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eBook The Fire Gospels: A Novel ePub

eBook The Fire Gospels: A Novel ePub

by Mike Magnuson

  • ISBN: 0060930101
  • Category: United States
  • Subcategory: Literature
  • Author: Mike Magnuson
  • Language: English
  • Publisher: Harper Perennial (June 23, 1999)
  • Pages: 272
  • ePub book: 1131 kb
  • Fb2 book: 1367 kb
  • Other: rtf docx azw lrf
  • Rating: 4.2
  • Votes: 658

Description

The Fire Gospels: A Novel Paperback – Bargain Price, July 1, 1999. Mike Magnuson made a respectable splash with his debut novel, impressing many of the right people with Right Man For The Job.

The Fire Gospels: A Novel Paperback – Bargain Price, July 1, 1999. by. Mike Magnuson (Author). Find all the books, read about the author, and more. A wiser, safer man would follow-up with something similar. Nonetheless, he wrote The Fire Gospels instead of Right Man II. But it proved to be a good gamble.

The Fire Gospels book. See a Problem? We’d love your help. Details (if other): Cancel. Thanks for telling us about the problem. The Fire Gospels: A Novel.

The fire gospels : a novel. Magnuson, Mike, 1963-. Books for People with Print Disabilities. City and town life, Natural disasters, Droughts. New York : HarperFlamingo. Internet Archive Books. Uploaded by sf-loadersive. org on August 23, 2011.

The Fire Gospels takes place in the McCutcheon River Valley in Wisconsin during a long-standing drought. Mike Magnuson is the Man. By Thriftbooks. com User, February 5, 2000. bought myself a copy as soon as it hit shelves. I picked up "The Fire Gospels" last night and read, literally, until I fell asleep

The Fire Gospel is a 2008 novel by Michel Faber published by Canongate Books in its Myth Series. The Fire Gospel is a reinterpretation of the myth of Prometheus that broadly satirises the publishing industry.

The Fire Gospel is a 2008 novel by Michel Faber published by Canongate Books in its Myth Series. The plot centres on an expert in Aramaic, Theo Griepenkerl, who discovers nine papyrus scrolls following the bombing of an Iraqi museum. The scrolls contain the lost gospel of Malchus, a servant who witnessed the Crucifixion of Jesus, and Theo’s translation becomes a publishing sensation.

Mike Magnuson is the author of ''The Fire Gospels,'' a novel. Q: In your book, an evangelistic weatherman named Lucky Littlefield almost becomes a god to people in a rural Wisconsin town that is suffering a terrible drought

Mike Magnuson is the author of ''The Fire Gospels,'' a novel. Q: In your book, an evangelistic weatherman named Lucky Littlefield almost becomes a god to people in a rural Wisconsin town that is suffering a terrible drought. In a scientific age, can weather and natural disasters still have a religious hold on people? A: They sure can. During the fires in Florida, people did get together to pray for rain and for the firefighters. This terrible weather we've been having, people are inclined to think of it as biblical

At the center of this apocalyptic novel, set in northern Wisconsin, is a TV t named Lucky Littlefield.

At the center of this apocalyptic novel, set in northern Wisconsin, is a TV t named Lucky Littlefield. Although he is an opportunist and a scoundrel, Littlefield comes to be regarded as a kind of spiritual saviour by his viewers during a period of dangerously prolonged drought. Although the plotting in this novel occasionally strains credibility, it is nonetheless enjoyable and sustains drama.

Mike Magnuson is the author of two novels, The Right Man for the Job and The Fire Gospels; and three books of nonfiction, Lummox: The Evolution of a Man, Heft on Wheels: A Field Guide to Doing a 180, and Bike Tribes.

From The New York Times best-selling author of The Crimson Petal and the White, Michel Faber’s The Fire Gospel is a wickedly funny, acid-tongued, media-savvy picaresque that delves into our sensationalist culture

From The New York Times best-selling author of The Crimson Petal and the White, Michel Faber’s The Fire Gospel is a wickedly funny, acid-tongued, media-savvy picaresque that delves into our sensationalist culture.

The Fire Gospels takes place in the McCutcheon River Valley in Wisconsin during a long-standing drought. Through characters like Grady McCann, a hardworking maintenance man at an old folks' home; his wife, Erica, a strangely evangelic Catholic; and Lucky Littlefield, the local weatherman turned preacher who enjoins his viewers to "pray for rain" at the beginning of each broadcast, The Fire Gospels tells in vivid detail the story of the drought and how the townspeople are seduced into believing that Lucky will pull them through their time of struggle.

