A Safe Haven

For the first time in too many years I got sucked into a good book I couldn't put down until it was conquered and I just have to write about it. I have fallen in love with a new(ish) author who just barely hit the literary "scene" (as if I'd have a clue what that is) just in the past decade; an era that has had me sharting crotch-fruit out my vag-hole, raising said fruit to be half-way decent mini-humans, working the streets for money, and just generally too busy (and oblivious) to take note of any new authors.

Her name is Haven Kimmel and she's a safe, funny, mildly twisted, writer. I read the first seven words of her fourth novel called, Iodine the other day after spying it at Books-A-Million in their Big Bargain Book Blow-out Bonanza bin(or some such alliteration) that conveniently clutters the corral-like line one is forced to wade through far too slowly because the eye-brow pierced store-clerk barely knows what a book is let alone can run the register without the aid of an over-paid, under-worked "manager" (who has twice as many facial piercings) while selling one. I was buying the book Mom, A Celebration of Mothers by Storycorps for Nannette. It was to be her M-Day offering as a sign of appreciation for her sharting me out her vag-hole (and doing a WILD job of raising me thereafter) some 38 years ago. The Storycorps book was nice, but kinda small and I felt a little guilty for getting something that should really be described as a "hardback pamphlet" so I decided to fluff-up my offerings by throwing in that bonanza bargained book with the pretty purple and black swirly cover from that tempting, alliterated bin because after all, people in line behind me, I'm sure, were staring at me and there was really nothing else to do but grab that book and pretend to read it while I waded in line to buy it. It was either that or let out a nervous "stop staring at me from behind you fucking pervs" silent fart.

I got home later that afternoon and was doing inventory on my matriarchal goddess offerings when I grabbed Haven's book and started to put it in the [SEVEN FUCKING DOLLAR] pretty, pink and black (with butterflies) gift bag I knew Nan would just love. But then I remembered those first seven words of that purple-y swirled book I had read in that corral a few hours prior and decided to read a few more... next thing you know... three chapters were devoured. I would not prove as much of my love to the goddess, and I was fine with that.

I kept the dramatically discounted, purple book and read its innards all through my slumberous mother's day and just finished it up two nights ago. While I couldn't help but be a bit disappointed by the end (I refuse to spoil it because you should buy it and read it yourself, she's got bills to pay too!) I am left with an overall sense of gratefulness for this young writer for writing something that was just plain old fun to read. One of the things that made me love her is her description of an evil character, a business man, probably a pedophile (she never clarified) as being a "Friend of Foreclosure" and saying that he "is not a Natural Man but rather their loan officer". Me being a real estate appraiser could not relate more to those imaginatively accurate descriptions. I have not been able to rip through a book that fast in what feels like centuries, so I raced out and bought two more of her books. I call her "safe" because she will not change my life, but "fun" for being "mildly twisted" in an alarmingly normal way.

Anyway, this blog entry is dedicated to the support of this new(ish) artist and I wish her years of prosperity and good fortune!