It took me four books to 'get' Denis Johnson. I'd largely been underwhelmed by the others I'd read but this blew me away. It's a brilliant collection, a post-beat masterpiece filled with junkie, alkies and crazies.

I lost my phone charger, which meant I couldn't talk to the other people in my band about whether we were having band practice. I assumed we were going to, though, because we skipped the last two and we have a show on Wednesday. And we ALWAYS practice on Saturdays, right? So I lugged my guitar- usually it lives in the practice space, but I accidentally left it in Bex's trunk after we played the San Francisco Trans March ("This song is dedicated to everyone who throws around the word 'tranny' without thinking about whether that feels shitty to anyone. It's called 'Shut Up'")- around the Tenderloin, feeling like a posturing rock asshole with my guitar case, and then the bartender from Aunt Charlie's let me into the space. I didn't even know he had a key.

There was no sign of Alicia or Sonya, so I sat on the floor inside the building but outside our locked practice room with all my stuff, cracked a classy 24-ounce can of Bud Light, and started reading this. I mean, it was about time, right? It's short, it's small, and everybody loves it to death.

By the time I finished it, nobody had shown up yet and I was a little tipsy, and also pissed at the book. I can't think of a way to talk about why though without coming off all judgy-pants, so I'm just gonna say that addicts I've known/been have been very different from the protagonist (+1 star for naming him "Fuckhead," by the way) addict here, and so he rang kind of hollow for me. And for such a non-linear structure, the plot outline fell flat for me. There were some fantastic images, though, no doubt, and it's not like I don't think Johnson knows what he's doing- I think it's more like yet another case of a book being built up so high for me that by the time I read it of COURSE it's gonna be a letdown.

So whatever. I read it in a couple hours, which is a positive thing. Maybe one day I'll read one of Denis Johnson's million page opuses, but I kind of doubt it.

Pod wpływem kilku pozytywnych recenzji i opinii sięgnąłem po "Syna Jezusa" Denisa Johnsona. To zbiór krótkich próz. Jej głównym bohaterem jest młody mężczyzna, outsider, który nie stroni od narkotyków i alkoholu. Tłem są Stany Zjednoczone lat 70.

Sam Denis Johnson jest uznanym i nagradzanym autorem. Zadie Smith powiedziała o nim: prawdziwy mistrz.

Nie powiem, że ta książka mi się nie podobała. Ale daleki jestem od zachwytów, które pojawiły się w polskich recenzjach.

Nie potrafię dostrzec tego wspaniałego języka, o którym czytałem w tekstach na temat "Syna Jezusa". Owszem, są momenty, ale dla mnie było ich ledwie kilka. Jesli chodzi o język i konstrukcje tekstu, widziałem lepsze rzeczy u Pawła Sołtysa, Mikołaja Grynberga, czy Wioletty Grzegorzewskiej.

Kiedy czytałem Grzegorzewską, Grynberga czy Sołtysa, czułem, że wsiąkam w świat ich krótkich próz. W przypadku Johnsona ciągle czulem, że się po jego Ameryce prześlizguję.

Denis Johnson is the patron saint and poet of a certain kind of man - the drink-and-drug-addled, the broke, the bad liars, the kings of lousy luck, the dive bar regulars: I looked down the length of The Vine. It was a long, narrow place, like a train car that wasn't going anywhere. The people all seemed to have escaped from someplace - I saw plastic hospital name bracelets on several wrists. They were trying to pay for their drinks with counterfeit money they'd made themselves, in Xerox machines. ("Out on Bail")

And yet Johnson has affection for his losers that comes through in the poetry and deadpan hilarity of his writing:

n  We bumped softly down the hill toward an open field that seemed to be a military graveyard, filled with rows and rows of austere, identical markers over soldiers' graves. I'd never before come across this cemetery. On the farther side of the field, just beyond the curtains of snow, the sky was torn away and the angels were descending out of a brilliant blue summer, their huge faces streaked with light and full of pity. The sight of them cut through my heart and down the knuckles of my spine, and if there'd been anything in my bowels I would have messed my pants from fear.
n  

n    Georgie opened his arms and cried out, "It's the drive-in, man!"
"The drive-in..." I wasn't sure what these words meant.
"They're showing movies in a fucking blizzard!" Georgie screamed.
"I see. I thought it was something else," I said.n  

n

I don't usually care for books/stories/movies where drugs are the main topic of conversation but these characters' drug habbits were entirely secondary to their familiarity. There were so many underlinable moments that could've been missed because of the fast/easy pacing. At first I thought "Work" was going to be my favorite but I'm pretty sure "Beverly Home" takes up that spot in the end. Maybe after I pause to catch my breath I'll consider this 4 stars but right now I feel like I've been running long enough for the high and I'm off to farmers market to imagine who are the Amish people and who had encephalitis when they were young.

*Here is a link to Tobias Wolf reading, "Knife in the Eye" from this collection.
As far as I'm concerned hearing a Johnson story read by Wolf is pretty much like being carried in a swaddling embrace to a spectacular vista by the imagined imperfections of people you love. Maybe you'll think it's swell too - ?

http://www.newyorker.com/online/2009/...

