Here's a little Tom Robbin's sentence for ya:

"The Trip left the girl gaga, goofy, tainted, transformed, her nose a busted hymen through which sperm of a thousand colors swam a hootchy-kootchy stroke into her cerebral lagoon".


Can you *guess* another author who 'somewhat' reminds you of Tom Robbins? Yep: Salman Rushdie! (at least for me anyway).

After finishing the book yesterday ---I needed to do some grocery shopping ---and I couldn't resist buying some fresh BEETS!!! ....

I prefer the fresh 'white' beets ---however---NO WAY after reading this book --would I NOT buy a couple of Mother's Nature most intense vegetable ---THE RED BEET! lol

Who needs drugs ---when reading Tom Robbins? :)

Great Book!

I wasn’t familiar with Tom Robbins when I picked up this little book, which I enjoyed in fits and bursts of reading aloud with my partner. She had read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, but I didn’t have a whole lot of context. The premise seemed intriguing—a world of perfume, ancient gods, and an immortal man. It also had a unique structure with characters across the globe. And Robbins’s style is that of a quirky, punning humorist. Dry and sometimes darkly bleak. Also, at times, heady with that whiff of stoner-y philosophizing.

If pressed to, I would liken him to an American version of Douglas Adams—the wit and the humor is embedded into the storytelling supremely well, to the point that Robbins makes it look effortless to be so funny just as Adams’s wry style is wont, Robbins elicits hearty guffaws at every turn—perhaps, though, Robbins is a bit more “blue” in his comedic effect. The great peril of a humorist’s writing, to me, however, is when a joke doesn’t land, which this book has plenty of clunkers and groaners. But, still, the book is full of pleasure and sensory excitement.

At times, Robbins’s zaniness rivals that of Pynchon, but there’s a rigor of language and thought that exists in Pynchon that’s not on display here. Further, some of Robbins’s philosophy of the mind stuff—particularly about consciousness, and more particularly about “floral consciousness”—are prone to get a smile out of you, but don’t carry the bravado and profundity of some of the most masterful works in the zany-meta-fictional genre. The real problem comes when the last 1/3 of the book starts focusing in on this weird Irishman’s long monologues expounding said philosophies, and you get the impression that Robbins was thinking he was onto something about life and the death drive and the sex drive and immortality, but really, it was just kind of navel-gazing the topic for 100 pages. The ideas are interesting, but don’t quite go anywhere.

I’ll be back for more Robbins in the future.

post-read: Ohhhh, I really missed reading Robbins. What fun!

This book was both more and less wonderful than I'd remembered. More because I'd forgotten just what a superb stylist Robbins is (see mid-read comments). His plots are intricate, his characters are rendered in wonderful detail, down to the distinctive vocal stylings. His ideas, though perhaps a smidge stale twenty-five years on, are still interesting and fun and clever and smart, intellectual, but not in a showy or pedantic way. Plus there's that anxiety you get when you're, oh, twenty or so pages from the end of a book, thinking There's no way he can pull it all together satisfactorily in so few pages! But he does! It's a tiny bit cheesy, maybe just a wee bit pat, but c'mon. He had an awful lot of balls in the air.

Less for a few reasons. I'd kindly blocked out the fact that everyone in a Tom Robbins novel sooner or later launches into a discourse that sounds exactly like Tom Robbins, which can get pretty annoying. Also, I forgot how letchy he can be. There's a lot of sex in this book – in fact, it's one of the four pillars of immortality – which is fine; it's just that the descriptions of it are often a bit much. ("Alma hiccupped the mushroom scent of his spurt," ex, not to mention lots of glistening, semen-encrusted thighs, and that sort of thing.)

The other thing, which isn't really bad or good, exactly, is that I think Tom Robbins is kind of a victim of himself. He's too much Tom Robbins sometimes. Too hippie-cliché; too cerebral-in-an-understandable-but-trippy-way; too specific with his characters, to the point where they become caricatures that are hard to take seriously; even, sadly, too over-the-top with his metaphors ("his knuckle began rapping at his eye patch like a mongoloid woodpecker drilling for worms in a poker chip"? Are you kidding?); just too... too much.

