Gentleman Junkie

by Graham Caveney
(Little, Brown and Company 224 pp. $27.95)
by Thomas Christian

Smell this book. Mmm-mmm. Sixty-four varieties, pure aromatic. Red Crayola and Purple Hearts. Author Graham Caveney (“who holds an M.A. in American Literature!” screams the bio) shoulda spent less time in self cradles wit’ his pristine troph of academian angst and a tiny bit a ‘mo ‘mo to the matters of the heart. To whit:

“Burroughs’ body of work is a chiaroscuro of his own status.

“Pardonemoi? Chiaro… wha?

“An amalgam of transparent disguise that patrols the margin of mythology, apocrypha and fables.”

I see. Hmmm… Well, jus’ smear my smegma with crimson glories and lay me out in the fields of silky yum-yums, haw haw haw. While the subject (Burroughs) fascinates, and the graphix complement (as do the inclusion of rare-ified documents, style, and layout), the murder of language (that means you, Caveney) leaves the most unsavory aftertaste – a mucus-ian parasite. This cloth is one pained fabric.

LOOKIT – the Honorable WSB ordained THE OVERTHROW OF THE WRITTEN WORD, so overthrow this and dig the images, sweet readers. Blurry thine eyes in the cyber-inkwell of Uncle Bill’s will, ‘tho tread stealthily through the minefield of letters that cast a pall over the horizon; Inhale Energy.

Eat the essence.

Assassinate Anyone who answers to the call of “scholar.”