My first novel, THE DANCER AND THE FOOL, is a modernist, existential novel detailing the life of a character who has lost all sense of his visceral self and finds himself slowly consumed by Nothingness. It has been described as reminiscent of Dostoyevsky and Camus, and “like having an organ removed with each paragraph.” In other words, a huge success and utterly unpublishable.
My second novel, NAPOLEON, I decided to make more reader friendly. Here’s the introduction:
“This is a story about Napoleon. Not Napoleon Bonaparte but Napoleon Edward Lupe.
Napoleon was a man of great ideals, a man of untamable passions, a man who reinvented God. But this was a God so personal that He was of no use to anyone but himself. Napoleon was also useless, not only useless but dangerous; this is because he was a hero.
I would never have invented a hero, no self-respecting writer would, and this is why he invented himself, and in the process has invented me. I could never have written about my life if Napoleon had not made me part of his helter-skelter existence, had not dragged me from one side of the country to the other, had not brought me, like a piece of hand luggage, over the seas until he found his war. If it were not for Napoleon I would not be lying here, the remainder of a bullet freshly taken out of my stomach, sewn back up for a second time, unable to move except to tap restlessly at these keys.
But, as he would say, this is exactly what I wanted. I now have a story to tell, like he promised me. And, odd as it may seem, I am the only one who can tell it, as I alone have been his companion during these eventful years. Eventful! This is certainly an understatement, as Napoleon was one of those rare individuals who was truly driven, spending his life like a car on a lonely country road, with its lights off and its accelerator stuck to the floor. And I in the passenger seat. I would like to say that I was Napoleon’s best friend, but really I was only an out-of-tune accompaniment, a whiny fiddle playing into his great orchestral roar.
The fact is that Napoleon could have, at every turn in the road, gone on alone. And that is why, in spite of myself, I followed him. Perhaps I was afraid he would have been better off without me.
But the hospital has promised to keep me here for ten days only, and this is barely long enough to tell our story. Besides, I’m growing restless; Napoleon has already began to clamor in my ear, demanding that I sing his song, that I uphold my end of the bargain. And so, to ensure that our hero is not lost, let’s proceed.”
I’ve had considerable interest from agents lately so you may find it soon in a bookstore near you! If there are any book stores left by then, that is…
If you’d like to read the first three chapters please click Napoloen First Three.