A compendium of fiction and non-fiction by a humorist suis generis.
A compendium of fiction and non-fiction by a humorist sui generis: ironist, satirist, realist, burlesque comic—yes, all from the same author, this Robert Levin who gleefully fingers the absurdities of life with trenchant wit and daunting intelligence. His voices are many and varied and ultimately balanced: the cynicism of “Everything's All Right In the Middle East” leavened by the belly laughs of “Peggie,” the raw sensibility of "Spinning the Wheel of the Quivering Meat Conception” lightened by the surprising sweetness of the title story. Scathing examinations of self-destructiveness give way to redemption (of sorts) in "Dog Days." Finally, there is the sadder but wiser "Free Jazz," illuminating the ’60s with piercing intellect and hardly a guffaw to be found.
And so a writer, perfectly willing to offend if that's what it takes to be funny and make his point, turns out to please in a myriad of ways. A collection to wonder at and laugh with.
Excerpt
“How come you don’t seem to have the major-ity of cash I respected?” she said. “How come you don’t habituate in a nice place? How come you don’t have a phone in case Steven Spielberg and Sidney Pollack are in a communicable way? How come your closet is only fulminating with jeans? Also, how come you don’t keep your birds in cages?”
Considering that I wasn’t used to such an interrogation—and that I was obliged to think on my feet—I came up with something that I thought wasn’t bad.
“Honey,” I said, “you’ve entered my life at the worst possible time and while I know that it’s asking a lot, I can only hope you’ll find it within yourself to bear with me. I’m afraid that I may be afflicted with what’s called the ‘J.D. Salinger Syndrome’. It’s a condition of creative paralysis that sometimes develops in artists who have achieved a legendary stature. Owning the prospect of a fame that will survive their demise, they live in terror of losing that prospect by producing work that might be inferior to what they’ve already accomplished. Rather than risk tainting their image, they cease to function and, in the worst cases, to even appear in public where the possibility of a clumsy or mediocre utterance could alter and diminish the way they’re perceived. What happens is that they effectively sacrifice the remainder of their lives to their immortality. I may or may not overcome this disease and I’ll understand completely if its something you want no part of. All I can say is that I’m deliberately staying out of the public eye right now and that I’ve cut myself off from even my closest friends and associates who, meaning well but not understanding, would only make light of my problem and encourage me to work. This unfortunately includes my accountant who happens to be the only person with access to my bank accounts. As for the apartment, it’s my hideout. It’s perfect as a hideout because no one would ever think to look for me in such a crummy place. You’re the only one who knows about it, the only person I’ve trusted enough to bring to it. But again, I’ll understand if this isn’t something you want to involve yourself with because it won’t be a whole lot of fun and I don’t know how it will end.”
And it worked. Roger said nothing, but in addition to breaking out in a really hideous rash as I spoke, her chest swelled noticeably, almost expanding into something like a bosom. She must have felt five feet tall to be deemed worthy of sharing in my time of trial.
Professional Reviews
Terrific new short story collection blazes a trail on to the Bookmunch 'must-read' list...
I had not heard of Robert Levin before “When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot” arrived in the mail. I'm not really sure how I had missed him. Much of his work has appeared in publications that I sometimes read, and yet he had slipped completely beneath my radar. That fact is something of a shame.
When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot is a slim volume, split about in half. The first forty or so pages are devoted to Levin's short stories, the second forty or so made up of his commentary. It is the first half of the book that interested me most.
Levin writes rude, bawdy, strange, idiosyncratic tales. His characters are obsessed with sex and with themselves. They tend to be losers and bores (but are never boring). Levin crafts stories often in the first person, with a raw wit and free Id. There is a discomfort (with life, existence, sexuality, the body) that bleeds out of his characters. These are not the strong, sleek, beautiful protagonists that hang about so much of today's fiction. These characters owe something to Bukowski and Burroughs.
All of the tales that make up this book deserve some level of mention, but a few truly stand out. "Dog Days" is disturbing. "Peggy (or sex with a very large woman)" is hilarious. I found myself putting the book aside while reading that story, to compose myself and let the laughter trail off so that I could finish reading it. "Spinning the Wheel of the Quivering Meat Conception" has one of the best titles I have seen in years. Sadly, it is one of the weaker stories in the book.
