Marco Etheridge Fiction

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“The Busker” Live at Literally Stories!

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I am thrilled to announce that one of my short stories, “The Busker,” has been published in the online journal Literally Stories. The crew at Literally Stories deserve huge thanks for all of the hard work they put in supporting emerging writers. Thank You! Thank You!!

Here is the link:

“The Busker” at Literally Stories

I do hope that you will take the time to read my story. Reading is absolutely free, and there are other fine stores as well. Please take a moment to support Indie Authors. If you like what you read there, please, leave a comment. It only takes a moment and it means so very much.

Thanks for being Readers! The world is a better place when people read.

Thanks for checking out my blog. If you liked my short story, how about trying one of my novels? You can even take a book for a test ride with a FREE eBook. That’s right, my novella CLOUDS BEFORE RAIN, the first volume in THE BEST DARK RAIN SERIES, is available as a free download. Subscribe to my mailing list and the good folks at Book Funnel will take care of the rest. No matter what country you live in, no matter what eReader you use, they should have you covered.

To learn more, please visit my website and look for the big button that says GET A FREE BOOK!! It’s kind of hard to miss. Happy reading!!

Marco Etheridge Fiction

The Adventures of… Hausmann!!

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It’s that time again…

My secret day begins when I kiss My One goodbye. She disappears into the winter morning, bound for the real world.  I retreat to my desk, where lies The List. Hand-written, with bullet points and yellow highlights, The List tells me to where I am bound. Today the list demands revisions on a first-draft short story, submissions for a completed story, a book review on a very complex collection of essays, and this blog post. The List is nothing if not optimistic. Suffice it to say that I am rebelling; the last shall be first, the first last.


Today is not so different from any other day. I spend the precious morning time doing the heavy creative lifting. I suppose that my brain is at its weirdest from morning coffee until siesta time. Or, in my case, afternoon cigar time. After that, the creative juices have retired for the day. Fiction projects come first, then book reviews and/or blog posts, and finally, begrudgingly, trying to sell a novel or two: Create — Contribute — Capitulate.

Please open the Idea Bin!

The Idea Bin actually exists, a place I store crazy thoughts; dream bubbles, idiotic notions, they all go in the bin. I scribble them down, all of them, because they come in handy later. The scribbling habit is hard learned; a process of many forgettings. As blurbs and bits bubble into my addled brain. I grab my electronic notepad, frantically keying the tiny letters. The results, read later, are often amusing; sometimes bewildering.


Today, however, is a simple day. Lay out the skeleton of a blog post, then set it aside whilst I visit the Türke Barbers. Once tonsured and tidy, I will attempt a book review of Rebecca Solnit’s “A Book of Migrations.” I will end up setting that aside because Ms. Solnit’s prose is more like poetry, even when couched in an essay on the culture of travel. More time will be required. Then on to the short story revisions, back to the book review, and perhaps submit the new short story to one or two journals. I can fudge The List a bit; marking the item with a dot, rather than a check.

And then… as the clock ticks towards the late afternoon, a transformation takes place. I give up my mild-mannered scribbler persona, becoming instead: Hausmann!!

Lovely Squash Stew

Hausmann is my secret identity, even though I do not have a cape. Remember what happened to Thunderhead? As Edna says, “No Capes!” Lack of cape notwithstanding, I have duties to perform. Maybe not so much saving of the world, because the world never stays saved, but important duties nonetheless. There are things that must happen before My One returns from saving the world. The apartment has to be presentable, a sense of order established, but more importantly: Dinner has to be ready.

To cook or not to cook: that is a question that holds no validity for me. Of course we cook! We are human; we eat, so we cook. But there is more to it than that. I will let you in on a little secret: Good cooks are sexy. You don’t believe me? At this very moment, I can see women nodding their heads, exclaiming,  “Amen, Brother, preach it!” That’s right, Boyos: Long after good looks have faded, even when hair is perhaps not as (ahem) full as it once was, a good meal laid on the table will stand you in good stead. In fact, as good cooks know, dinner laid on the table is probably not the only thing that’s going to get…  Well, you get the idea. 

“But it’s so hard, there’s the cutting, and the chopping, and the measuring… whaaaaa!”  Nonsense. Look, it’s winter here in Vienna; bone-chilling, grey, and depressing. But a nice, hearty stew is just the thing after a long day of saving the world. The soup companies would have you believe that making homemade soup is difficult. Don’t buy into their corporate lies. To prove how simple it is, I’m going to offer up an easy recipe for squash stew. Yes indeed, a blog post AND a bonus recipe: It’s your lucky day. So, let’s get sexy and start cooking.

