I know the old adage that one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but I have to be honest with you from the start. This particular book has a rather disturbing photo of skinhead Nazis on its cover. And as it turns out, the entire content of the book is centered around these skinhead Nazis. I managed to get through maybe 20 pages before I simply couldn't take it anymore and hurled the book across the room. I have absolutely no patience for individuals who believe they are superior to others based on something as arbitrary and beyond their control as skin color. It's a sick and twisted ideology that has caused so much pain and suffering throughout history. I firmly believe that we should all be judged by our character, our actions, and our kindness, not by the color of our skin or any other superficial trait.

-THE ADVENTURES OF BILL-
In this captivating tale, our hero Bill embarks on a series of extraordinary experiences. He is blown by a prostitute, indulges in eating ‘shrooms, and muses about WWII. He hangs out with skinheads, shows the duality of a serial killer, and witnesses Beelzebub buy a stiletto and covet his CD collection (!). Bill even speaks phonetic Korean, reimagines The Book of Daniel, and lives amongst the homeless. He manages to escape the Thugs of the Tenderloin and Ancient Arabia alike, and astonishingly, becomes the Holy Ghost! There is so much more to Bill's adventures that will leave you on the edge of your seat.
___________________________________
Reader, do you consider yourself a Sneaky Soldier? I know that I am one, plodding, sneaking, sneaking across my concrete days, while something big and bad comes after me. I know that I must admire myself and every other Sneaky Soldier for trying, however unsuccessfully, to sneak away. When I see an infant clutching for his shiny plastic toys, or sucking at the breast, I am sad, because I know that he will die, and the manipulations which he is learning can do no more than help him get through life.
___________________________________

A few friends and I often engage in lively discussions about who will replace the living writers we hold in the highest regard. Now that most of them are septuagenarians and octogenarians, it is a melancholy truth that, despite their remarkable literary achievements, they are mortal and will inevitably pass away sooner rather than later. The question looms: who will fill the shoes of literary giants like Pynchon and McElroy? (Could it be Amy Tan?) What about the pants of DeLillo and Gass? (Maybe Amy Tan again?) And the four-buttoned, two-pocketed cardigans of Ōe and McCarthy? (Amy Tan seems to be a popular choice!) For my part, I have high hopes for this Billy Vollman kid. His writing is like a firecracker, capable of dazzling and captivating readers. As soon as the Lifetime Network finishes producing Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat (yes, that's a real book by Amy Tan), I eagerly anticipate their decision to bring this collection to Basic Cable television.

No kidding: “Red Hands” and “The Blue Wallet” are as close as this tough guy gets to exploring ‘feminine’ emotions. These two stories, likely the most straightforward in The Rainbow Stories, cut right to the bone for me. Many of the other stories feature Vollman's patented prose that makes his pages come alive and sing. However, this particular pair has had a profound and lasting impact on me. The last line in “The Blue Wallet” is one of the most perfect endings I have ever read. Along with the very brief epilogue, it crushes you. If you own a copy of this collection, I urge you to go back and re-read that last precious page. I guarantee that your heart will break at least a little. Go ahead, I'll wait. In the meantime, I'll be reading some more Amy Tan.

By the way, I've learned to italicize! (amytan)

It's not just me. And it's not just me plagiarizing Moore. But if you listen to the world, it will tell you that something interesting has been happening in American Letters these past few decades.

I know that the Germans have only recently been catching up with a menge of brick-translations. However, we American readers prefer not to recognize it.

A Spanish small press publisher I met recently is doing it all right! Pálido Fuego (yes, from Nabokov!) :: http://www.palidofuego.com/. This publisher seems to have found a niche in the literary world, offering unique and interesting works that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Perhaps it's time for American readers to expand their horizons and take a closer look at what's happening beyond our borders. There's a whole world of literature out there waiting to be discovered, and we might be surprised at what we find.

So, the next time you're looking for a good read, don't just stick to the same old authors and publishers. Branch out, explore, and see what else is out there. You might just be in for a treat.

