a silence.
“All right, I’ll see you at home. I mean our real home. Yeah, that’s fine with me, I’m ready. I’ll see you to-“

Page 241 of my copy of Killshot begins like this:

Richis was immediately convinced that there was no danger whatever to fear from this almost touchingly harmless creature, and he left very quietly so as not to disturb his sleep and went back into the inn.

In a quasi-Borgesian twist, the last 43 pages of my copy of Killshot are identical to the last 43 pages of Perfume by Patrick Suskind. The fact that Elmore Leonard has probably never even read Perfume, yet manages to replicate it word for word at the end of his own book, means that his achievement is even greater than that of the original author. That, or someone buggered up the printing presses.

Pardon my ignorance….

But is Norman Johnson Craig Brown? Some of the columns so far have been shite, but this one was rather good.


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