I devoured Tom Robbins in my twenties. When I sat down to write my first novel I revisited two writers - Armistead Maupin for his command of dialogue and his ability to drive the plot forward through conversations that never burst the bubble of belief, Tom Robbins for his wildly joyous use and abuse of language, both of them for their ability to embrace the bizarre in a way that most writers fight shy of. People say truth is stranger than fiction because most writers of fiction are too timid and veer towards gritty 'realism' at the expense of the extraordinary.
Fierce Invalids is the first of Robbins books I've read in fifteen years. I can't pretend I wasn't disappointed. I'm now wary of revisiting my favourites; Half Asleep..., Still Life... and above all Jitterbug Perfume, for fear that I'll find they haven't withstood two decades of my growing though reading and writing.
So why was it a disappointment? Well it seemed to fail on all counts. Robbins' wonderful use of language, those car crash similies, those extended riffs on crazy thoughts seemed to have become almost formulaic. It's as though he stopped to think 'what is it that Tom Robbins does?' and rolled it out again rather than oit coming from a place of divine craziness as I felt it diid when I first read him. It's a little like sitcom producers who, finding they have an unexpected smash on their hands, set out to analyse what made it successful and then attempt to replicate it.
Then there was the story; too long and the central conceit was too weak. There's iconoclastic and there's grubby. This was just slightly grubby. Anal-sex with a nun? Lusting after his 16 year old step sister? Fine but neither really quite worked - either there needs to be soul searching or it needs to be played for high comedy and this fell somewhere between the two.
Lastly there's Switters. One reviewer on Goodreads reckoned Switters was the greatest literary invention he'd some across. Well yes... I'm glad he pleased someone. I found him daft. The notion of the rebel CIA guy, the countercultural infiltrator into the great security machine is a head-shop fantasy. I found him thoroughly two dimensional and slightly repellent.
But there was one definite plus - having read Fierce Invalids it reminded me that I like writing about the absurd and gave me the feeling I could do better... well maybe I can and maybe I can't but if it persuades me to have a go that's not a dead loss, right?

1) pretty sure this is just an incel fantasy trying to hide behind a curtain of satire but the curtain is actually made of saran wrap
2) men writing women (the worst way)
3) self-indulging, pedophilic (why is this just a quirk in multiple characters), crass, and bumbling around like a drunk bee
4) it’s like if you took Vonnegut but instead it was nothing like that and actually just a 47 year old reddit mod who recently discovered metaphors, pseudo intellectualism, and an infatuation with teenage girls
5) couldn’t finish. the name Switters was my last straw

It is hilarious! So fun to read something that has paragraphs you need to chew your way through.
For example: " Chickpea in his mouth, dry heat in his nostrils, papery leaf rustle and narcotic hen cluck in his ears, grainy wind on his skin, distant shimmer (like a flutter of god beards, a pulse of muslin-wrapped phosphorus) in his eyes, thirst never far from his throat: it was, in terms of the senses, a perfect situation in which to try to summon his faint knowledge of that series of writings(like the Bible, it was a disjointed, fragmented collection rather than a unified canon) known as the Corpus Hermeticum."
Robbins must have a brain that doesn't stop anytime. A myriad of issues and musings on life cross the mind of the main character and we seem to be along for the ride.

I'm not sure how to describe this book but let me take a Switter sized gulp of some water and see what I can do. For me, the story was merely the backdrop while the real plot was to hear Switter's commentary on life, on religion, on politics, on love and romance. Switters lives life well as an somewhat immature grammar fiend who makes the slicing, dicing and serving of words feel like a full course dinner in a fancy place whilst wearing yoga pants. His humor was the icing on the cake. I seriously laughed all the way through this book.

Despite the laughter, I do recognize that much of this book will be considered inappropriate by the masses. But in the words of the great parrot, Sailor Boy, "people of zee world, relax!"

Thanks to my oldest son for the recommendation. This book was fodder for many, many texts (inappropriate or not).