I was asked to read this aloud to a friend who had trouble sleeping. I started the book off with mild trepidation, wondering what I had gotten myself into. And while I at first believed it was just another junkie glorifying spiritual spin-off, it slowly dawned on me that it was so much more. It's written plainly but also profoundly. I was drawn in by the writing first, the characters after, and finally the ideas behind the writing struck me like a brick wall. It's hard for me to talk about the events between the pages for I was in equal parts disgusted, intrigued, and addicted. I had to keep going. My friend was fast asleep beside me now, but despite her snoring I kept reading, I couldn't help it. 50 pages turned into 100, which turned into 160.
The brakes were out now.. but thankfully the emergency brake still worked.

O que Silvina Ocampo conta sobre o sobrenatural em seus contos, Denis Johnson o faz aqui pela via dos vícios. Não há um só conto que não esteja envolto na turbulência do alcoolismo ou das drogas, repleto de eventos caóticos e absurdos que tornam a leitura ao menos curiosa.

No entanto, embora a ideia de anti-herói sempre me agrade, ainda que Johnson utilize somente de um protagonista anônimo para nos contar várias etapas de sua vida, é um tanto difícil de cativar-se por ele e pelo caminhar de sua vida, repleta de violência e os mais terríveis desejos. Ao final, uma leitura regular, nada demais.

A simultaneously lucid and dreamlike Trainspotting for the American Midwest. And it's as funny as it is poignant.

At first, I read everything at simple face value, drinking in bleary mood and vague, impressionistic set pieces. After a few stories, though, the disjointed action began to leave me looking for broader connections and meanings. But in the end, I'm content to leave it alone. If I find myself grasping at epiphany that skims fingertips but stays just out of reach and hazy, well, then I'm only that much closer to the bewildered narrator who recounts it. I think the sense of fleeting and half-seen meaning, here, is in some ways more strongly felt and significant than that meaning itself.

"We were grimy and tired. Usually we felt guilty and frightened, because there was something wrong with us, and we didn't know what it was; but today we had the feeling of men who had worked."

"'There's so much goop inside of us, man ... and it all wants to get out.'"

"'What did you say when she shot you?'
'I said, you shot me!'
'Both times? Both wives?'
'The first time I didn't say anything because she shot me in the mouth.'"

“She didn’t know yet that her husband was dead. We knew. That’s what gave her such power over us. The doctor took her into a room with a desk at the end of the hall, and from under the closed door a slab of brilliance radiated as if, by some stupendous process, diamonds were being incinerated in there. What a pair of lungs! She shrieked as I imagined an eagle would shriek. It felt wonderful to be alive to hear it! I’ve gone looking for that feeling everywhere.”

--

“Will you believe me when I tell you there was kindness in his heart? His left hand didn't know what his right hand was doing. It was only that certain important connections had been burned through. If I opened up your head and ran a hot soldering iron around in your brain, I might turn you into someone like that.”

--

This interconnected short story collection about the lives of drug addicts, criminals, and the downtrodden left me stunned. I don’t think 3 pages would pass before I paused to catch my breath over the beautiful imagery, bouts of raw emotion or the deep sorrow and surprise I felt for the characters or situation. Within the first five pages, I knew this would be a 5-star read. Not only was it a 5-star read, I now consider it one of the best books I have ever read. After reading this, I want to read everything this man has ever written (novels, short stories, poetry, non-fiction, essays). Sadly, I have discovered that Denis Johnson died earlier this year at the age of 67. I will honor him by reading the rest of his bibliography. If it is anything as brilliant as ‘Jesus’ Son,’ I’m in for something breathtaking. ‘Tree of Smoke’ is already purchased.


Edit: Reread completed Dec 23, 2022. Still as glorious as my first time reading.

مجموعه‌ داستان‌های کوتاهی است که شخصیت‌ها و فضاهایش توی بعضی داستان‌ها تکرار می‌شوند. داستان‌ها فضای بیمارگونه‌ای دارند و بیشتر شخصیت‌ها از قشر پایین جامعه هستند.
با فضای آدم‌های کتاب ارتباط برقرار نمی‌کردم. چندتا از فضاهای مریض و دیالوگ‌هایش را دوست داشتم، به خصوص داستان مردی که چاقو توی چشمش رفته بود.
https://goo.gl/QxGoQY

/a gdyby ciemność jeszcze bardziej pociemniała? a wy byście nie żyli? obeszłoby to was? zauważylibyście w ogóle różnicę?

miała być wspaniała i była.

była też wspaniale, perfekcyjnie momentami, smutna.
chciałabym żeby zdania z niej wcale mnie nie dotyczyły, ale jednak dotyczą.
bardzo dużo zdań, jeszcze więcej scen, które zostają w głowie i tam sobie siedzą. i siedzą.

/rozdarty księżyc, naprawiony. łzy starte naszymi palcami. to było tam.

będę sobie do was wracać, wy brudne, smutne opowiadania.

مجموعه داستانی جذابی بود به دور از وصف وتوضیحات بیهوده و اضافی؛ یه طورایی شبیه گزارش نویسی بود و داستانهای جذابی داشت؛ داستان مورد علاقه من داستان اورژانسش بود و این کتاب منو خیلی یادِ فیلم ترنسپاتینگ انداخت :))