Curry Squash Stew:

You will need a butternut squash about as big as your head, five (or so) potatoes, onions and garlic. Split the squash in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds, then use a sharp knife to skin the thing. Mind your meaty bits. Blood is an interesting flavor best used sparingly. Slice the squash into half-inch rounds, then into half-inch cubes. Wash the taters, then process them likewise. Throw the taters in a pot, cover with water, add a dash of salt, and bring them to a boil. Let them simmer whilst you do the next steps. 


Skin two medium or one big fat onion, then slice and dice. Peel three cloves of garlic, and split them lengthwise. You see that little green stripy thing in the middle? Use the point of your knife to flip it out. That part is bitter and ruins the taste of things. See? You’re already learning cool cooking tricks that make you sexier. Mash the garlic halves with the flat of your knife, then mince the little guys. If you have real vege or chicken stock, that’s great. If not, use a high quality bullion cube dissolved in water. Have the stock/bullion mix ready in a bowl. A half-lire (or half-quart) will do for a start. Now that we have done the prep work, the rest is easy.

Throw a big pot on the stove, the bigger the better. You want a medium-high heat going underneath the pot. Toss in a tablespoon or so of olive oil, then the chopped onions. Keep stirring the onions in the oil. When the onion bits start to soften and turn clear, throw in the garlic. Keep stirring; you don’t want the garlic to get all burnt and funky. Meanwhile, drain the potatoes. After the garlic has cooked for about five minutes, toss in the taters. Now you need to keep things moving about. Browning everything just a bit is what we are after, not scalding or burning. Throw the squash in on top of the taters and make everything dance about the pot.

Right about now, things are going to start sticking to the bottom of the pot. Fear not, it’s all part of the process. Pour the stock/bullion over the whole thing, stirring well. When the liquid starts to bubble, reduce the heat to a nice simmer. A slow bubbling is fine. A rolling boil is going to burn the crap out of everything. Not good.

Now we need to spice our stew. Relax, this is easy. Spicing is not really a matter of wrong and right, but more a matter of balance. Let’s give this one a go. Squash loves curry, and curry loves squash. The best curry powders come from Sri Lanka or Southern India. Finding a cool little store that sells real curry powders is half the fun. I use a kick-ass Jafna Curry that I brought back from Sri Lanka. The trick to spicing things is sneaking up on them. Starting out with three tablespoons of salt might not be the best plan.

This is my baseline for squash stew:
1-2 Teaspoons of Curry
1 Teaspoon of Salt
8 Grinds of Black Pepper, more or less.
1/2 Teaspoon of Marjoram
1/2 Teaspoon of Sage
1 Teaspoon of Dried Parsley
1/2 Teaspoon of Crushed Red Pepper (Careful!)

Toss it all in, experiment, whatever. You will figure it out. Let that simmer for about an hour. Taste it and try to envision what might be missing. More heat, more salt, more curry zip: sneak up on it in small amounts.

But now I am going to tell you the secret to a great vege stew: Bulgar Wheat. You can get this stuff at the same shop where you bought the curry. Bulgar is a grain like rice or barley, but it stays nutty and chewy in a stew. Throw three-quarters of a cup of Bulgar into a hot pan with oil. Keep it moving in the hot pan, as if you are roasting it, which is exactly what you’re doing. This brings out the lovely, nutty flavor. After about ten minutes or so, throw in enough water (or stock) to completely cover the roasted Bulgar. Mind the steam! Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring constantly. The Bulgar will soak up all of the water. Once the water is gone, scoop the cooked Bulgar out of the pan and into the pot. Voilá!

At this point, the stew is basically ready. While the stew simmers, make a salad, or some vege, or whatever side dish your Sweetheart likes. About thirty minute before she or he walks through the door, it is a good idea to blend up the stew. I use one of those hand blender gizmos, but a potato masher will work as well. Mind the hot stew flying around: it burns! Once blended, I usually add a can of red kidney beans to the mix, but that is up to you. Be mindful, my sexy little cooks! Once the stew is blended, the bubbles may shoot out of the pot. They will burn the crap out of you if they find skin. The heat should now be on the lowest setting possible.

Add some nice bread from the bakery and this is a complete meal. Your Baby, or Hunky Man, will be greeted by the wonderful smells of home-cooked stew. Trust me when I say that nothing is quite so welcoming, or rewarding, as the smell of home-cooking after a hard day’s work.