I never walked away from this book, but I never came to like it either, and we struggled for a long time. It's meant to be a wacky blast of whimsy, and Robbins has said that it's about contradiction (I take that as an index entry: "contradiction, embracing of"). It's supposed to be ribald, I think, but recent erosions of exploiting ground leave it more pointlessly horny than erotically charged.

You know how sometimes you'll have a friend who is a rude sexist boor with a shameful mouth after a drink or two? This is the literary equivalent. I kept feeling like I should apologize for it. It doesn't go much of anywhere with the sex, but won't let it alone either.

I like me some wacky whimsy, but this wasn't it - instead I found a story that disconnected and fractured and wandered and pattered without ever transporting me. Robbins is of course a wonderful writer, here as elsewhere, but this time I kept wondering why. Why are we here, why are we there? And when will it end? There's a lot of chewing of the verbal scenery, and there's endless fascination with female anatomy, and there's a central motif of squicky incest that I don't find as interesting or as casual as Robbins seems to believe it may be.

There's a lot to be said about adult men wanting inchoate young sexual newcomers, and maybe there's something of interest to add about hot teenage step-sisters and the temptations they engender in their older step-brothers who should know better. None of it gets said here, alas, but much of no import gets said on the subject for little reason I could discern. Later we'll have lusty but virginal nuns, the myriad words for "vagina," and a lot of tempest in a tiny teapot.

Much ado about nothing, I'm afraid. I know people love this book, but I didn't.

Though philosophically groundbreaking for it's time amongst the genre, it did not provide anything new to me, when it comes to ideas surrounding the main theme in the book; the question to be resolved by the main character. That said, I had a great adventure with this book. The wittiness is compelling, the humor often times absurd, and most important probably, the straightforward and clear wisdom gift-wrapped in such extra-ordinary situations that there's an extra dimension to be found in that wisdom. And that was new to me. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Funny, because I was off at a bad start with the book. It was given to me by my brother as a gift. My brother is a liberal thinking spirit, straight, and open to ideas of evolution. He knew that the storyline would spark my enthusiasm, the ideals of the book reflecting our owns, without, very important, too much identification for any subject and a spirit build on laughs and joys.
BUT I am also queer, and find a lot of my spiritual evolvement through looking at my spirit being via the perspective of gender (which, I agree, could be seen as a form of identification, but I am mindfull and conscious about that, and try to be open, see it more as a non-identified perspective).
That's why I put it away after 100 pages, because the character of Switters came off to me as a straight man in his 30's with, even though open minded and able to take on many perspectives, a pinpoint-view on sexuality and the ways of the world in the men/female spectrum. His opinions often times seemed, to me, merely to be cool with the rebellious teenager, but he would regard that as conformity and identity.

After a few weeks, I decided to try it again, from the beginning. This time, I was able to digest his almost cliché-rebelliousness within the limits of his truths of the world (and let's face it, anyone's truth is limited). At the end of PART 1, I was completely overturned and actually enjoyed his character. I had given him a chance, I got to know him better and grew to really like him.
His story brought forth not new insights, but they where placed in such a colorful setting that he did freshen them up for me.

I had a great adventure with this book. Many thanks to the author, Switters, the Art Girls, Toufic, Pipi and all the others!

What a load of slop, totally overly verbose, pseudo intellectual garbage. I wouldn't last an afternoon alone in a room with Switters; he reeks of obnoxious coworker who weasels out of work, always tries to have a "witty" zinger to throw out, and will absolutely move all of your desk objects around every time you get up.

I've loved many a repugnant character, but Switters is not a 'love to hate him' type, I just hate him. Let's get the biggest grievance out of the way; he is a pedophile. I'm not sure the author's intent on this decision, but it feels played for laughs or perhaps even just to accent how horny he is. Switters is no Humbert Humbert in the sense there is still an interesting character to study from the safety of a book spine; his lust for minors is just a casual character quirk rather than a nuanced critique or character study of a pedophile. On top of that, he is a douchey, horned up Fed. I don't care how many times he acts like he is above the system, he himself says the CIA is full of guys like him so I fail to see what makes him a unique character amongst his tribe. His actions are totally ruled by hedonism and never gets punished for it. Instead, he finds out the secret of the universe and the answer to the new age of Christianity is to keep living the way he already does. Awfully convenient.

