Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Novel Jacket blurb
This forceful novel explores the ambiguous fears of bleeding hearts abroad, illuminating the scandalous distance between the ideas of academics and how the world is run.
The star of the story is 27-year-old Koko Valentine, a roving student on the run from love and comfort. He is jerked from his blind routine during a mass protest against high gas prices in Indonesia, when he meets Pram and Budi, two quick-learning bus drivers whose astute yet simple observations set in motion a botched plan to end a new kind of terrorism.
As a perpetual voice of neutrality, Koko is torn between the arguments of powerful men and women who can’t agree on how to make the world and humanity flourish. One the one side are the Death Consultants who argue that by mass marketing implements of destruction like motor vehicles and weaponry, the worst elements of humanity can be eliminated, allowing the rest to flourish. On the other side, plain language consultants argue for behaviour-shaping education of the masses. In the middle Koko is falling in love with a Danish children’s novelist and being seduced by a radical Indonesian eco-activist.
Prodding more intensely into his new lover’s ideas and character, Koko unveils the authenticity of his own mind. This is a novel that abolishes the pretense that knowledge leads to action, pulls back the curtain covering our power structures, and ultimately exposes the reedy streak separating progressives and war-hawks.
Finally, Koko is distorted by the trap he chooses to enter. Readers too may fail to recover from the power of Benjamin’s words.
Love the closing line. Who could recover from your words?
They are like candy floss barbs in the mind.
Ultra: "candy floss barbs" is a gorgeous image.
'He is jerked from his blind routine during a mass protest against high gas prices in Indonesia...'
'He is jerked off from his blind routine during a mass protest against high gas prices in Indonesia...'
This seemingly insignificant change will give you kudos in the league of people who masquerade as intellectuals but who are, more realistically, shit-stirrers par excellence.
Think of the chuckling and endless fictional stories you could invent in green rooms throughout the first world (and select parts of the sub-continent) as you await your next TV interview.
Think about it: Infamy vs Famy. I know which of these I'd choose.
I've told you before, BenjiBopper; if you're going to quote me then credit me.
At least it looked like you.
Think about it, though. A mini alteration such as that would give you credence of an entire herd of bison with crossed legs. People wouldn't be sure whether you were playing with a full deck or with your todger. Personally, I can't stand cards. You could be the depraved lunatic launching at the eyeballs of well wishers with a live squid at your book signings one minute and a certified genius stroking his white feline in the company of a scantily dressed Bond girl reject the next.
I'd bill you as the Sean Penn of the literary world with posters of you flexing your pecs because it would be classy that way.