Speaking of Hausmann, it is just about time for me to don my outfit and make with the chopping and the cooking. As always, eat well, be happy, and Ciao for Now

And, in a quick pause for the cause…

Thanks for reading my blog post. I hope you enjoyed it. If you liked what you read here, how about trying one of my novels? You can even take a book for a test ride with a FREE eBook. That’s right, my novella CLOUDS BEFORE RAIN, the first volume in THE BEST DARK RAIN SERIES, is available as a free download. Subscribe to my mailing list and the good folks at Book Funnel will take care of the rest. No matter what country you live in, no matter what eReader you use, they should have you covered.

To learn more, please visit my homepage via the menu at the top of this page. Look for the big button that says GET A FREE BOOK!! It’s kind of hard to miss. Happy reading!!

Marco Etheridge Fiction






Book Review: “The Princess Bride” by William Goldman

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The Princess Bride

The Princess Bride by William Goldman

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


“The Princess Bride,” by William Goldman, was first published in 1973. It has since become a beloved story, better known as the movie by the same name that is now a Cult Classic. Before I go further, it is only fair to state that I love the movie. What’s not to love? A handsome young man, a beautiful maiden; a story of true love. Add to that the masterful writing, wonderful throw-away lines — “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” — Wallace Shawn, André the Giant, Billy Crystal; you simply cannot go wrong.

If one only knows the movie, however, I believe that one is missing out on the second story: Goldman’s incredibly clever backstory. The novel contains all of the elements seen in the movie. There is a somewhat jaded young boy, a father trying to engage the boy to read an old book, and the ensuing tale of adventure. This story was read to the narrator by his father. He is stunned, however, when his own son puts the book down after only one chapter. Why?

The reason the boy puts down the book is simple: it is boring. This brings us to the first facet of a literary put-one. The fictitious narrator, the ‘Author’ created by the author, discovers that the original text (a doubly fictitious text if you will) contains long and very boring passages which his own father skipped over whilst reading it aloud. The narrator discovers these very long, very boring passages relate to the politics of Florin and Guilder. Did I mention that these passages are long? Yes, very much so, and boring. So our narrator, the fictitious author, sets out to write an abridged version of the story, a version that has only the ‘Good Parts,’ a version that his won son will read and enjoy.

But behind that presenting tale, there is yet another elaborately fabricated yarn about the origins of the book itself. Fictitious countries are created, then made to seem real. The headaches of legal battles with an imagined estate of an imagined author punctuate the swashbuckling story that we are familiar with from the movie. Goldman breaks the fourth wall in such clever ways that the reader is not sure what is true and what is false. I hesitate to go further for fear of spoilers. Suffice it to say that there are entire dimensions in the novel that is missing in the movie.

Goldman’s joke was so effective, so convincing, that readers wrote letters to the publisher. Readers looked at current World maps, searching for the fictitious countries of Florin and Guilder. The author’s use of asides, of invented histories, makes for a romp of literary jest. It is a jest that I appreciated more and more as the book carried me away.

Reading “The Princess Bride” feels very much like reading two, or even three, different books. There is, of course, the original tall of sword fighting and true love, stripped down to only the good parts. There is the tale of the father attempting draw his son into something that the father valued as a young boy. Lastly, there is the funny and convoluted yarn of the Father/Author/Narrator struggling to give life to the original manuscript by S. Morgenstern. Yes, sorry, but there is yet another fictitious author lurking in the past, the originator of it all.

I realize that this may all sound a bit complicated. Guess what? It is, but in a way that is so marvelous and compelling I believe you will forgive William Goldman all of his many inside jokes. I highly recommend this novel, most especially if you love the movie version. The strange and clever backstory that Goldman weaves compliments the movie version, of which he was the screenwriter.






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Revised Book Review: “The March of Folly” by Barbara Tuchman

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The March of Folly: From Troy to Vietnam

The March of Folly: From Troy to Vietnam by Barbara W. Tuchman

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Based on the current political climate, this book has been in my thoughts. I feel compelled to update my original short review. My first review read: ” More pertinent now than ever. Have you ever wondered how powerful governments can make such bad decision? Then this book is for you.”

Perhaps an inquiring reader will ask why? Allow me, in my small way, to answer that question.

“The March of Folly” was published in 1984 by Knopf. Barbara Tuchman, the renowned historian and writer, explores a basic failing of governments. She gives this failing a name: Wooden-Headedness. She defines that trait as “the pursuit by governments of policies contrary to their own interests.”

