I recently read Running Out of Time by A.M. Hounchell on a fine Sunday morning.
The Monday after, I had to get my blood checked for a symbiotic parasite and my head checked for acid lumps. The swill was lingering somewhere in the back of my brain days after I read Hounchell’s confusing blunder of a masterpiece.
Description: Running Out of Time is an absurdist novel about a man trying to see where he fits in space and time. As his two individual idealisms battle each other, probably to death. He’ll meet friends he never wanted, but will always have.
Like the Flamingo of Order
Ketchup the girl from the internet dating site
Les, a possessed demon teddy bear?
And a Pirate with a hint of insect
Can he stop something from happening? Probably, because that is vague.
Find out at the end of this book!
Ok…well then. I decided to dive into this crazy pool, feet first, damned be the consequences. I checked out his blog already and liked the sarcasm and big pills so I DID NOT get out of my pajamas, I was on coffee cup number two and ready. Wait, that’s right…
I actually started reading this the night before to my wife, out loud, in bed, three goblets of wine and whatever else in. It wanted me to read it out loud. I wanted to be a voice actor for this author’s entire body of work, and that is all the voice over acting I would ever have to do.
As I let the absurdity pour from my lips to my laughing wife, I got the sinking suspicion that she was entertained for once by the written word. She never laughed that much at my material…
I remember now, ah yes, Sunday morning, where did we leave off? Page 22, yes, just about the time I rolled over again and…Did this book cause me to go for a round 2? How much time between rounds? 22 pages?
Sunday morning, again. I was sober. I was alone. I noticed the unedited blemished, the problems with layout on devices that plague, but I still couldn’t put the book down despite my chores, my mountain of papers, my coffee spilling onto the floor, turning into a pool of mud chocolate between my slippers and my happy dog. What is in this coffee? Did I find this book under my mattress or on top of the bus station? How much coffee should I make? Should I stop?
I wondered if the man behind this art would give up the act, he almost lost me at Chapter 10, he almost gave up the ghost. I trudged on, for the sake of the quest. The quest theme was good, then it wasn’t, then it was good again. Do I like Ketchup? Yes, yes I do.
I saw brilliance there between the errors and the I just don’t care sentiment. I saw someone who could write for days while I stayed there, my shoes in the mud, worried about one phrase.
This book is not for everyone. I was an English teacher, a Writer. Now, I am questioning my own ethics.
If you read a book and it changes the way you write for the better, you have read a good book.
A.M. Hounchell’s blog: http://prosefessor.blogspot.com/