Upon reading the 25th Anniversary editions of 'The Alchemist' and 'Blood Meridian.' Plus, a review from our newest contributor, Cordelia.

After finally getting around to reading ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho and ‘Blood Meridian’ by Corman McCarthy, I can honestly relate that I’ve had two extreme experiences. The Alchemist is divine in tone, even considered a self-help book by some. And judging by the author’s introduction, it appears that the novel is perhaps even guided by a higher power. As a bookseller, I still get requests for this title at least once a week. 

Blood Meridian, on the other hand, is taught as a subject in some Ivy League colleges. But I’ve yet to have a request for this title. You see, it’s a very dark novel. So dark that it seems to reach up from the pit of hell and drag you through the darkest places imaginable. I think if Satan himself had published Blood Meridian, he may have asked the author to tone down the violence and gore some. That said, much of the novel is based on true events. 

It’s funny though, that there are some similarities between these rather disparate novels. Both are about long journeys. The Alchemist begins in Spain and travels across North Africa to the Great Pyramids. Blood Meridian covers the entirety of the Texas/Mexico border during the seemingly lawless era between the 1850’s to the 1870’s. The protagonist in The Alchemist is a humble shepherd who crosses the desert in quest of a buried treasure. He finds that the greatest treasure, however, may be something he hadn’t expected at all. In Blood Meridian, a young man known only as ’the kid’ (and later -- ’the man’) crosses the U.S./Mexico border earning money by scalping Native Americans at first, then robbing and killing most everyone they come upon. There are no happy endings here. Not even close. 

It was interesting to have read the most optimistic, divinely inspired of novels, then follow it up with a novel about the darkest aspects of human nature. What’s more interesting is that you arrive at the same place.  The termination of two amazing novels that I’m so fortunate to have read. Incredible journeys -- both light and dark.  

Although our daughter Cordelia is still too young to talk, based upon her smile and the brightness of her eyes, one could surmise that she thought the art and illustrations in 'Ela Cat in the Jungle' was both mysterious and alluring. She thought the prose was charming and succinct. It was the perfect bedtime story and she was soon fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of her own adventures in the jungle. If she were able, I'm certain that Cordelia would recommend 'Ela Cat in the Jungle' for any child between the ages of three months to three years and beyond. What a sweet little book!

after a late April snow storm

 

Please, have a seat...

No, sit here.

 

'Dobby and Mom,' a painting

'Dobby and Mom' for my giraffe loving daughter.  

Metal work by Jural Atencio

Beat St.

In this week's Greenbelt, Andy the Petulant Squirrel becomes Andy the Petulant babysitter.

This year's tulip crop

This episode of the The Greenbelt takes a look at flight. Also, a bonus story about the irresistible Madam Leftenright. And a bonus baby picture!

The Husbands of Madam Leftenright

One night, before going to sleep, Madam Leftenright’s new husband, the suave Anatoly Nocturne, made an announcement. He told his wife that he no longer wanted to sleep in their bed. Since they just shared the most passionate of love, Madam Leftenright was rightfully baffled.

“Nocturne,” she said, “why should you wish to leave our bed? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t wish to leave our bed at all, my little dove. But rather than sleep on the bed with you, I wish to sleep under the bed beneath you.”

“Why that’s insane,” said Madam Leftenright. “Who would do such a thing?”

“I would and I will,” said Nocturne. “You see, I need the absolute darkness. I need the shadows and I need the quiet. I need to retire and I need to think.”

With that, Nocturne rolled off the mattress and settled himself under the bed. At first Madam Leftenright was much dismayed. But then, stretching herself out on the bed, she didn’t think the situation was all that bad. Nocturne still made appearances on the bed to share love with his wife. But he soon retreated to the closets, then the attics, then the basement, and then he was never seen at all. He had seemingly vanished. 

