Huns Sack Las Vegas, Demand Rick Moody be Surrendered ASAP
Thematically, my friends, The Diviners is more than a parody of Hollywood, Bollywood, television, glamour, bulimia, PR firms, the Manhattan Moment, organized religion, mental illness, our attitudes on aging, the collective farm, what Attila Really Wanted, and the decline of western civilization. The novel is about how we keep busy, the drugs we need, the clothes, cell phones, digital devices, heroes and villains, doughnuts, the Trade Center attack, anxiety, crisis, fantasy, peptic ulcers, sex, hallucinations, wallpaper and those crazy guys on bicycles. Like Madison, we stand on our toes surveying the closet in the childlike hope of finding something we did not put in there, something magical and transformative, or, at least, unexpected. Like Minivan, we’re certain that success and happiness are byproducts of frenzy, denial, strain, compulsion, and the Lotus position offered by the swift consumption of a dozen original glazed.
Time is not of the essence. It explodes with every sunrise, bursting through the confines of our inadequate physics, irradiating the dials of our Oedipal Rolex. Moody recreates Genesis in order to see the world afresh, that the dawn of man is treated with the full accompaniment of The Fall. Rosa, like John the Baptist, is privy to a knowledge both frightening and inadequate, repulsive and soothing. She hears everything, understands nothing, caught in the down warp of unattractive illness. Moody searchs in the wreckage of an arsonized Krispy Kreme as though examining the ruin of the Temple of Solomon, aghast how little the debris has to offer. Attila, the man with a plan, is on his way. He will sack and burn Las Vegas. Better read all about it.