The title story is most deserving of discussion. "When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot" is a fascinating and nasty tale. It follows an unattractive man. He describes himself thus: "Just under average height, more skinny than slim, and with long, usually unkempt hair hanging over my ears and forehead and down the scruff of my neck, I also have heavily lidded eyes, sunken cheeks and a pallor that's cadaverous." Reading that self description, one may be surprised that our narrator "Gets his pipes cleaned" all the time by a variety of women.
His secret is that a certain type of woman will mistake him for Al Pacino, or Dustin Hoffman, or Bob Dylan, or some other celebrity that doesn't meet the standard of beauty in the modern world. We are presented with a holy litany of the times he's been laid due to mistaken identity.
Eventually he falls into a relationship of sorts. He begins living with a girl that has no idea who it is she is sleeping with each night. This girl has the improbable name Roger (her father had wanted a boy). She is one of the strangest characters I have ever read about. Something in her reminds one of Anthony Burgess' Enderby. She is flatulent and sort of disgusting in her habits. This girl is a fountain of malapropism, mixed (or twisted) metaphor and strange construction. When excited she is "excruciated". She wonders why strangers don't "notarize" her boyfriend (who she initially believes to be Dustin Hoffman).
The two of them make a strange pair in extremis. It is, in its own way, a sad tale. We know from the start that it can’t end well, and of course it doesn’t. Along the way we are given some of the best characters to appear in a long time.
Any Cop?: I’m tempted to call Levin a sick comedian, but how then to account for the pathos and the genuine sadness that permeates these stories? How to account for the fact that I am about to set aside several other books so that I can read this one again?
Nathan Tyree
When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot
Robert Levin has three things going for him. One, he is extremely intelligent. Two, he has complete control of the English language and makes the most of it. Three, has an unusual sense of humor. The combination is effective and the result of it is the collection of short stories and essays entitled, “When Pacino’s Hot, I’m Hot” published by The Drill Press - http://thedrillpress.com.
The collection is broken into two parts, the first covering short stories; the second covers rants on various social topics that bug Mr. Levin.
I am torn on the first piece, the short collection. While each story, I believe, if read at various times in a span of a few weeks would stand out to be the best thing you read that day, as a collection they lose their effectiveness. Each piece rarely escapes a box which only include first person point of view, limited (if any) dialogue, limited action, always some sexual joke or reference if not the entire point of the story, mixture of intelligent humor and witty story telling. If I had read them here and there, I think these stories would have stood out to me more than they did reading them in one sitting. As they are quick reads and the entire short story section only reaches roughly fifty pages, one sitting is really all that was called for and so at the end, the stories blurred together. They lacked range, which in a collection, made it more evident.
The second section of the book covers social rants and observations. Now Robert Levin is a great writer. More importantly he is an intelligent writer. The combination is quite effective and his essays are interesting however they lack follow through or any information except for his final essay on Jazz. He points out things that bug him (much like a Seinfeld episode) but does not offer solutions to issues, not information supporting his point of view but simply note that perhaps the service industry is subpar, insurance companies are frauds and that the Middle East has problems. Not ground breaking material but interesting nonetheless. Again, the collection is weaker then the standalone article if you had read it in a magazine or newspaper.
On a whole it is a quick read and if you are in need of some reading material for little windows of time, I would suggest picking up a copy of “When Pacino’s Hot, I’m Hot” and reading it here and there to get the most out of it. Each piece is enjoyable and you will find it hard not to laugh at many of the stories (especially “Spinning the Wheel of the Quivering Meat Conception”)!
Casey Quinn, Short Story Library
When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot
by Rachel Kendall, Sein und Werden
"Stupidity is among the most effective means available to reduce existential terror to a tolerable disquietude."
Robert Levin's collection of short stories and commentary had me laughing out loud with its societal quips and lashes. I had published a story of Levin's previously in Sein und Werden. "Dog Days" is about a man who is caught in flagrante delicto with his girlfriend's dog. So I kind of knew what to expect with these stories. Yes it's bawdy. It might be toilet humour. But it's very intelligent and it spares no one. It takes the piss out of society.
"'Sylvia,' Helen said, 'why are we talking about your ass now? You know your ass isn't the issue... I told you what it is; it's your ankles. They've started to make me cross. I can't help it.'"
Mostly it takes the piss out of its own protagonist.
"A subversive I may be, but I've never been of the militant variety. When the SDS was blowing up banks in the early '70s, I was expressing my displeasure with the establishment by intentionally omitting zip codes—that'll jam their gears!"
