Review: The Last Days of New Paris

Pin It The Last Days of New Paris by China Miéville
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The premise of this book was so ridiculous that I couldn't help but dive at the opportunity to read it, especially since I was given a free galley copy by the publisher. From my previous experience, China Mieville tends to live in a space that is far outside the reaches of most people's creative capabilities. It's a fascinating world, but quite possibly one that can only exist in the mind of a mad-man. And I love it!

"In the chaos of wartime Marseille, American engineer - and occult disciple - Jack Parsons stumbles onto a clandestine anti-Nazi group, including surrealist theorist André Breton. In the strange games of the dissident diplomats, exiled revolutionaries, and avant-garde artists, Parsons finds and channels hope. But what he unwittingly unleashes is the power of dreams and nightmares, changing the war and the world forever.

It's 1950. A lone surrealist fighter, Thibaut, walks a new, hallucinogenic Paris, where Nazis and the Resistance are trapped in unending conflict, and the streets are stalked by living images and texts - and by the forces of hell."

Delicious, right!? I'm not going to lie, I was occasionally confused and disoriented by the craziness in these pages but I was never ever bored. Anyone who has ever looked at a surrealist painting knows that confusion is quite possibly the source of the thrill you experience.

This was a book that I couldn't possibly describe to another reader in a way that would effectively portray how fantastic it was. It was a joy to read and unlike any other book I've ever read!

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JoPapa

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I've been avoiding writing this post, not because it's not important to me but because it's very personal and I think that personal stuff sometimes needs a chance to dry before it is hung out for others to see. I have honestly experienced very little loss in my life (knock on wood) and consider this a blessing because I have an extremely tender constitution and emotions like a wet doily. The loss of my Grandpa Kelsch at the end of last week, however, I think deserves more than a pool of tears and heartaches (although I assure you that those are present as well).

You see, my grandpa was unlike anyone else I've ever met. If you'd ever met him you wouldn't forget. I've tried many times in the past to describe him to people and paint a picture of him so that others could feel his love for life but I've never quite been able to capture him in a way that does justice to the man that he was. He was a passionate, brilliant artist and recently painted this portrait of himself better than I would ever be able to with words.

I've come to realize as I get older that there are few people who ever do exactly what they want to with their life. Few people focus on their passion. My grandpa was one of the few. He loved art and he loved his family and they were his life. Every time I reflect on what I'm doing with my life I can't help but ask myself if I will ever love it as much as my grandpa loved touching his brush to a canvas. He was a gloriously jolly dude because he did what he loved.... and he took the time to learn to do it well. He also loved people which gave a soul to his work and those he shared life with.

Ever since I was a little squirt, I wanted to be just like my Grandpa Kelsch. I didn't get to see him often because of distance but I loved sitting with him while he painted a La Jolla landscape or sketched a portrait. I remember one time in particular that he sat with me and taught me a lesson on how to use a charcoal pencil. The vision of his hands running along the paper was hypnotizing to me and the scratch on the paper was a song I will never forget.

Everything he ever gave to me I've cherished. The other night I sat looking at a few of his paintings that I've been lucky enough to be gifted over the years and can't help but hear the echoes of his joy. He wasn't really called 'grandpa' to us or 'dad' by his kids. He was Jopapa to all of us. And we were dude, dudettes, and things were always 'swell' or 'spiffy'. Words were like candy to Jopapa and they are some of my sweetest memories. I've spent a lot of my life reading beautiful words from brilliant authors but none will ever have the effect that his did when he told me that I was "one snazzy dude."

Part of me wants to sit here and wallow in the misery of the loss of one of my best buddies but I can guarantee that that isn't the flavor of of fizzy wizzy that he'd want me to drink. While you'll be missed intensely, Jopapa, I want you to know that it's because of you that I continue to search for the passion that can consume me and bring life to my soul. It's because of you that I give my kids nicknames and try to be silly with them even when I'm tired. I'll miss you but I know that I'll see you and Jomama again after you guys have had a chance to paint a beautiful canvas for our family in the next life.