Comments

Dori Dori
Add to the register of explosive literary subgenres a new category exclusively for Mike Magnuson's latest novel The Fire Gospels: Wisconsin Gothic. Magnuson blends dark, dark comedy (a town's spiritual leader is its TV weatherman) with apocalyptic fantasy (a meteorite sparks a devastating, city-swallowing fire) and very real human drama (the workaday struggles of a beleaguered maintenance man and his acquaintances) to create a book perfect for our age of millennial anticipation/paranoia and its onslaught of mindless disaster films, nuke-testing crises, teen killing sprees, and televised suicides (coincidentally a key moment in Magnuson's first novel The Right Man For The Job).
Magnuson seems to be asking, What would we be as we faced annihilation? Would we be heroes, as we, the opiated masses, like to pretend we would be while we lay around watching TV? Or would we be worms, looting convenience stores, hurting others, or ourselves in a game of dumb survival or surrender? Would we be sheep, clinging to "God's bosom as our pillow" like in the old Carter Family song "When the World's On Fire"? If I knew that a wall of fire was coming, or say, an earthquake or a nuclear bomb, would I confess my love to that girl I'd pass leisurely otherwise? Would I move to save my marriage? Would I hunt down my enemies? Would I help a stranger in need? These are some of the questions that the characters in The Fire Gospels ask themselves.
The heroes in The Fire Gospels aren't the people preaching escapist hope, but the people who accept the world as it is, a place where "husbands beat their wives, wives beat their children, children beat their dogs, and the dogs howl at their screen windows, mournful trombone notes into the windy night." This is not a book for the naive or the blindly idealistic, because the characters in The Fire Gospels do what real people do: they curse, they lust, they pout, they depurify, they lie, they hate, they dread, and they love, however hopelessly. Some may! call this view bleak, but it is honest. And thus, we determine redemption according to The Fire Gospels: this world is bleak, but it is our home.
The book is a stylistic showpiece, as various modes of linguistic flair battle it out like ships caught in a storm. It is as if Magnuson the composer, like his main character the Wisconsinian Everyman resisting society's attempts to define him with religion and TV and work, is staving off a myriad of influences in an act of (literary) self-definition. Among the many styles competing for dominance in The Fire Gospels, one picks up whiffs of Flannery O'Connor, Samuel Beckett, T.S. Eliot, Voltaire's Candide, William Faulkner, Albert Camus, Harry Crews, and of course, the rhetoric of the King James Bible and American evangelism. But what ultimately emerges is a style all Magnuson's own, a kind of poetic grit or edgy lyricism that lends itself to mournful, serpentine sentences with haunting, uncanny refrains.
This book is the swiftest epic you will encounter. People face their last day. Some stay dead, some die and are born again, onlyto learn that their deaths were phantasms, delusions. A scholar of history quotes chronicles of past calamities that chillingly drive home the point that none of this is without precedent. And God never shows up. But this is by no means a work wallowing in despair--remember, "gospel" means "good news"--this book is about the dignity of the unheroic truth. The world doesn't end, it just tumbles on and on. Bangs and whimpers are distributed on a case- by-case basis.
The Fire Gospels sheds a scorching light on how much is at stake every day, how cosmically asunder each and every one of us is. And beyond its philosophy and its death-grip on the zeitgeist, it's a damn good read. It's Art as Entertainment as Manifesto as Testament as Commentary as Indictment as Celebration as Art as Entertainment. It's a disaster movie with a brain and a wounded soul.
Rainpick Rainpick
Mike Magnuson made a respectable splash with his debut novel, impressing many of the right people with Right Man For The Job. A wiser, safer man would follow-up with something similar. But Magnuson is not that man. Oh, he's smart despite the blue collar act he likes to put on, especially at the bar where he will hold forth savvily on the intricacies of Proust. Nonetheless, he wrote The Fire Gospels instead of Right Man II.
But it proved to be a good gamble.
One that, if there is any justice in the literary world, will pay big. For, at the very least, The Fire Gospels reveals a breadth and depth to a young writer that is as rare as poetic justice.
Magnuson's apocalyptic follow-up is an irregular tale of irregular weather; perverse religious fervor; ironic love and unchecked lust in Wisconsin's McCutcheon River Valley, a place where farmers work at life doggedly and cheerfully, pausing only to gaze up at the northern lights on clear summer evenings. A place where folks shovel snow from the sidewalks, go to church on Sundays, and pinch their pennies for retirement. A place where Grady McCann, a comfortably married man, fixes sticky beds in a nursing home by day and visits his favorite watering hole by night, chatting about the fall of the Roman empire with Lennart, the portly and homosexual bartender, until his first opportunity to put the unimaginable "French Clamp" on a college co-ed named Kate. Things aren't quite as pastoral and pedestrian as they first appear.
