Photos and videos

Orphe

Orphe is now available as a Kindle e-book. It has a cover illustration, and five chapter illustrations, and best of all, because of Amazon's change in their royalty structure, I can offer it for only $3.50. You can see it at the Amazon Kindle Store.(and in the UK, at the British Kindle store) and also at the Barnes and Noble e-book store. (The price of the HAG e-book has also dropped, from $9.99 to $5.99. You can see it here.) I'm also working on a printed paperback version of Orphe, which—like the HAG paperback—will contain dozens of illustrations. I hope to have it available later this year.The photos to the right are examples of these illustrations.

Orphe is my fourth novel. It actually began as a short story, written in Australia in the early 1960s. It never seemed quite right as a short story—it itched at me for years. In 1968 I took it with me, on my motorcycle, to Panama. I recall sitting in a Chinese cafe, reading it over a cup of coffee. I jotted down a few ideas, a few more lines. I sold my motorcycle to a man on a yacht, and continued south. I followed the Amazon from Pulcallpa, Peru, to Belem at the Atlantic coast of Brazil. I lived on a raft in Iquitos. I wandered the streets of Manaus and Leticia and many mud-street villages. When I returned to California I chanced upon a book about the Greek demigod Orpheus. For some time I had been fascinated by the legends around Orpheus. Everyone knows the story of his descent into Hades, attempting to rescue his wiife, Eurydice. But there were many stories about Orpheus: he was the central figure in one of the Greek mystery religions. St Paul, when he was still Saul, was probably an adherent. Much of early Christian iconograpnhy is a blatant copy of Orpheus iconography. There were legends of his descents into Hades—he made many such journeys—returning with his songs. This, I felt, was the template of all artists: we descend into our own hells, and return with our novels, our paintings, our music. One story in particular interested me, an early version of the Oedipal myth, containing many references to the creation of the world. I decided I would use this myth as the backbone of a new novel, and build it around my recent voyages to central and south America. I envisioned a whole series of novels based on Orpheus legends. Alas, I only wrote Orphe, and found myself sidetracked into other novels, other stories, other exploits. The idea, however, still appeals to me. Perhaps one of these days....

“In a mirror hanging on the wall I saw her hands reach behind her back. The red dress slipped over bare shoulders, over a red bra, caught for a second on a garter belt of the same color and then fell to the floor, bereft of life. She lifted a leg, as delicately as a spider, and stepped free. Rodents, in the dark corners, stared with hypnotized eyes...."

“Killing him is not enough: he must be destroyed, devoured. I will hack his body to pieces. His head I shall impale on a stake and set in the highest hill around, to warn others of my strength. His eyes I will remove, and burn separately, I will slit that hatchet nose, and prop his mouth open with a piece of carved wood. The rest of him, in pieces, will be stirred in the coals of a fire, until well cooked. We shall eat him then, the two of us, parts of him at least, a token from each leg, each arm, his liver and his heart, a bit of marrow from each bone, and burn the rest, for days if necessary, stirring the ashes, piling up more wood, until the last of his greasy flesh has roiled upwards as black smoke. The smoke will promise rain for the season ahead: the desert will flourish, flowers will bloom. Honey will flow from the hollow trees. His desert will turn into my grassy fields and wooded slopes. Paradise, at last...."

“The blonde lifted her head, blowing smoke from her nostrils. A red shoe with a spiked heel tapped at the floor. "I know what I'm doing," she said. "I accept the risk." Suddenly she smiled. "I like the way you look at me." She pranced across the room, legs thrusting against the confines of her skirt, a lioness with a lion's mane of hair, the tawny eyes of a hunting cat stalking through the dim jungle...."