Review: "The Initiates", by Etienne Davodeau

This is my review of The Initiates, as seen also at Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/880110337

There are obvious parallels between making graphic novels (writing, drawing, printing and distributing to readers) and making wine (raising, fermenting, bottling and distributing to drinkers): Each is a job that can be easily misunderstood.  Each is a form of art which many people fail to recognize as art.  Each is practiced by an assortment of masters, mediocrities and eccentrics not even their peers can understand.  Each has its own arcane practices and occult jargon, incomprehensible to the uninitiated.
There are obvious parallels between reading graphic novels and drinking wine: Some people enjoy them in prudent moderation, while others become obsessives who allow something meant to enrich their lives to take over their lives.  Some people despise anyone who has anything to do with them (using, respectively, the slurs "subliterate" and "drunkard").
Etienne Davodeau and Richard Leroy don't really "exchange jobs", as the subtitle claims.  Rather, they exchange insights into their jobs: Etienne shows Richard his drafting tools and takes him to the editorial offices and the printing press where his unique art is turned into a mass product.  Richard puts Etienne to work pruning vines and draws samples from his barrels to show him how fermenting wine progresses towards the form in which it will be bottled.
Richard offers Etienne tastes of Poulsards and Chardonnays, while Etienne showers Richard with Art Spiegelman and Alan Moore.
I'm amused by the fact that the English title, "The Initiates" stands opposite to the original French title, "Les Ignorants", but at the same time, the underlying principle is the same.  Rather the way that the English word "mammal" compares with its German equivalent, Säugetier.  The one means "milk-producer", while the other means "milk-drinker".  Etienne and Richard both nourish, and they both are nourished.  Reading this book, you will be nourished.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "It will be up to you to nourish others with your own talent and labor."\\

A Bit Late, But . . .

I have decided to give up Facebook for Lent.  I will make a sincere effort not to go onto Facebook until Easter Sunday, an occasion I will otherwise not observe.
Persons who are genuinely interested in our current situation, especially Kathe's health, may visit this blog, or e-mail me at john_m_burt@hotmail.com

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Outlook is good."\\

Death -- What a Concept

I ran into an interesting post at Susie Bright's blog, about Ariel Gore and the memoir she allowed herself to write after her mother died:

 http://susiebright.blogs.com/susie_brights_journal_/2014/03/lung-cancer-noir-ariel-gores-masterpiece.html#tpe-action-posted-6a00d8341c5e4053ef01a3fcce7c30970b

It inspired me to make this comment:

I had appalling dreams after my father died, and dream logic followed me into waking life.  I discovered that not only could I not confront the reality that my father was dead, I could not even deal with the reality of death, period, for anyone.  I would find myself imagining corpses living still, drawn-out lives in drawers and back bedrooms, and saying things like, "Oh, yes, she's dead -- but how dead is dead, really?"  It was over a year before I stopped skidding over the concept of death and could say, "Dead is dead.  My father is dead."

Now that my father is definitively dead, though, I can feel his presence more than I could when death didn't exist in my world.  The other day, I saw a joke that involved Marxist jargon and a horrid pun, and I immediately sent it out to the family:

"Q: Why is it that when you flush the toilet at Karl Marx's place, you can hear the sound of stringed instruments?
"A: Because of the violins inherent in the cistern.
"This has been a George S. Burt Memorial E-Mail."

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Yes, he would have liked that one."\\

Uncertainty Principle

A man once hired a private detective to find out if his wife were cheating on him.

The detective returned in just three days with a video which showed the view through his best friend's bedroom window.  The man saw his wife enter with his best friend, passionately kissing.  The video showed them stripping naked, his wife and his best friend climbing onto the bed, and then turning out the light.

The man stared at the screen, now showing only a darkened window, then turned to the detective and said, tears in his eyes, "That's the worst part of it -- the sheer Hell of never knowing for certain!"

This dirty joke is dedicated to the people who say, "So you're saying only 97% of climatologists think human activity is causing the derangement of the climate . . . ?"

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Not to decide is to decide."\\