Before I go further, I must admit that I am a fan of Barbara Tuchman. That is not the case with some of her contemporaries. The author was often criticized, and this book was no exception. She was a historian and writer, but she was also a woman in an academic world very much dominated by male writers, thinkers, and reviewers. Tuchman was born in 1912, and was active as a writer from 1938-1988. This was an era that did not look all that kindly on female academics. Regardless of these criticisms, she is a two-time Pulitzer Prize winning author.

“The March of Folly” uses four examples to illuminate the principle of Wooden-headedness. Why did the men of Troy bring the Greek horse into the walls of the city? Why did the Renaissance popes ignore the failings of the Catholic church, failings that would lead to the conflagration of the Reformation? Why did King George III alienate, and finally cause to rebel, the American Colonists, thus killing the cash cow of the colonies? And, finally, why did the government of the United States adopt policies during the Vietnam war that brought about exactly the opposite of their stated aims?

I return to the reader’s question: “Why should I read this book?” Barbara Tuchman was not only a gifted historian, she was also a gifted writer. Tuchman uses clear, concise prose. Her histories are written in a way that is clearly accessible to non-academic readers. I find her work to be engrossing, captivating, and entertaining. Reading “The March of Folly” is not a slog through the dry annuls of history. Rather, it is an illuminating look at how and why seemingly intelligent leaders can do extraordinarily stupid things.

The longest portion of the book deals with the US involvement in the Vietnam War. Given the times and the context, this was also the most controversial portion of the book, and the one most often criticized. I wills set that aside, even though I believe that history has proven the author’s point. When I first read Tuchman’s theory on the American Revolution, I found a new view of history that I had never encountered during all the long classes I had sat through. The English King, George III, and his advisors, simply could not see the forest for the trees.

Prior to the American revolution, the American colonies were a cash cow for England. The colonies shipped much-needed raw materials to the Mother Country. The colonies were also a closed market for England’s manufactured goods, forced to buy finished products from England. Financially, England could not do better. They made money both ways. The colonists were, for the most part, loyal subjects of the Crown. They did not want a revolution. When the colonists requested representation in the English Parliament, they were rebuked by the Crown. George III took the view that the colonists were wayward children that needed to be disciplined.

There were voices of caution along the road, both in England and the colonies, but the Crown chose to ignore them. The disciplinary measures that the George III invoked would ultimately lead a minority of firebrand colonists to incite a revolt, thus killing the cash cow that England treasured. Tuchman’s point is that the road to ruin was not a blind alley without options. There were warning signs, and warning voices, on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Despite all evidence to the contrary, George III and his minions pursued a course of action that achieved exactly the opposite of what they wanted. Why? Therein lies the premise of this book.

I mentioned that this book has recently been in my thoughts. There is good reason for this. I think that if Barbara Tuchman were alive today (Tuchman died 1989) she would be compelled to add new sections to “The March of Folly.” One has only to look at the current Brexit debacle, or the state of politics in the United States, to see that Wooden-headedness is very much alive and well amongst the governments of the world. The point of this review is not to take a position on either of these current example of Wooden-headedness, but simply to point out that the trait is thriving amongst the governing forces of our times.

I highly recommend “The March of Folly,” as I do the rest of Tuchman’s work. She is clear thinker, and a gifted writer. Whether or not one agrees with her premises is a matter of opinion. That a reader of “The march of Folly” will exposed to new and interesting historical perspectives is, I believe, a fact.





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Justifying Aliens at Christmas

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Another Christmas has come and gone. As I ponder the ghosts of Christmases past, I find that I have spent a good portion of the holidays in that most traditional of pastimes. No, not stringing cranberries and popcorn on threads with which to decorate the Yule Tree. That only leads to bloodshed. I am referring to a far more traditional practice, one that is deeply ingrained in the holiday psyche: Watching Movies. 

Before we proceed, two notes of caution. One, if you are expecting reviews of movies such as “It’s a Wonderful Life,” or “Miracle on 34th Street,” you are probably reading the wrong blog. Just sayin’. Two, this post is full of spoilers. So if you have not seen these movies, you can’t say I didn’t warn you. With that out of the way, let us move on to four of my favorite Christmas movies. You may be surprised by some of my choices, but I believe that I can justify each as a bona fide holiday treasure. So, without further ado or cautions, let’s get to it.