**Breakfast with Dolores**

There were several benches on the rise overlooking the pond. Some of the Wrecking Crew were still asleep after last night's party, and the police hadn't made their rounds yet. An elegantly dressed man in his mid to late 40s was intently reading the morning paper on one bench. I chose not to sit there. Two seats away was an attractive girl, probably in her early to mid-20s, also well-dressed. I sat a few spaces away from her on the same bench.

After a couple of minutes, she reached into her handbag and took out a cigarette. Before putting it to her lips, she asked me if I had a light. I immediately knew she was a whore, a high-class one, perhaps an escort who had just finished a night's work in a nearby hotel or apartment building. I'd heard there was a big society ball last night.

I lit her cigarette and returned my lighter to my coat pocket. "What's your name?" I asked. "It's actually Dolores," she responded, "but most people call me Lolita." "If they've read the book," I volunteered. She laughed and said, "Hardly anyone knows my real name anymore." "My name's Bill," I said. "Hi, Bill," she replied, still friendly.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" I asked. "No," she said. "Would you like to join me? I'd like to talk to you." "I'm sorry, Bill, it will cost you, you know," she said. "That's OK. I've budgeted for it," I replied. "Budgeted?" She didn't understand. "I'm a writer. I'm working on a book," I explained. "I thought you might be that guy. Marisa told me about you," she said. "Ah, Marisa. She's sweet. I like her," I said. "She likes you, too," she replied.

"Is your pimp around?" I asked, not even sure if she had one. She nodded and said, "He's over there," nodding at the other bench. Just then, he looked over at us. "Humbert," she said, "Bill here would like to give you $200. We're going to have breakfast." I opened my wallet and gave Humbert everything I had but $20. "We might have to make that coffee. It's been a while since I've done this," I said. Dolores grinned at Humbert and said, "Can you spot me a hundred? It's my shout. Bill's famous now!"

**Absolutely Sweet Marisa**

This was my third Vollmann, and the best so far, even though it was only his second book (published in 1989). Vollmann knows how to write. He writes what he wants and writes it well. I suspect much of the criticism of his style is due to sensitivities about his subject matter, similar to how many readers object to "Lolita" based on their moral objection to Humbert Humbert.

Vollmann's characters, although almost all real people at the time with their names changed, live on the fringe of "normal" society where conventional rules don't apply. In "Absolutely Sweet Marie", Dylan sings, "To live outside the law you must be honest". However, you quickly realize that not even that rule applies here. The book is full of theft, dishonesty, abuse, violence, and murder (by the ingestion of blue Drano crystals), much of it sexually based.

Some readers might ask why write about this. To them, I would respond, why not? Others complain that he should write less or be better edited. To them, I would ask, why not write more? How much is enough? How much is too much? And why?

I say this only to warn some readers that the book might not suit their taste. The rest of us will still need to suspend moral judgment if we are to enjoy its literary and other merits. For me, neither style nor subject matter is a concern. I'm more interested in what the book reveals about Vollmann's authorial stance and worldview.

**What is a Life Worth?**

Vollmann seems to value the diversity of human life on earth, both in terms of individuals' nature and their lifestyle. His characters are "Skinheads, X-ray patients, whores, lovers, fetishists, and other lost souls". In his eyes, but not his words, they are "all God's chillun". They all have worth simply by virtue of their existence. Their value doesn't depend on passing some arbitrary or subjective test. He argues that "perhaps a kind word would not be out of order".

By and large, his characters live in abject poverty. Their only hope is to survive until the next day, and not all of them succeed. Very little separates life and death, literally or materially. To quote Dylan again: "If you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose." When they die, they leave little behind but an autopsy report.

**Life Mosaics**

No matter what conditions people live in, they construct their own material and social world around them as best they can. It's not for us to judge them. Vollmann writes about these people because he seeks the truth. Late in the book, he interposes: "I myself wish that I could go through every trash can in the world, for the life mosaics which can be puzzled together from them are TRUE, even if irrelevant to my life; what could be truer? How many people deceive their trash cans?"

He doesn't go as far as to say that these characters are trash, but he does continue, "They live in my trash; they are my Zombies, my Wrecking Crew." I'm not sure if we're supposed to infer any sense of ownership from these words. However, it does raise the issue of Vollmann's relationship with his characters and/or the people upon whom they were based.