I guess taking a few years off between Robbinses allows one to forget these drawbacks just enough to come back to him fresh and be able to enjoy his shimmering originality again.

mid-read: It's not that I'd forgotten, exactly, but no one does metaphors like Tom Robbins. For example: The sky was a velvety black paw pressing on the snowy landscape with a feline delicacy, stars flying like sparks from its fur. Fuck, really??

pre-read: Last night I made the most amaaazing beet salad. And this afternoon, as I was pondering a middle ground between all the new new new new things I've been reading and something (Proust) too, ah, weighty to take on vacation, I saw my little half-shelf of Tom Robbins. I can't believe I don't have n  Another Roadside Attractionn, but I thought I'd maybe check out this one, which I haven't read in like a decade.

The whole book is about beets!!

And oh my god, how have I not read Tom Robbins in so long?? He is so fucking cool.

I am a dummy and accidentally deleted my original review but I basically said that this book was recommended to me by a coworker and I love it because it is weird, funny, gross and epic.

Τα παντζαρια,δηλαδη οι βολβοι,δεν μου αρεσουν.Προτιμώ να βραζω τα παντζαροφυλλα και υστερα να τα ραντιζω με ξυδακι και λαδι δικής μου παραγωγης.Βεβαιως αυτο δεν ενδιαφέρει εσας που έρχεστε εδώ για κριτικές βιβλιων και οχι για να ενημέρωθειτε για τις γαστρονομικές μου ορέξεις.Αλλα αν θέλετε να διαβάσετε αυτο το βιβλιο θα πρεπει να συνηθιζετε σιγα-σιγα την λεξη ΠΑΝΤΖΑΡΙ.Διοτι το ζαρζαβατικο αυτο δεν ειναι ενα απλο λαχανικο.Κρυβει περιεργες ιδιότητες και αθανατες..

Αν δεν εχετε διαβασει ποτε Τομ Ρομπινς να είστε έτοιμοι για ενα λογοτεχνικο ταξίδι με σουρεαλ γεύση,ρομαντική διαθεση και φιλοσοφικές τασεις.Σαν συγγραφεας,οταν δεν το παρακανει με τις φιλοσοφικες τασεις,ειναι εξαιρετικος και ενω δεν εχω διαβασει ποτε κατι δικο του στα Αγγλικα,το ταλεντο του να φτιαχνει ομορφες προτασεις δεν χανεται στην μετραφραση.


Σε τουτο το βιβλιο ο συγγραφεας μας μιλαει για τον θανατο,την αθανασια and everything in between.Ενας αντρας με την πιο “δυνατη” και ευαισθητη μυτη ζει στο Παρισι οπου του αρεσει να αγναντευει απο το παραθυρο φορωντας μια μασκα ελεφαντα,μια εξυπνη σερβιτορα που ζει στο μονιμως γκριζο Σιατλ,δυο θερμες γυναικες που δουλεουν σε ενα αρωατοποιο στην Νεα Ορλεανη,ενας τρελος επιστημονας και ενα ζευγαρι αιωνοβιων συνθετουν μια πολυ ομορφη ιστορια περιεπετιας/φιλοσοφιας/ερωτα.Α!Και ο Πανας,φυσικα.

Σεξ.Πολυ σεξ.Πολλα σωματικα υγρα.Αν καποιο απο αυτα σας ενοχλει,τοτε θα τριζετε τα δοντια σας κατα την διαρκεια του βιβλιου αυτου.Αν οχι,τοτε για κοπιαστε διοτι ο Ρομπινς διαβαζεται απο ακρως ερωτικα πλασματα που αγαπουν εντονα συναισθηματα.Και την ζωη,φυσικα.Και ομορφες μυρωδιες.

Κατι περιεργο συνεβει με αυτο το βιβλιο.Ενω μου αρεσε,και πολυ μαλιστα,δεν μπορουσα να το τελειωσω με τιποτα.Μου πηρε δυο εβδομαδες και πολυ εσωτερικη πιεση.Απλα δεν κυλουσε,και δεν μπορω να καταλαβω γιατι.Σκεφτομαι οτι μπορει να φταινε ολοι αυτοι που μου ελεγαν οτι ειναι υπεροχο,καταπληκτικο και καλυτερο απο τον Τρυποκαρυδο,as if.Τιποτα δεν θα παρει την θεση του Τρυποκαρυδου στην καρδια μου.Αλλα ηταν αρκετα καλο,τοσο καλο που θελω να διαβασω και αλλα δικα του.