Tim Burton’s “Nightmare Before Christmas” is not actually a Tim Burton film. True, it is based on one of his stories, and he produced it, but it was directed by Henry Selick with a musical score by Danny Elfman. Still, the movie has all the hallmarks of Burton’s work. The creepy world view, the delightfully gruesome characters, the macabre goofiness that makes up a good Burton film, all the key elements are here.

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, is suffering a crisis of faith. Another Halloween has come and gone; the same old thing, year after year. Sure, he is great at what he does, but the joy has gone out of it all. While taking a long walk to commune with his sorrows, Jack discovers a magical glen in a grim forest. Trees encircle the glen, and each tree has a magic door. Jack opens a door shaped and decorated like a Christmas tree. He is promptly sucked through the open door, beginning his magical journey into the underworld. Joseph Campbell would have approved.

The Pumpkin King falls and twirls through a vortex of Christmas images, popping out in the twinkling, snowy landscape of Christmas Town. The game is now afoot. Everything he sees is unique, wonderful, and enchanting. Jack has a new purpose. He will bring the news of Christmas back to Halloween Town and, together with his gruesome minions, he will remake Christmas. It will be better, more amazing, and, well, a lot weirder. 
Things do not, of course, go according to plan. The citizens of Halloween Town can’t be other than they are. The toys they produce are horrific, the new Santa sleigh is a coffin mounted on skids, and the reindeer are skeletons. Pretty wonderful stuff. The real Santa Claus is kidnapped (Santa-napped?) by sawed-off henchmen. Despite dire warnings from Sally, the wonderful love interest, Jack persists with his crazy plans for a new and improved Christmas. The bad guy captures Santa, Christmas is in jeopardy, and all could be lost. 

But fear not. In the end, the Christmas Artillery shoots Jack from the sky before he can do too much damage. Santa is freed from the clutches of the villain, and, in the nick (Saint Nick, get it?) of time, Santa saves the day. Yay! Christmas is saved! Jack realizes his true purpose. He is the Pumpkin King. He will make the next Halloween the best ever; scarier, wilder, more gruesome than anything anyone has ever seen. In the final scene, Jack Skellington achieves redemption. And that, Children, is what a good Christmas movie is all about

Willie T. Soke is not just a bad Santa; he is the worst Santa imaginable. Willie, played to the hilt by Billy Bob Thornton, embodies everything that is antithetical to Santa-like behavior. First, Willie drinks excessively. Which is to say that Willie drinks all of the time. This fact is established very quickly in the opening scene of this holiday classic. Aside from having a serious substance abuse issue, our Bad Santa is a safe-cracker. His abusive father taught him the skill, when he wasn’t putting out lit cigarettes on young Willie’s neck. Suffice it to say that Willie has some issues, not the least of which are questionable sexual practices in Women’s Big and Tall.

Santa has a sidekick. Everyone loves an Elf, and this movie features a doozy. Marcus is a dwarf. Or maybe a midget. Little People, that’s what they like to be called. But he doesn’t have the fat sausage fingers, as John Ritter’s character is quick to explain to Bernie Mac. That’s right folks, you have Billy Bob Thornton, Tony Cox, John Ritter, and Bernie Mac tearing this film up. But I digress.

Marcus may be little, but he is the brains of the operation. He has a larcenous streak a mile wide. Every year, he and Willie pull the the same caper. The Santa and Elf team work a department store right up until Christmas Eve. When the store closes down the locked safe is stuffed with holiday loot. That is when Willie and Marcus do their real work. Mini-Marcus disables the alarm, and Willie gets busy cracking the safe. The next holiday season, it’s a new town and a new mall. 

Willie’s life takes a dramatic turn when he meets a woman; a bartender, naturally. She likes him just the way he is, which is very sweet, and very weird. Then, of course, there is a Kid. Christmas movie, right? Except this kid, Thurman Merman, is easily the weirdest child to ever grace an Xmas Flick. The scene is set for Willie to become more than just a horrible misrepresentation of Santa Claus. In the end, despite all of his issues, Willie T. Soke has the chance to become the representation of the true Santa. He also gets shot by the police in the process, but that is beside the point. 

Bad Santa is transformed into Good Santa. He overcomes selfishness and greed. In one desperate, senseless act, an act which involves a police chase, Willie embodies all that is good about the spirit of the holidays. Bad Santa also gets a little jail time for his trouble. But he achieves redemption. Hey, there it is again, the concept of redemption. Maybe we are on to something here

Our next Christmas Classic is “Die Hard.” Before you start in, allow me to quote my friend Nathan: “There are two kinds of people in the world: Those who think Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and those that are wrong.” There you have it. Our hero decorates a dead guy with the words “Now I have a machine gun. Ho Ho Ho.” How much more Christmas-y can you get, I ask you? Get over it, already. “Die Hard” is a Christmas movie and that is that.

