Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson

My best friend’s wife recently passed me up as godfather of their fourth child. She based her decision on my being an atheist and hence un-Catholic. This line of reasoning is fallacious. Believing in God or Christ is not a necessary condition of being Catholic. The real credentials are First Communion, confirmation, and being uncircumcised (not necessarily in that order). I’ve got all three. My friend’s wife disregarded me nonetheless. Family and friends are always excluding me from various religious ceremonies and rites. Still smarting emotionally from the godfather snub, I thought I’d prove my detractors wrong this Christmas season by reviewing a book about Jesus.

My penis is slightly longer than this book. This was the first thing that popped into mind while holding Jesus’ Son. I can’t say that about many books, certainly not the past two I’ve reviewed (scroll down). Jesus’ Son is short and skinny. In this regard, it’s the perfect read for just about any man, except for maybe that little Asian guy in The Hangover. It’s a known fact that most men, Italian Catholic ones especially, prefer books that are thinner than their skin and shorter than their penis. Jesus’ Son will not disappoint, more importantly, it won’t belittle, which is surprising given its apparent Jesus Christ Superstar plot of living in the shadows of the most perfect being who ever lived.

The childlike Crayola scrawl of its title signifies that Jesus’ Son is a collection of stories about a young boy who thinks he’s the Messiah. I went through a similar phase as a kid, as do most Italian Catholic boys. Denis Johnson doesn’t sound like an Italian name, nor does it sound particularly Catholic, but maybe he had a doting Italian mother. That’s all a boy needs in order to develop a raging superiority complex. However, no Italian-brand neurosis is complete without an overshadowing father figure. The Italian mother convinces her son that he’s the Second Coming while the Italian father’s eternal disapproval provides the motivation to become it.

My uncircumcised Oedipal complex is the solipsistic measure of all things; therefore, I have to question the authenticity of Johnson’s stories. After their messy divorce, my larger-than-life Italian father became addicted to himself and my mother to booze. With a waspy name like Denis Johnson, I doubt this author has experienced enough melodrama in his life to write a collection of stories about a hypersensitive egomaniac with grand delusions.

Besides, there ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell of the next Jesus being Protestant. Jesus’ Son is pocket-sized for a reason. If you’re a Presbyterian or Baptist with a short penis or Italian Catholic virgin then Jesus’ Son is probably the perfect book for you.

Baudolino by Umberto Eco

Is it me or is there a copy of this novel in every used bookstore in the country? I see it on discount racks everywhere. That’s never a good sign. The medieval font points towards the likelihood of archaic boredom, like shopping at an antique store with your mother-in-law. I’d rather go to the mall and beat up a handful of Goth kids. Who wants to read about some long-ago dead guy in a Chef Boyardee hat blowing a trumpet? Unless this Chef Boyardee is also blowing coke and banging waitresses in the walk-in, I say don’t bother with Baudolino.

The artwork looks like Fra Angelico illustrating Led Zeppelin’s “Battle of Evermore,” which could be cool, but given that the author’s name is three times the font size as the book’s title, I can only assume that this is the lesser work of some hotshot literary author. Umberto Eco sounds like a made-up name to me, some sort of stuffy, post-modern nom de plume. It’s a name signifying a highly self-conscious narrative, one that calls on its own neurosis with some sort of contrived “echo” effect. The book surely ends with the protagonist (Baudolino I presume) drowning in a shallow pool of narcissism.

I spend most of my time between hipster-ridden Providence and khaki-clad Boston. Baudolino ain’t selling in either demographic. Eco tried jumping on the Harry Potter craze a while back by offering literary Goths a sort of Dungeons & Dragons, choose-your-own-adventure novel. Obviously, the cover is not resonating with the intended target market. The reason is simple. Baudolino is too handsome. He looks like a FIFA star not an androgynous nerd. You couldn’t give this book away, not even at a Tolkien convention.

The publishers must have known the book was going to flop. At the bottom of the cover it informs potential buyers that Eco is also the author of The Name of the Rose. This must be the literary prequel to the Romancing the Stone trilogy starring Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner. I didn’t even know those were books. Terrific, maybe Cameron Douglas can play the lead role in the eventual film adaptation when he gets out of prison.

Baudolino isn’t worth a second glance. If I were the publisher, I'd re-issue the book with a new cover. Maybe something depicting a beer wench's cleavage, perhaps a vampire or two.

Underworld by Don DeLillo

At first glance, this book looks like every other 9/11 book with its cover of the Twin Towers enshrouded in smoke while the second plane approaches, the cross of a NYC cathedral in the foreground. Jesus H. Christ that’s some heavy handed Photoshopping! I automatically assumed that Don DeLillo must be a former speech writer of George W. Bush or perhaps a news desk editor for FOX News, but then I got to thinking. What if this book came out before 9/11? After all, I was standing there looking at it in the book section of my local Salvation Army.

I squinted harder and held the book with both hands. I then realized that the approaching object isn't a plane but a bird and that the smoke isn't smoldering jet fuel but fog. This DeLillo guy must be some kind of prophet. At the bottom of the cover it says that he is also the author of Libra and White Noise. I am not a big fan of astrology and I am not so shallow as to judge White Noise on Michael Keaton's sub par performance in the film adaptation. Judging a book by its cover requires an observant mind. Judging one by its film is intellectually lazy.

DeLillo is an Italian surname thus the title Underworld must imply some sort of mafia plot. Given that it's published by Scribner (a fancy pants, artsy fartsy publishing house), the book is probably some high brow, conspiracy theory narrative that ties the Gambino crime family to 9/11. At least three inches thick, there's got to be more to the novel than a bunch of guineas strong-arming stock brokers. The religious cross in the foreground hints at a potential Catholic priest molestation subplot. I am sensing that the book is an Oliver Stone/Da Vinci Code hybrid. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Underworld has won the Pulitzer. Therefore, this book is definitely worth picking up and looking at. In fact, if you're only going to look at one book in your entire lifetime, I would say let it be this one.

Here's my reasoning. I have a friend with an MFA in poetry. He wears $150 flannel shirts and has two beards. Whenever I question him on the importance of literature, he responds with some quote about writers being the antennae of the race. If I had to guess, I'd say he probably lifted the quote from someone much smarter than himself. Anyway, DeLillo certainly fits this category. I would even go so far as to say that the prophetic symbolism of its cover makes Underworld worth actually buying. It just might be the most significant book cover of the twentieth century.