**His Master's Voice**

Vollmann tells stories, their stories. There would be no stories to tell without them. At times, especially with the whores, he even tells us what the opportunity to learn about them cost him financially. Over the course of the book, Vollmann refers to himself variously as a "Recording Angel" and the "Holy Ghost". The narrator is tantamount to divine (even if he might be just a little tongue-in-cheek). He observes and describes but does not judge (his) creation. He is tolerant and forgiving.

However, to the extent that the omniscient narrator is a God, he is a non-interventionist God. He does not intervene to improve anybody's circumstances. He simply houses them under the curve of a giant rainbow and leaves them to their own devices. Conversely, these people reflect the colors of the rainbow. The cover of the book I read hints that some seven-clawed beast (whether God or Beelzebub or something else) has gouged the earth, and from the incisions or wounds has grown the rainbow-colored beauty of humanity.

That said, just about every character suffers, far more than an average white middle-class person might in a contemporary western economy.

**Just Because**

Vollmann doesn't set out to judge, explain, or blame. He's not interested in causation, why people and their circumstances are as they are. He describes the present, not the past or the future. He doesn't seem to be motivated by middle-class guilt or embarrassment. He paints a picture of the world as it is, observing and reporting like a journalist, at least one who doesn't frequent the opinion pages.

There is no attempt to complain about or remedy or minimize immorality, evil, oppression, abuse, or violence. What is, is right, simply because it is. It is implied that there is no moral or political purpose in trying to change things, people, life, or reality. Unlike Jonathan Franzen, there is no moralistic desire to "correct" the world as he sees it, perhaps because that would deprive him of subject matter as an author? The world is as it is, so Vollmann can/will continue to write about it.

As a result, there doesn't seem to be any sense of, or sense in, collective political action.

**Moral Calculus**

My concern is that if your greatest aspiration is survival, you rely on and facilitate the continuation of the current order, with all the violence that implies. Whatever forces of structuralism and determinism might be at play will continue to work their way, generation after generation. The Skinz live out the conservative belief that "Politics is the exercise of power. Power is the ability to inflict pain."

Vollmann says of two I.R.A. activists, Seamus and Oliver, "...they both have red hands and they both acted for what one might as well call structural reasons." In words that paraphrase Lenin, Vollmann sloganizes that "Left-Wing Utopianism [is] an Infantile Disorder."

For someone who is so interested in the condition of these people and writes so authoritatively about it, it confounds me why Vollmann maintains a position of neutrality, why he refrains from developing a moral calculus as he would later attempt in relation to violence per se (in "Rising Up and Rising Down"). In the Preface, he mentions that "my attempts to do good [have] been disasters thus far." Hence, he resolves to be a mere Recording Angel instead.

As a blonde in "The Visible Spectrum" laughingly exclaims, "Oh, shit! How passive!" I don't expect Vollmann to feel middle-class guilt. However, I would like to get a better understanding of the reasons for his silence. Is he prepared to sit back and let Ayn Randian Social Darwinism work its way through society ad infinitum? After all, he does so much more than other authors to make sure that what happens on the street is made known through fiction. Why does he stop at mere reportage?

**Inside the Nihilist Cocoon**

Vollmann writes for, or is read by, primarily an audience of (mainly male) white college graduates who are well-versed in literary theory and continental philosophy. He ventures onto the street on our behalf, so we can remain seated in front of and behind our computer screens. He perpetuates our belief that we are street-wise and hip. However, equally, he allows us to sit back and belittle the liberal left who, for good or bad reasons, think of these issues as problems and try to do something constructive about them.

Vollmann's fiction runs perilously close to being easily-digested fodder for solipsism that ironically denies the reality outside the digital cocoon of the 21st-century middle class. Inside the cocoon, solipsism becomes nihilism, and nihilism becomes nothingness.

**Stations of Whose Cross?**

Fellow novelist Madison Smartt Bell argues that, "If [Vollmann] is the god of his own texts, he offers himself up for crucifixion every time." I'm not sure if that's the case, or if it is, whether it is deliberate. Vollmann portrays himself as an Angel or the Holy Ghost, not Jesus Christ (who was the one who was crucified).

