Ron Loewinsohn (1937–2014)

Takonator: “fuck I need to go home I need to take a shit”

Magnetic Field: “Just 10 more pages”

10 pages later....

Takonator: “ok”

Takonator: “fuck man I need to take a shit”

Magnetic Field: “READ ME!!!”

Takonator: “look man I really need to go home, I’ve been here since 3:30 and is almost 9 and I need to take a shit”

Magnetic Field: “I COMMAND YOU TO READ ME!!!”

Takonator: “OMG please let me go there is no way I’m using a public bath room just to keep reading you!! Culo save me!!”

Takonator’s Culo: “listen man I need to go! If you don’t let the poor guy go and do his busyness there is going to an “accident” here and after that I’ma need to be clean and you the closest piece of paper that I can see…”

Magnetic Field: “wait man calm down there is no need to go crazy, go home but come back next week and READ ME”

Takonator: “aight”

Takonator’s Culo: “Deal”
… (altro)

Infidelity in high fidelity... that's this book. It's a beautiful book that you can hear as you read... sounds are used to propel the story.

David Lyman is a composer/conductor (and the main character in Loewinsohn's novel Magnetic Field(s)). He listens to the silence between sounds both in his music and in his life. Problem is... going through a mid-life crisis with a wife that creates a steady repetitive rhythm, a son beating to the sounds of punk, and a beautiful young musician blowing the flute (no pun intended... well intended a little bit but it's true) and idolizing him creates a noisy situation.

And when he had passed, the silence stitched itself back together again behind him.… (altro)

This book starts off like a crime novel with a couple of brutal scenes and some really screwed up characters. Then it's not.

Being violated... being the violator...

If this book is like a house and you just walked through the front door you would expect to be in the foyer or living room. You know that the door to the right will be a kitchen but when you look inside it's a porch. What you thought would be the bathroom turns out to be the garage... this book kind of does that to you. Nothing is quite what you expect but it's exactly what you thought it would be. The story appears to shift directions but then you realize that it really didn't.

It's not a philosophical book but it does make you think about 'where' you are and 'who' you are (sorry for the apostrophes... and now the parenthesizes). Think a bit Calvino but not as meta. Loewinsohn uses repetition and coincidence beautifully. Walls and mirrors will never be the same... I think I might prefer a room in the deserts of the West where the horizon is out of reach and there are no surfaces to hang a Dick Tracy print. My house no longer feels right.

Kind of hard for me to articulate my feelings about this book. Just read it. It is good.

'Lots of beautiful things,' he went on, 'are filled with pain and darkness. This house, next door.'… (altro)