Gypsyroad- Graeme Shanks
This is an unusual book, of no genre and
many, weirdly paranormal but rooted in reality, psychological drama and yet
often cultural history, part travelogue and possibly part true biography,
explorative of positive new age philosophies and yet at times strangely
nihilistic.
What would you do if strangers you touched
randomly fell down dead? I would go and live in an isolated lighthouse or in a
very empty desert.
What would you think of what I assumed as I
read was a basically non-fiction script, that follows an Australian hippie from
one of the last cohorts of the baby-boomers, as he toured the English speaking
world on a exploratory rap for most of his life? If you were of his age, which
I am, you'd find that interesting. At least I did. Now what would you think if
he added what the sane must hope is a fictional reason for his wandering
behaviour, that being that he is an unwitting mass killer? Could that work? I
was interested by Shank's private experiences in last thirty years of the 20th
Century, and the beginning of this, despite the fact that he seemed to live and
do very little that didn't fit period clichés. However at least some people
have to live them to create shibboleths, don't they?
The book could have been called 'A Hundred
Tragic Deaths on the Way to Zen': not that the author necessarily actually
stayed in that particular philosophical cul-de-sac when he arrived. If he had
he may never have been agitated enough to write. Actually, for anyone that
didn't live those years the book is far too long. The detail is interesting, if
one is writing a history of the Australian itinerant tie-dyed period hippie,
but drags us a mile away from the goal of understanding what I pray is only
highly unproblematic fiction.
I can accept that people can be killed as
easily as this first person actor kills them. That is quite plausible, especially
if one chooses to believe the writer is penning a fiction as a cunning serial
killer living in denial of his crimes. I can even see the deliberately outlined
possibility that Shanks is actually a premeditated killer and that this book
comes half-way to a confession. Can one confess to multiple murders and yet not
take any real responsibility? If fact is pretending to be fiction then that
makes the matter of fact mentions of death in this book into real life horror.
One possibility is that Shanks is not a
human at all, but a sort of humanoid triffid plant. My guess is that he is then
genetically close to aconitum, better known as wolfsbane. When you've read the
book, take a break to look up the ways in which this plant kills its victims.
What I actually subscribe to is the likelihood
that Shanks just intended to give the 'killer story' plausibility by weaving it
around his very real bohemian life. I was drawn along, hoping to find a true
answer. Um- there wasn't one for me, though some readers may find one.
The book is well enough written though I
fear, in far too long-winded a form for many time-pressed readers. I give the
book four stars for writing and invention, but not five, simply because far too
many pages tell the reader too little and advance the drama not at all. If ever
a book cried out for a content editor, it's this one. But don't take my word
for it. Read the book- It as truly fascinating, and for once the skim-reader
may actually pick up comprehensive detail.
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