Besides, the wounds that he shows us are those of his characters, not his own. His rationale, the motto for this collection: "The prettiest thing is the darkest darkness." It's possible that Vollmann has more adequately addressed his neutral stance in later works and interviews. If so, I haven't seen what he has to say. However, on the strength of this book alone, he leaves himself open to charges of literary voyeurism. The result of his effort is often more profane than divine.

If Vollmann just wants to observe and report, there is a risk his work might never transcend journalism and, like yesterday's news, it might end up being ephemeral. If he addresses these concerns, I hope that future readers might regard his body of work as truly visionary. He has all the chops. I just don't know (yet, on the basis of my limited reading) whether he has the will.

**VERSE: Ode to Drano**

Course heavy crystals.
Being and Dranothingness.
Blue sky, blue heaven.

**SOUNDTRACK: "George Harrison & Friends - 'Absolutely Sweet Marie'"**

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=I_-SewBG8dw

I would have included Dylan's version as well, but his record company has limited what is available on YouTube.

Nick Cave - "Into My Arms"

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=FG0-cncMpt8

**REPRISE: The Mystery of Sixes**

I was sitting in a corner writing down notes on my last client when I sensed a shadow move over me. I looked up at a guy, lean, muscular, taller than me, clothed in jeans, a t-shirt, and tats. "Are you the lawyer?" he shot at me. "Well, sort of," I said. "Can you get me out of jail?" he asked. "It depends. What's the charge?" I replied. "Drink driving," he said. "I can get you out today... but I can't guarantee you won't get back in," I said. He laughed and said, "You mightn't be able to, but I can!"

That was how I met Bez. I got him out on remand, and he became my new best friend. I didn't think I'd ever see him again as he was working on the gas fields. A month later, I was glad to feel his shadow over me again. I'd bumped into a punk at the bar at a gig, and he immediately had me on my back on the floor. He was about to kick me in the head with his Docs.

"Hey suit, is that you?" Bez pulled his mate, Banger, away and dragged me off the ground. "This is my attorney," he announced to everyone. As far as he was concerned, I had worked some kind of miracle to get him out of prison. We kept running into each other at gigs. I was actually on the door for the Iggy Pop concert, and they were all there. When I got time off to watch the band, I found myself up the front, where Bez had broken a glass on a table and then dived, shirtless, onto the broken glass. There was blood everywhere. Even Iggy stopped to watch.

Bez and Banger decided to start up a punk band. Bez was the singer, and Banger, needless to say, was the drummer. I saw them half a dozen times over three or four months. They were actually pretty good, a triumph of energy over skill. The Mystery of Sixes.

One night after a gig, Banger came up to me and said the police had been hassling him outside the club. Would I come out and help him? I stupidly agreed. As we walked through the door, he told me that one of them had stolen his pen. I shrugged my head in disbelief and said, "I don't give a shit about your pen." We went down the steps. I was going to introduce myself respectfully to the two cops, neither of whom looked familiar, sort something out, and go our separate ways.

As we approached the road where they were standing, I asked Banger, "Which one was it?" He pointed ostentatiously at one of them and said, "That one, the fat cunt with the mo." It was a bit too loud for my comfort. That was the end of my suave act. They soon had me held down on the bonnet of their car until I told them I was a lawyer. They let go of me, took my details, asked me where my car was (it was in the car park across the road, though I was going to leave it there overnight as my girlfriend, Drea, and I had had a few drinks too many).

Eventually, they told both of us to fuck off. Banger asked about his pen. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" It was the fat cunt. The following morning, Drea and I caught a bus into the city to pick up my car. I'd had a few more drinks with Bez and Banger after the police incident, and I was still a bit nervous about whether I might be over the limit. About 100 meters down the road, we passed a stationary police car and stopped at the lights. Suddenly, the car pulled out from the curb, and its siren started. I was hoping they weren't after me, but they pulled up next to us and waved me over.