I'm totally on board for a story analyzing the importance of humor and joy as a source of meaning, but Switters' version of this is obnoxious, pseudo intellectual with total disregard for others à la Rick and Morty, and a total pastiche of the suave, sex savvy spy trope. I've never seen a Bond film, but I'm sure he is infinitely more charming than our protagonist, even with Bond's own misogyny I've heard about.

I'm sure there's a line in the sand here and to an extent the story is satire and I'm meant to have fun, but I just couldn't bring myself to. There is a holier than thou feeling here which is incredible considering it simultaneously captures the essence of what I must imagine people who don't like Bukowski feel when they read him. The humor is silly, random witticisms that predate early meme culture and later neck beard Redditors while also juggling an unironic version of Connor O'Malley honking at Tim Robinson because he's SO HORNY HIS STOMACH HURTS. The later half of the book felt like a bastardized "Black Narcissus" and I pray to God in Heaven above my brain didn't form enough connections to make me think back to this work next time I rewatch that film. I might have eaten this book up years ago, but this sort of over the top, word salad witticism lacking in self awareness or irony is certainly not for me now.

"Ο διαλογισμός" του είχε πει ο δάσκαλος του, "δεν έχει καμία σχέση με οτιδήποτε, γιατι το μόνο με το οποίο έχει σχέση, είναι το τίποτα. Με την ανυπαρξία. Εντάξει? Δεν αναπτύσσει το νου, τον διαλύει. Αυτοβελτίωση? Ξέχνα το μωρό μου. Ο διαλογισμός σβήνει τον εαυτό. Πετάει το εγώ έξω με τις κλωτσιές. Και τι ωφελεί τότε? Δεν ωφελεί σε τίποτα. Στο τίποτα είναι φοβερός. Ναι, αλλά θεούλη μου, όταν φτάσεις στο τίποτα, φτάνεις στην έσχατη πραγματικότητα. Τότε και ακριβώς τότε αισθάνεσαι την αληθινη φυση του σύμπαντος, συνδέεσαι με το απολύτως Απόλυτο, αγόρι μου και εκτός κι αν είσαι από εκείνους τους μαλακες που τους αρκεί να μαλακιζονται σ'ολη τους τη ζωή, αυτό είναι το μόνο μέρος που μετράει. "

Η τρέλα του Ρόμπινς σε ένα από τα πιο ωραία, κατά τη γνώμη μου, βιβλία του. Με πολλούς συμβολισμούς και όμορφα νοήματα μα πάνω απ όλα με μπόλικη παράνοια

One of the best books I've ever read; very entertaining.

Meet a pretty different James Bond type who is completely insecure about choosing between a teen or nun fetish that has nothing to do with the persons but what they stand for and symbolize, government or rebels, pacifism, or war, and having an obsession with purity and trying out religions.

The introspections of this dude are amazing, the protagonist Switters is an ultra meh whatever style inner peace guy, the mind of a chilled, nihilist agnostic hybrid, stoner hippie in the body and function of an über government agent.

Just as most of Robbins novels, this one is immensely complex, many depts and innuendos in the characters and the motivations of their actions, a journey through different settings, huge piles of connotations, satire, social criticism, biting sarcasm, and dark humor.

There is definitely much in here that goes over my head, the logical mind vs the guru karma meditation enlightenment alternative thinking, madness of civilized city life vs indigenous people, the symbolism of all the characters, their obsessions, heck, possibly even the Chekhovs and McGuffins. Because I don´t really listen to music, I know nothing about the meaning of songs or tunes that are used to imply anything.

