A man of enormous size and strength, Gordon Rankin, Jr., has been plagued with misfortune his entire life, which culminates in an old, trusted college friend publishing a novel that borrows freely from the traumatic events of Rank's own life.
There will be time to murder and create. —T.S. Eliot
There you are in the picture looking chubby and pompous, and it makes me remember how you told me that time you were afraid of fat people.
I remember thinking, the gang from Mount Olympus made a lot more sense than the guy I'd been hearing about most of my life up until that point. Who are you going to believe runs the show if you're a citizen of Planet Earth with any kind of awareness was to what's going on around you? are you going to buy into the story about this great guy, who is actually somehow three guys, one-third human, and he loves everybody equally, and all he wants is for everyone to behave themselves? (But, oh yeah, sometimes tsunamis at Christmastime. Sometimes bombs on civilian populations. Sometimes mothers dying horribly.) Or do you believe in this self-absorbed pack of loons who couldn't give a shit what happens on earth but just for fun decide to come down every once in a while to screw with us?
And do you really think your guy's any better, Father? You think you guy isn't just Zeus with better PR?
We men, he told me, we walk around with no idea how fragile our hearts might be.
There he was, the character I knew to be myself, lumbering in and out of scenes, and I'd be outraged when he was like me, because that was stealing, and outraged when he wasn't, because that was lying.