Word: beavered
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...nature and freedom and spontaneity of travel. But the backpacking young travel with as much energy and expertise as Waugh did, and with much less money. They prowl the world a little outside the law, at great risk-dope smugglers sometimes, or else the dreamy, suburbanite Leave-It-to-Beaver youth between ashrams, on the road to Katmandu. The trouble is that these wanderers rarely can write very well, or bother...
Working under a casual agreement with the legal thespians, our eager beaver poured his soul into those props and eagerly awaited the fame and fortune he deserved. As usual, the show was a flop, and to make matters worse, the neophyte craftsman was apparently told to take a hike without any pay because he hadn't signed a contract. Those Harvard Law students know how to drive a hard bargain...
...writings. In its place is a premonitory feeling of dread. As always in Carrolliana, logic lies on one side and absurdity on the other. Between the two, humor leaps like a spark, illuminating the strange journey of an impossible crew (nine men whose occupations begin with B, plus a Beaver) in search of an inconceivable creature. It will ultimately consume one of them. At the end, there is no convenient awakening from a dream, as in Alice's adventures, no consolation of an afterlife. All that remains is "a torrent of laughter . . . Then, silence." The Hunting surfaces in Finnegans...
What is one to make, for example, of the Beaver and the Butcher as "They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned/ (For a moment) with noble emotion,/ Said 'This amply repays all the wearisome days/ We have spent on the billowy ocean!' " Or: " 'I engage with the Snark-every night after dark-/ In a dreamy delirious fight:/ I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,/ And I use it for striking a light...
There is none of John Rockwell's "This writer" bullshit, none of Kit Rachlis' ludicrous over-intellectualization, none of Dave Marsh's brash favoritism (who likes Beaver Brown, but not the Clash!), etc. When Rolling Stone has grown more and more uncool, the Voice quietly retains its cool, thanks to Lester Bangs and Mr. Christgau. This book is hardly comprehensive, nore objective, but it doesn't and couldn't try to be. He loves enough types of music--Reggae, Soul, Punk, and Rock and Roll--and listens to enough music (14 hours a day, brag his zealous press releases...