One fine day an equestrian appeared on the scene. He jumped the fences, the shrubs, the fountain, and then, once invited inside,  jumped Madam Leftenright herself. He’d introduced himself as Randy Luminaire. He was tall and blonde and beamed in the sun upon his mounted stallion. In time he proposed marriage to Madam Leftenright. “But I’m already married to Anatoly Nocturne,” she protested.

“But where is this Noctrune then?” asked Luminaire. “I don’t see him. Do you see him? We will go to see the judge. How can anyone expect you to be married to a man who isn’t here?”

Madam Leftenright agreed.  She’d fallen in love with Luminaire and wanted to be married to him instead. The couple soon met with Judge Flubert and pleaded their case.

“Madam Leftenright, how can I let you marry Luminaire?” asked the judge. “You’re already married to Nocturne.”

“But he’s gone,” said Madam Leftenright. “He must be. I tell you, I haven’t seen him for ages.”

“But what if he’s to return? I would be made a fool of.”

“Judge Flubert,” said the Madam, “you remember when long ago we too were once lovers. If Nocturne were really alive, don’t you think he would be in my bed where a husband belongs?”

“I do remember well,” admitted the judge, “and it is the same now as it once was. I can deny you nothing, my dear. You are forever in my heart. As judge, I declare Nocturne a dead man. You are free to marry Luminaire. I only wish it were me.”

The two lovers rejoiced and soon married. Luminaire jumped his new bride with great frequency and all was well with Madam Leftenright. But one night, midnight precisely, with Luminaire spent and slumbered by her side, a dark figure in a cape appeared at the end of the bed. It was none other than Anatoly Nocturne.

“Madam Leftenright,” stated Nocturne, “there is another man sharing our bed. What is the meaning of this?”

“Nocturne, where have you been? I gave up on you long ago and married another.”

“But I’ve been here all along,” Nocturne replied. “As I told you, it was necessary that I retreat into the shadows for a time.”

“Oh Nocturne, how can a woman expect to be married to a shadow? Look at Luminaire. He may be a man of leisure, a towheaded dandy in jodhpurs, but at least he’s a real man, certainly not some sulking silhouette lurking in the cellar.”

“Regardless, your legitimate husband has returned, and I insist this imposter leave our bed.”

“Never!” screamed Madam Leftenright. 

But Nocturne persisted. He proposed that he and Luminaire engage in a duel, the winner becoming the one true husband of Madam Leftenright. Luminaire agreed -- with one caveat. “I will duel with you, Nocturne, unless you are a vampire. I admit that I am very afraid of vampires. Please state that you are not a vampire.”

“While I may be dark, brooding, and covet the night, I assure you that I am not now, nor have ever been, a vampire. We shall duel at dawn, dear Luminaire.”

The next day were gathered Madam Leftenright, Judge Flubert, Nocturne and Luminaire. Neither of their guns fired so they were forced to duel at close quarters. Nocturne was thought to be the favored, but Luminaire put up quite surprising of a fight. Their fisticuffs lasted until near noon, when an exhausted Luminaire finally became prostrate in defeat. Nocturne raised his hands in victory, but he too was thoroughly spent and dropped face first into the mud. Both men perished. 

Later in the week, the gravedigger had nearly finished the task of burying the rivals side by side. He gazed up at Madam Leftenright when the last shovel of dirt had been cast. “Well, Madam, it appears that you’re a single woman again.” 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Madam Leftenright curtly replied. “I’m through with husbands. If I want drama I‘ll go and see a play.”

“Oh, I’m just a humble gardener, Madam Leftenright. Your station is well beyond the reach of a common man. But your fields do need tending to, and I’m plenty good enough for that.”

“That they do, sir, that they do. Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Gardener. Sam Gardener.”

And so Madam Leftenright took on the gardener, Sam Gardener. And in the spring they planted, in the summer they danced, in the autumn they harvested, and in the winter they made love by fire light. The years went by as they should, and soon enough there was even the patter of little feet on the floor. They all lived happily ever after. 

The end. 

As promised, a bonus baby picture.