Almanac of the Dead

Yes, it's time for my bi-monthly report on Leslie Marmon Silko's Almanac of the Dead. Page 422. I've reached another part where I just want to be reading it aloud to L*. Vietnam Vets, conspiracy theories, biomatter. That silko: she's a genius! Not only does she write the million-page novel by writing half-a-million two-page stories, she's callin' out the orishas and the corn mothers, and all the stops. I had to drag myself out of the bath tonight (where I do all my pleasure reading). Especially 'cause it's deep in New Orleans and Black Indians right now, and Black Studies classes at UNM. Lovin' this book. Oh, come on, it's not that long. When I was an MA student I took a Victorian lit class, now those were some long-ass no-fun novels. Me, I was cackling in the tub at Silko.

It's funny that I read Gardens in the Dunes before this one. Because she plays some of the same cards, but like for a whole different audience. Gardens would work very well with the Oprah crowd. The Oprah-Martha crowd, that is. I love Gardens in the Dunes. Still haven't taught it effectively, but I could if I had a graduate ethnic lit class. (witness the masochism of the victorian lit!)

So today I was imagining how podcasts could/could not work if me and my billion-dollar budget and my queer friends were to make a blockbuster film from this novel. Tropic of Orange too! Even if I don't think Guillermo Gomez-Peña is strong enough to hold up the end of a novel, the more I think about Tropic of Orange the more I like it. L* taught it this quarter in her class. I was too chicken. Coulda shoulda woulda.