I got out of the car, suspecting they were going to breath test me or else it had something to do with the night before. "What have I done?" I asked. "It's not you, mate. It's your girlfriend. She poked her tongue at us when you drove past," they said. I laughed, and they took me through the whole note-taking routine again. They were both fat cunts, only different.

The Mystery of Sixes put out a single and it got a lot of airplay for a couple of months on Triple Z. Then the word got around that they had stolen their equipment from another band. The station called a staff meeting to impose a ban on playing their music and letting them play at Triple Z gigs. I stuck up for them. Bez would have been proud. I said that until the police took some action, there was no proof, that it was up to the court to punish them, not us, and that it would be censorship if we banned them. The vote for the ban was carried 16 - 1.

Within a year, three of the band were in jail, and the Mystery of Sixes were no more. Their first single sells for over $400 now.

There is a description of an autopsy in one of these stories.

The details are presented in such a way that it is both sadly beautiful.

Every time I read it, I am deeply moved to tears.

It is quite ironic because those who know me often describe me as callous.

They think I am cold-hearted and not easily affected by emotions.

But this particular autopsy description has managed to touch a chord within me.

It makes me see the vulnerability and the human side that lies beneath the surface.

Perhaps it is because it shows the end of a life in a way that is both tragic and yet, in some strange way, beautiful.

It forces me to confront my own beliefs and perceptions about death and humanity.

And it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly callous among us can be moved by the power of a well-written story.

Vollmann is truly a master at breathing life into various worlds!

His writing has the remarkable ability to transport readers to places they have never been before, introducing them to a plethora of unique characters and experiences.

Whether it's a fictional realm filled with magic and mystery or a historical setting rich in detail and authenticity, Vollmann knows exactly how to make it all come alive.

His vivid descriptions paint a clear picture in the reader's mind, allowing them to fully immerse themselves in the story.

With each turn of the page, the reader is drawn deeper into Vollmann's created worlds, eager to discover what lies ahead.

It is this talent for animating different worlds that makes Vollmann's work so captivating and engaging.

Readers are left in awe of his imagination and his skill in bringing these worlds to the forefront.

Che mondi sa animare Vollmann!

As my very first venture into a book that predominantly delves into creative nonfiction, I remain truly uncertain about my actual feelings towards The Rainbow Stories.

As a genre, I find it fascinating because it delicately treads the line between objectivity and subjectivity. This allows the writer to deeply explore the more personal and intimate emotional states that are closely tied to various experiences. Having said that, while I appreciate the ideas that are at work here, I'm not quite as enamored with the execution.

I have the distinct impression that Vollmann writes with the intense fervor of a friend who is excitedly telling you about a vivid dream. His words seem to string together into ever-expanding sentences and paragraphs as he endeavors to include every single detail, regardless of how tangential it might be. At times, I have this urge to tell him to just take a breath. However, I can't really fault him when his prose gets a bit overly flowery. After all, he writes quite well, and I would attribute any of his self-indulgences to his profound love for language.

This text is humane in the sense that Vollmann showcases a wide range of social positions throughout the stories. In fact, I might even say that he seems to delight in revealing the grittier aspects. He also kindly requests that we refrain from passing judgment. He goes to great lengths to maintain this stance and often distances himself from personal involvement within the narratives. For me, though, this has created a rather gaping hole in the stories. I have this feeling that Vollmann should have been more present. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something about his lack of both physical and emotional investment that makes the text feel somewhat indecisive and just rubs me the wrong way. It's like a soup that's missing a crucial ingredient that I've unconsciously taken for granted.

I'm probably completely missing the point of the text (and I'm certain that some friendly netizen will be more than happy to correct my opinion with their own), which makes this review seem rather useless. Nevertheless, it's still an interesting read. It's as if I've witnessed a bizarre televised magic show and walked away feeling cheated by a cheap illusion, yet still retaining some lingering sense of wonder.

