October 14th, 2004


The world and how it sucks.

As I said yesterday, the overcast continues and the temperature drops; it's now too cold to go outside without a jacket, even with all my insulation. On top of that, the Sox dropped another one to the damnYankees and the Astros got beaten by that tofu-eating infidel LaRussa.

I didn't watch the debate last night. Maybe I should have; Mitch and Professor Death and Hugh Hewitt all think W rocked, though of course the lefty bloggers all say the opposite. As it is, I feel vaguely depressed in spite of having a number of social things going on this weekend; there is cajones' birthday party tomorrow night, hosted by the lovely & talented chebutykin, followed by MinneTokyo on Saturday, and of course the relaxicon starting tomorrow night and lasting until Sunday. Still, I am Not Pleased with life and am uncertain what to do about it.

Currently reading: Gust Front, by John Ringo

Things that didn't age well for 100, Art.

One of the things I picked up at the Arcana auction was a set of books by Fletcher Knebel, best known for his novel Seven Days in May, which is about an attempted military coup in the United States and later became a pretty decent movie with an all-star cast that included Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, and Ava Gardner. Anyway, I picked the set up for cheap mainly because it included a copy of Dark Horse, which I remembered fondly from the early 1970s.

For those of you who don't read a lot of mainstream fiction, Dark Horse is the story of Eddie Quinn, a New Jersey highway commissioner drafted to fill the shoes of the Republican Party's presidential candidate, who has dropped dead 22 days before the election. Yeah, the novel never comes right out and says it, but it's obviously the Republican Party - lots of rich white guys with oil money, yada yada. Quinn turns out to be somewhat of a populist loose cannon, and surprisingly attractive to a lot of voters. It's not great literature, but Quinn's an interesting character with lots of animal magnetism (we first encounter him as he's knocking boots with a very rich, very attractive, and very married Congresswoman) and when I first read it, it seemed like a good read.

Thirty years later, I have to wonder what Knebel was smoking. Perhaps I'm too much the child of my times, and too close to the political history of those times to be able to view it with any kind of objectivity, but Eddie Quinn doesn't strike me as quite real enough and his politics don't seem to fit the times I remember. Yes, I know it's supposed to be a political fantasy, along the lines of Allen Drury's Advise and Consent and its sequels, but for me it just doesn't work any more.