Journal of a UFO Investigator: A Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A sparkling debut novel set in the sixties about a boy's emotional and fantastical journey through alien worlds and family pain.
Against the backdrop of the troubled 1960s, this coming-of-age novel weaves together a compelling psychological drama and vivid outer-space fantasy. Danny Shapiro is an isolated teenager, living with a dying mother and a hostile father and without friends. To cope with these circumstances, Danny forges a reality of his own, which includes the sinister "Three Men in Black", mysterious lake creatures with insectlike carapaces, a beautiful young seductress and thief with whom Danny falls in love, and an alien/human love child who-if only Danny can keep her alive-will redeem the planet. Danny's fictional world blends so seamlessly with his day-to-day life that profound questions about what is real and what is not, what is possible and what is imagined begin to arise. As the hero in his alien landscape, he finds the strength to deal with his own life and to stand up to demons both real and imagined. Told with heart and intellect, Journal of a UFO Investigator will remind readers of the works of Michael Chabon and Jonathan Lethem.
‘Hadassah’?” I said. I might as well not have spoken. A steady, cherubic smile lit his plump face; he covered sheet after sheet of office stationery with long paragraphs of English, which I soon gave up trying to read upside down. When he was done, he folded the papers and sealed them in an unmarked envelope. He handed it to Rochelle. While Jameela, the peasant woman from the Galilee with her large gold-capped teeth and black embroidered dress, sat in a chair by the opposite wall. She smiled
Cuban coffee shop and read your goddamn stupid Charles Fort?” “That’s right. And you don’t understand why I did that?” “No, I don’t. I haven’t got the slightest fucking idea.” “Fucking idea,” he said. It was the saddest I’d ever heard his voice. Fire-light flickered on his long face. “I broke every speed limit there was,” he said, “as soon as I heard the news. I had to get back to the hotel, find out what had become of you and Rochelle.” “Me and Rochelle?” “That’s right. You and Rochelle.
Sometimes I hear my mother moving around the house the way she used to, but it can’t be; it’s my imagination. In the bedroom next door my father’s snoring. He must have moved back there sometime during the summer, after she died. Or after she was taken to the hospital. I write: First there was the ride in the truck. Then the high-ceilinged building into which she and I were brought. Then we rode the elevator, down down down, deep into the earth, then on the wheeled carts through endless tiled
you do not die in order to go there, but wish for death to release you once you arrive. There have always been Hells on earth, and this is one of them.” Crackpot stuff, I always thought. Only a nutcase could believe it. Now I’m not so sure. After lunch I left Jeff and Rosa in the Newspaper Room and took the elevator to the Rare Book Room on the third floor. “Follow the moon”—and to do that, I needed to find Jewish calendars because the Jewish year is lunar. I was told they’d be in the
the burning. To smooth the roughness of the stake that pierces me. I will burst forth. The drawer—that place where they shut away my body as if I were some damned lab specimen—yawns open on its rollers. Its latch and lock are broken. It won’t hold me again. I climb out. They want to stop me, but they can’t. They’re too frightened. They stare at me. They gape. They turn sick with horror. The kids from school, the teachers, my father, that woman he’s going to marry now that my mother is out