There is a reason for why Robbins is a cult author and I a not sure which of his works could and should be called the best because of their mind penetrating potential and subjective preferences, although this one is very close, because it´s not that extremely anarchistic aggressive against any kind of institutionalized stupidity thing than his earlier works and combines the notorious coarse elements to a mixture of bizarre, even more sophisticated, postmodern destructions of human society.

I did hope for some time that Robbins maybe will put out 1 or 2 more novels, because I´ve still found nothing that just comes close to his style and abilities, but I fear that this option is meanwhile sadly gone. But what he wrote definitively made him immortal.

Tropes show how literature is conceptualized and created and which mixture of elements makes works and genres unique:
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.ph...

This book was listed recently in EW as one of Johnny Dep's favorite. Dep seems the kind of fella that's off the deep end in taste so I thought I would read it and see why he liked it so much.
It is kind if hard to appreciate a protagonist who is a pedophile and who engages in anal sex with a nun. Perhaps this gives us... insight as to Dep's relationship with Roman Polanski!
Robbins uses wonderful flowery, flowing language, however he bleeds this over into his characters speech. Although American's can be sarcastic they are not droll and have the dry humour of the British however Switters, the CIA agent, seems to take on decidedly MI5 characteristics. Perhaps Robbins should leave the spy telling to the author that does it best, John Le Carre.
Dont get me wrong I loved the language and I have no scruples about reading about pedophilia and anal intercourse with a nun, I just don't want my hero, flawed as he maybe, the have these faults. It makes one just a little squeamish and unable to relax enough to really enjoy Robbins wonderful language.

I am embarassed to admit that this is the first thing I have read by Robbins! Of course, I heard of him long ago, and saw the movie version of "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues" (which may have turned me off), but why has it taken me so long to sit down and spend some time with him? I plan to correct that error. Robbins is one heckofa writer! His stuff is loony, thought-provoking, hysterically funny, highly creative, lively, impertinent, stylized - I could go on for a while here - all at the same time. Whatever you want to call it, it is not subtle or stupid or dull. This is one of the most enjoyable and entertaining novels I have ever read. (I listened to an audiobook of this, btw, very well performed by Keith Szarabajka).

Robbins's genius is that he borrows techniques from poetry and literary fiction and employs them in his goofy, satirical stories. There are soaring similes and brilliant descriptions aplenty here, but they are applied to everyday or wacky situations. This is not everyday humor though. Included are elements of mysticism, social and political comedy, sex and romance, and international intrigue.

The zany, picaresque story follows a character named Switters, a CIA agent who lusts after stepsister and spends time with his grand dame grandma, a lady known as Maestra. He is sent to rural Peru on some mission or other, where a native shaman with a pyramid-shaped head (due to some old head shaping techniques used on infants) places a curse on him - his feet can never touch the ground again or he will immediately die. So he spends the rest of the novel, first in a wheelchair, and eventually on a pair of stilts. After getting discharged from the CIA (portrayed here as a network of rogues with no particular political goals), he ends up trying to fulfill his infatuation with his teenaged stepsister. (Don't worry, none of this is meant to be taken seriously). From there he is on his way to Iraq and Syria to engage in some sort of espionage, and ends up under the protection of a small convent of radical Christian nuns, who are sitting on a secret prophecy that the Catholic Church is trying to suppress.

The framework provides an excuse for Switters to deal with a bunch of kooky characters (like his CIA buddy Bobby, a macho Texas good ol' boy, and Domino, the abbess of the convent), and for him to get trashed and throw around zingers and cockeyed comments. It is all in good fun, but Robbins can surprise by throwing in the occasional serious observation or thoughtful aside, such as critical comments on consumer culture. His discussion of the Hermetic tradition got me researching it online - there is nothing like a little wisdom mixed in with some fun. To use the cliche, it was hard to put this one down - I wanted the laughs and clever writing to go on and on. It has been a while since I have fallen this hard for a writer, but this book hit the sweet spot for me.