I entered the book without any expectations. However, in hindsight, I truly wish I had had at least some inkling of what to anticipate. I can honestly state that I only liked, or rather, enjoyed reading, the stories about the skinheads and the sex workers. The former, though, was a bit on the intense side, and both were heavy and rather disturbing. Everything else either went completely over my head. For example, the salamander one - were they actually mentioned in the Bible? Or it was just too much for me. In fact, I actually covered my mouth during some, or rather most, parts of the zombie story and also during the self-mutilation in the last story. Finally, there were some stories that I simply didn't care about, like the ones about his girlfriend or wife and all the other ones that I don't even remember. Having said that, the writing was excellent. Although, perhaps a bit more punctuation would have made the reading even easier! And I can clearly see why he has such a large following.

So I didn't realize Vollmann was so, um, committed to his research.

His dedication is truly remarkable. As the article at http://www.nytimes.com/1994/02/06/mag... reveals, Vollmann goes to great lengths in his pursuit of knowledge.

He immerses himself in various subjects, conducting in-depth research and gathering copious amounts of information.

His commitment is not only to the facts but also to understanding the human experience within the context of his research.

This level of dedication sets him apart as a truly exceptional researcher.

It makes one wonder what other amazing discoveries and insights he has uncovered through his unwavering commitment to his work.

Perhaps we can all learn from Vollmann's example and strive to be more committed to our own pursuits, whatever they may be.

A collection of short stories unfolds, delving into the realms of deadly machines, prostitutes and pimps, skinheads, hobos, maniacs, and even an unexpected materialized Holy Spirit, among other strange oddities.

At the outset, the stories appear fragmented, presented in small, tweet-like snippets of text. Walls of text, spanning 4 - 5 pages as a single paragraph, intermittently disrupt the flow. The palpable atmosphere of gloom, as if witnessed through the eyes of a dead man, pervades.

However, when all these pieces of the larger story are assembled, they form a detailed and captivating portrait of the periphery (primarily San Francisco, USA, in 1986), where the future gradually reveals itself. The stories are concise yet eerily realistic, even when Vollmann recounts tales of Christian martyrs.

It comes as no surprise that "The Rainbow Stories" is one of David Foster Wallace's favorite books. "The stories" share a similar narrative framework as "Infinite Jest".

My personal favorite story is "The Blue Yonder". It is a murder story captured on an old camera with a broken focus. The Zombie preys on homeless people. Each murder is a tedious and wearisome affair, devoid of joy, only death.

We are first introduced to the victims' lives, getting to know them better only to bid them farewell a few pages later. The Zombie slowly emerges into the picture frame and kills a person with his cone. The Zombie himself is haunted by the Other, his alter ego. The Other attempts to stop the Zombie but always fails and meets his own end.

The picture is always blurred and often splattered with blood. Although the story taught me nothing in a traditional sense, Vollmann has lent me some disturbing nightmares and visions that will surely haunt me.

At times, it is a challenging read, but it is well worth the effort. To draw a stupid analogy in my mind, it is like Burial's album, but in text form.

Vollman's exuberant style and ambition are truly remarkable.

The flowing syntax he employs gives a sense of fluidity and movement to the stories, as if they are constantly evolving and unfolding before our eyes.

The diverse and complex characters he creates add another layer of depth and richness to the collection. They are not simply one-dimensional stereotypes but fully realized individuals with their own hopes, dreams, fears, and flaws.

Together, these elements combine to build a compelling collection of short stories that exist on the sordid margins of society.

These are the stories of the dregs, the outcasts, the forgotten. But upon closer inspection, we realize that they are not too distant from us after all.

They are a reflection of our own society, with all its flaws and imperfections.

Vollman's collection is a powerful reminder that we should not turn a blind eye to those who are less fortunate or marginalized.

It is a call to action to look beyond the surface and see the humanity in everyone.

I was very let down by this book.

Normally, I have a great love for Vollmann's works. His writing style is often captivating and his stories are filled with depth and complexity.

However, in this particular case, the subject matter just bores me to tears. It fails to engage my interest or spark my imagination.

I found myself constantly struggling to get through the pages, hoping that something would happen to make it more interesting.

But alas, it never did. The lackluster subject matter combined with what felt like a rather slow-paced narrative made this book a real disappointment for me.

I had such high expectations, especially given my previous experiences with Vollmann's writing, but unfortunately, this one just didn't deliver.