I enjoyed the stories. But I loved the essays. Levin has written for Rolling Stone. He's written for the Village Voice. He knows about music. He's co-written two books on jazz. He's also slightly bitter. A little bit twisted. Someone I can relate to. He talks about sex and death, ie, fear of the unknown, fear of dying without having really lived, fear of pain and terror. He has something to say on the subject of non-smokers: "Like you I'm dealing with an out-sized fear of dying," where the smoker seizes control of his ultimate cut-off point by taking the risk of cancer out of the hands of death and into his own nicotine-stained fingers,
people who recycle:
"These people are coming from the secret hope that if they suck up to nature by not wasting any of it—and get the rest of us to follow suit—nature will return the favor and arrange to perpetuate their existence in some other package once their current status expires."
and general stupidity...
"Let me hasten to say that I value stupidity as much as the next man. I do. Stupidity is, after all, one of the best solutions we've come up with to the problem of being mortal."
This is a brilliantly entertaining book, which will have you nodding in agreement whilst feeling slightly guilty for laughing so hard. To conclude this short review, I'll let the author himself say a few words:
Bitesize: Terrific new short story collection blazes a trail on to the Bookmunch 'must-read' list...
I had not heard of Robert Levin before When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot arrived in the mail. I'm not really sure how I had missed him. Much of his work has appeared in publications that I sometimes read, and yet he had slipped completely beneath my radar. That fact is something of a shame.
When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot is a slim volume, split about in half. The first forty or so pages are devoted to Levin's short stories, the second forty or so made up of his commentary. It is the first half of the book that interested me most.
Levin writes rude, bawdy, strange, idiosyncratic tales. His characters are obsessed with sex and with themselves. They tend to be losers and bores (but are never boring). Levin crafts stories often in the first person, with a raw wit and free Id. There is a discomfort (with life, existence, sexuality, the body) that bleeds out of his characters. These are not the strong, sleek, beautiful protagonists that hang about so much of today's fiction. These characters owe something to Bukowski and Burroughs.
All of the tales that make up this book deserve some level of mention, but a few truly stand out. "Dog Days" is disturbing. "Peggy (or sex with a very large woman)" is hilarious. I found myself putting the book aside while reading that story, to compose myself and let the laughter trail off so that I could finish reading it. "Spinning the Wheel of the Quivering Meat Conception" has one of the best titles I have seen in years. Sadly, it is one of the weaker stories in the book.
The title story is most deserving of discussion. "When Pacino's Hot, I'm Hot" is a fascinating and nasty tale. It follows an unattractive man. He describes himself thus: "Just under average height, more skinny than slim, and with long, usually unkempt hair hanging over my ears and forehead and down the scruff of my neck, I also have heavily lidded eyes, sunken cheeks and a pallor that's cadaverous." Reading that self description, one may be surprised that our narrator "Gets his pipes cleaned" all the time by a variety of women.
His secret is that a certain type of woman will mistake him for Al Pacino, or Dustin Hoffman, or Bob Dylan, or some other celebrity that doesn't meet the standard of beauty in the modern world. We are presented with a holy litany of the times he's been laid due to mistaken identity.
Eventually he falls into a relationship of sorts. He begins living with a girl that has no idea who it is she is sleeping with each night. This girl has the improbable name Roger (her father had wanted a boy). She is one of the strangest characters I have ever read about. Something in her reminds one of Anthony Burgess' Enderby. She is flatulent and sort of disgusting in her habits. This girl is a fountain of malapropism, mixed (or twisted) metaphor and strange construction. When excited she is "excruciated". She wonders why strangers don't "notarize" her boyfriend (who she initially believes to be Dustin Hoffman).
The two of them make a strange pair in extremis. It is, in its own way, a sad tale. We know from the start that it can’t end well, and of course it doesn’t. Along the way we are given some of the best characters to appear in a long time.
Any Cop?: I’m tempted to call Levin a sick comedian, but how then to account for the pathos and the genuine sadness that permeates these stories? How to account for the fact that I am about to set aside several other books so that I can read this one again?
The Wholly Book of Doo-Doo-Rot-on-Me is adult satirical humor featuring adult language and adult content, and the work is a parody of the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy.
The Wholly Book of Doo-Doo-Rot-on-Me is adult satirical humor featuring adult language and adult content, and the work is a parody of the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy.
Blod Ties - Fantasy, Romance. Romantasy? A bit of whimsy for the weekend. A naive British tourist John Gormley takes a holiday in the ancient, remote kingdom of Perarboria. He does not suspect that his holiday love affair with a local beauty is desti