Οι χαρακτηρες μου αρεσαν ολοι.Ειχαν κατι να σου δωσουν και να σου πουν,αν και μερικες φορες εγερναν προς την μερια του απιστετου,μπορω να πω οτι ειδα στις φωνες τους κατι απο την αληθινη ζωη.Αυτα που προσπαθησε ο συγγραφεας να μου περασει,περασαν και εκατσαν στο σβερκο μου.Και φυσικα αγαπησα το ταξιδι ανα τους αιωνες και των ερωτα των δυο χαρακτηρων και τον αγωνα τους εναντια στην ληθη και τον θανατο,την ελλειψη της..συνειδησης.

Βασικα οσο πιο πολυ καθεται μεσα στο κεφαλι μου,τοσο πιο πολυ αναγνωριζω την ομορφια του.

Το “Ακομα και η καομποισες μελαγχολουν” ειναι το επομενο μου,αλλα νομιζω δεν ειναι και το πιο αγαπημενο του κοσμου.

ΔΙΑΒΑΣΕ ΤΟΝ ΤΡΥΠΟΚΑΡΥΔΟ.

https://cherrybookreviews.wordpress.c...

I was surprised at how much I liked this book... it's been a long time (we're talking over a decade) since I've read a Tom Robbins book and my expectations weren't terribly high for this one.

I knew absolutely nothing about the story when I began reading, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that it was the type of story I usually enjoy. It includes a "skilled underdog" story (a young female perfumer), and an immortality story, which is often pretty fascinating, and includes kings, alternate dimensions, and all sorts of craziness, but presented in such a way that it isn't as, well, kooky, as some of Robbins work can be.

Robbins is clearly a man who knows how to weave his wordage, which I usually appreciate, although in my opinion sometimes he delves a little too deeply into theorizing/explaining mode (especially noticeable towards then end when the story is wrapping up).

Overall a pretty good book- fun, smart, and sweet.

Memorability Factor 8/10

Two stars, and I’m being nice. And I am a f*cking huge fan of beetroot.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been eating it like it’s the only vegetable on the menu. It’s good for iron in the blood, and I like it pickled, raw and boiled. I could eat it constantly. I love sex as well, I love reading about it. Of course you want to know a lot about.

But this book was hysterical. In the beginning I was so enthusiastic, and Alobar had a face and body of Gerard in ‘300’ movie. Oh la la la, take me, take me, take me. Even if you don’t shower.

Book had it all, and then he/Robbins started talking. And I started blinking, what are you talking about? And it wasn’t the sex part, nymphs coming all over the grass, sperm all over everybody, lesbians gnawing in the toilet, Rabbit nose, and now I am here, now I am not, bees as an accessorize and religious history.

My thoughts were, aha, ok, yes, ok. Simple thoughts. I’m mocking this book too much now, but what I want to say. General idea is great, really fascinatingly great - people should enjoy more, appreciate life more, look what happened throughout history - we have every reason to understand happiness and love, to live happily and be in love (and to have as much sex as we can) and send positive vibes to each other.

The essence of everything is Pan ... but all together, this book was like warm milk. Something that I was forced to drink when I was younger and it tasted like shite, and in this metaphor, I was forcing myself to finish reading.

Cogito, ergo sum. Sorry Tom, thank you Descartes.

Final result: lets put that nose little bit down, ha, Mr. Robbins? Lets not tear the clouds with it.

Τομ, Σ' ΑΓΑΠΩ!!! ΕΙΣΑΙ ΤΟ ΑΛΛΟ ΜΟΥ ΜΙΣΟ! Είσαι η μεγάλη μου αναγνωστική καψούρα!

As I'd said to my friend Juliana, once I'd started this book: part of me wonders what took me so long between being recommended the book in 1996 and finally getting around to reading it, like, TODAY. But then another part of me knows that I did not yet dig so heavily on, say, beets and Tibetan Buddhism (both of which have figured crucially by p. 116) back in 1996. And then, oh my God, an accordionist, a crucial accordionist, appears! I mean really.

So maybe I had to, you know, get with it, before I could be worthy of such a damn fine book. It is as if Tom Robbins, way back in 1984, had a portal into what would become my brain, and made a book for it.