McCutcheon is jumping with folks gone crazy by a summer-long drought and desperately depending on the savior they've found in their southern-bred, Hawaiian shirt-wearing meteorologist. Lucky Littlefield appears nightly on the local cable news, predicting more sunny, cloudless days, and exhorting his parishioners to pray for rain. And they do. They tune-in religiously to pray with Lucky. They gather about town to pray. But the rain never comes.
Instead, a massive and furious wall of fire rushes their way one Saturday morning, sweepi! ng down from the neighboring town where a falling star on a brittle field provided the spark that was waiting to happen. The rest of the novel is aflame with human scrambling for physical and emotional survival, until the twisted judgment, meted out by God and layman alike, seems the natural course of history.
Magnuson is clearly having fun as he turns brimstone upon believers-much more fun than a Sunday morning sermon, though it ought to be taken seriously as a sermon. Magnuson tackles the big questions of truth, morality, and responsibility. But instead of preaching, Magnuson succeeds by creating a fantastic world of extremes, populated by players more characature than character, folks that are somehow both utterly quotidian and larger than life, even slightly cartoonish. Its expansiveness is its hook, serving to wake readers, force them to pay attention and notice something about the human race they wouldn't otherwise see. Things like our herd mentality. The sad, hurtful things we do to each other. Fears less face-able than the fear of death. Desires more inextinguishable than the will to live. Things like the core, indomitable strength of men and women in crisis. The novel's fantastic elements serve both the storyline and its issues.
The Fire Gospels spells out the frantic end of the world for all but a handful of McCutcheon residents and these are our heroes left to rebuild the imperfect lives we first found them with. They are not the same people in the aftermath. But then again, they just may be-deep down, below the superficial transubstantiation-the same fallible humans they ever were, as they refuse to abandon their disastrous ways, preferring any charismatic, cardboard leader to autonomy. The opening epigraphs-taken from contemporary accounts of the destruction of Pompeii, London, and Rome-and the last sentence, "...this is the world without end," work powerfully together to bookend the bleak cycle; people just go on doing what they do, ignoring history, ignoring the signs of their imminent dem! ise.
But The Fire Gospels is not entirely without redemption. Magnuson infuses his novel with, as the twelve-steppers say, a higher power-not the God we know or have invented but something somewhere great. The Fire Gospels is not The Good Book but if any living writer could produce such a scandalous and equivocal opus, Magnuson is our pre-millennial King James, nailing the musical, vulgar language of the everyman. It's a colloquial voice. An unashamed voice. A voice not unlike Mr. Magnuson's: smart but unpretentious. Charming, if not frightening. And in the end, McCutcheon's last shall be first and its first shall be last, as Lennart proves to be most prophetic.
In his second coming, Magnuson delivers a text much more ambitious than Right Man for the Job and every bit as accomplished. For the escapists who want a gripping yarn, this one will turn pages. And for the high-minded who want to furrow their brows and examine life through a microscope, there is plenty of real grit and tangle to muddle through, life-living to make sense of.
caif caif
In describing famous conflagrations, Pepys in Picadilly (1666) and Pliny in Pompeii (AD79) foreshadow plenty of disaster in Mike Magnuson's new novel. THE FIRE GOSPELS enchanted this reader because it depicts realistic characters with a callus on their palms, and sometimes, their souls. Condensing the action to one long, firey weekend, and writing in the present tense, Magnuson shifts the perspective among Grady McCann, his wife Erica and his fantasy girl, Kate. This reader believes the words and actions of each. None of them has fingers long enough to scratch irritating questions about the efficacy of prayer, the nature of faith, or having faith in nature. All act out answers to the big question of what happens to grace under the pressure of a drought. This reader admires these characters because they act rather than reflect. Grady rails against the false promises of that contemporary prophet, the weatherman. This villain, named Lucky, preens before the camera, uses words to mislead and gets his comeuppance. I admire old-fashioned stories where motive replaces minimalism and characters fortify themselves with a shot and a beer, not with a decafe latte, before they confront real problems. I urge others to read this book now, in the long days of summer. Reading it near the fireplace or the woodstove may induce nightmares.