Word: subterranean
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...Brien (Houghton Mifflin). A boyish politician, spooked by an election defeat and by undead memories of Vietnam, retreats to a Minnesota lake to sort things out. He and his wife, who has spooks of her own, slip separately through the trapdoors of the mind into the subterranean world where morality, evil and reality itself are shifting phantoms. O'Brien, who served in Vietnam and in 1979 won the National Book Award for Going After Cacciato, once more displays his enormous talent...
...party to -- in Vietnam. Kathy is guilty of her own betrayals, and the wary husband and wife tiptoe around each other until eventually Wade is left by himself to dwell on her secrets and his own. Both of them slip through the trapdoors of their minds, down into the subterranean passageways where we all escape when we're missing not in action but in contemplation...
There are those who argue that the underground these days can be found on the Internet: the global computer network allows its travelers to move about anonymously and carve out a corner for narrow, unconventional obsessions. But there is another, subterranean world of people with aliases and attitudes that makes the Internet seem almost fuddy-duddy. E-mail? Postings? Those are for executives and housewives...
...hand-collated zine with a cult following, it recounts the travels, incidents and imaginings of Aaron, an American drifter who wanders the contemporary landscape in search of adventure, both ordinary and profound. With more than 30 issues published in 12 years, Cometbus is considered a classic in this subterranean world. Like many zines, it is filled with words. Issue No. 30, for instance, is 82 pages of pure print, sometimes crawling off the page. It contains this paean to punk love: "Punk rock love is . . . looking at her tattoos while she's asleep. Taking showers together. Playing checkers with cigarette...
...with lavish mosaics, frosted chandeliers and archways of stained glass, the metro offered a magnificent expression of Soviet splendor that belied the brutality of the era that produced it. Yet for millions of Muscovites who ride the trains each day, the metro no longer provides a voyage through a subterranean communist cathedral, whose effect is both sumptuous and muscular. Today it is overrun with beggars, reeling drunks and small-time entrepreneurs dragging trollies laden with crates and boxes...