As Juliana astutely pointed out in response, "Perchance you need to see what he is writing now so you an get a glimpse of what's to come for you in a decade or so. Would be cheaper than a call to 1-800-CLAIRVOYANT."

Çok garip bir kitap okudum.Hem de her şeyiyle; anlatımıyla,konusuyla,aktarmaya çalıştığı düşünceyle,karakterlerle...
Ama benim için daha da garibi kitabı okurken hem zevk almam hem de okuması işkenceye dönüşen bir kitap olmasıydı.
Kitapla ilgili sanırım uzun bir süre hiç konuşmak istemiyorum.
-Bir insan 6 günde 432 sayfalık bir kitapla nasıl cebelleşebilir?-
-Ölüm,doğum?-
Tüm yorumumu okumak için; https://ruyakitaplik.blogspot.com/201...

Un'altra delirante avventura di questo fantastico autore...pensavo di leggerlo più velocemente, le 358 pagine mi hanno tratto in inganno, erano scritte in lillipuziano! Ciononostante è stato, come sempre, un ottimo compagno di viaggio, mai noioso, bravo con le parole e di fervida immaginazione. Un libro sull'immortalità, sul profumo perfetto, su un dio dimenticato e sulle barbabietole

Hm. What to say about this guy . . . this is totally a guy you either love or hate, and yet I find myself strangely ambivalent. There are some things i really appreciated about the book and his style, and there are some things I really didn't care for. Whatever one says about this writer, the first is that he is a complete iconoclast of Rabelasian proportion. He ignores pretty much every rule that fiction writers generally, in good taste, abide by. And to an extent that's quite refreshing. He's incomparably clever at turning a phrase. His imagination is boundless. Through the first 50 or so pages I was very skeptical, but then he got me, and the reading went much quicker. I also have a lot of appreciation for his message, and that message is consistent with the manner in which he writes. I can therefore conclude that Tom Robins is simply writing who he is, and that's pretty much all one can ask of any author . . .

That being said, here come the complaints. I guess my biggest complaint was the fact that the novel's pull depended so much upon the author's cleverness. The characters all have roughly the same sense of humor (which I suspect is very much like Mr. Robins' own) and I felt they could have been interchanged with one another into different roles and it wouldn't have made a difference. And I guess that's it - I was so aware of the writer and his tongue in cheek (or tongue in ass?) wit that the characters remained at a distance from me, as if they were on a stage, and when the novel stalled (which was not often) I was painfully aware of this distance. At those points they seemed like characters from a Beckett or Pirandello play wandering about in search of direction. Robins is perhaps too overtly the master puppeteer with his many strings dangling from quick moving fingers . . .

The big question for me when I finished the novel was 'Why did I not connect on an emotional level with the characters?' The novel is wonderfully humorous, the author's aim is admirable, and he treats his characters with a decided tenderness; yet despite this I was left feeling a little aloof. And I think it was because of one thing: his characters don't change. They don't struggle. They struggle, but they don't seem to struggle as much with the reasons why they do things. They struggle with two things: bills and cosmic issues. In that order. I might have loved this novel ten or fifteen years ago.

Which leads me to my third and final criticism. This novel reminded me at times of Ayn Rand. Whom I despise. It also reminded me of BF Skinner, who wrote perhaps the worst novel (Walden II) in the history of novel writing. How can I compare someone like Tom Robins to Ayn Rand? How can I compare the leaping imagination of Tom Robins with the clinical sensibility of Skinner? Why they seem like total opposites! Ah but they are, in a way, the same. You see to Ayn Rand things like characters are always subservient to her greater (and stupid) purpose of telling all people to act like butt-holes, and then they will be better off. And though Tom Robins has quite the opposite message, his characters are still subservient to his ideas, and I tend to think that characters need a little more elbow room than that. Characters are people too, after all.

I was going to give this book 3 stars, based on my enjoyment level, but then I realized you know what? I've never read a book like this before and it definitely got me to thinking. Thinking of the serious, head-scratching variety. I can't say I'm going to rush out and buy his oeuvres, but I will pick one up the next time I'm feeling guilty about loafing about or surfing too much. And for that? 4 stars for you Tom Robins!