John McClane is a New York City cop. He is on his way to Los Angeles in an attempt to patch things up with his estranged wife. And it’s Christmas time. He arrives in the City of Angels just in time to attend a Christmas party being thrown at his wife’s tony office building. The backstory is barely established when the bad guys show up. Yes Sir, you have a lone cop, a very tall building, and a bunch of heavily armed bad guys. Here we go.

The baddest of the bad guys, Hans Gruber, is played by Alan Rickman. Rickman is, in a word, amazing. That holds true for the entire cast of the film. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is chewing on the scenery like it’s a Sharknado Remake. Truly, this cast makes Val Kilmer look like a potted plant, which is no mean feat. The thing is, they are doing it so wonderfully that the viewer doesn’t mind. It is all part of the fun.

So, bad guys arrive, bad things start to happen. John McClane is all alone, barefoot, and with only a few bullets. Despite the odds, our hero starts thinning the herd of bad guys. He gets the aforementioned machine gun. Ho Ho Ho, Christmas presents! Hans Gruber sticks to the plan, even when the building is surrounded by LA’s Finest. He has some nasty surprises in store for the cops. Christmas, the season of surprises! But John McClane is screwing things up, getting more and more annoying as he kills off Hans’ henchmen. What to do?

Meanwhile, John has a radio. He establishes contact with one of the LA cops. This is his only link to the world outside the high rise trap that he finds himself in. When a pair of psycho FBI agents take over the crime scene, things quickly go from very bad to much worse. Things explode, hostages scream and run around like wayward elves, and the film rolls to a climax.

In the end, John McClane gets (you guessed it) redemption. He realizes how he has screwed up his marriage. Killing a bunch of Euro-trash bad guys, saving his wife from Hans; it makes everything clear for John. The happy couple are reconciled, the buddy cop saves the day, and all is well. Roll credits and let us queue up another holiday classic..

Our last Christmas movie is the classic Sci-Fi adventure “Aliens.” Stop that, I can hear you. Before you get all up in arms, I want you to know that I consulted some experts on this one. My friend Demetrios, who has a degree in Christmasology, offered up some well-reasoned insights. He writes: “It’s always winter in space and Santa’s coordinates this Christmas season are out of this world.” See, that’s pretty convincing stuff. If that were not enough, he penned the following tagline: “The naughty little aliens won’t see him or his reindeer bring “love and peace” all over the galaxy this holiday season.” In addition to that compelling evidence, I have the endorsement of my friend Delf. He writes: “Blood plus bike equals red and green.” I have no idea what that means, but there you have it. (Delf’s comments below)

Back to our holiday movie. Ripley, accompanied by her intrepid crew of Space Marines, descends to a very wintery-looking planet. Winter equals snow, and snow is like Christmas. Their mission is to rescue a group of space settlers, who have not been heard from in some time. A rescue is like a Christmas present, right? So there’s that. They don’t find the settlers. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. It’s quiet; too quiet. But, lo and behold, they discover Newt, the little girl. Now we have a Kid, which is a big part of any Christmas movie. Newt is like a psychologically damaged Elf. Ripley needs to save Newt. That makes Ripley Newt’s Santa Claus. You see? Now we are getting into the Holiday Spirit.

Of course, there is the small problem of the Aliens. The thing is, the Aliens are meant to represent the Grinch, if the Grinch were ten feet tall and had acid for blood. The Aliens, like the Grinch, are trying to steal Christmas. They want to do bad things to Ripley and Newt. They do manage to do a lot of very bad things to the Space Marines. Ripley defends Christmastime with some special toys, including a robot suit from which she fights the bad Grinch. Later, wearing a traditional holiday costume of a wife-beater and the most ill-fitting panties in the galaxy, she settles in for a long winter’s nap. There is a momentary setback when the Grinch reappears, but everything is set right in the end. Ripley saves Newt, saves Christmas, and achieves redemption by vanquishing the Grinch forever. Obviously Ripley wasn’t counting on the many sequels to follow, but those pathetic cash-grabs aren’t Christmas movies so we do not need to concern ourselves with them.
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There you have it, Folks; four classic Christmas films. Next holiday season, plan ahead and have these movies on hand. They are sure to make that special day Hollier and Jollier. From Vienna, I am wishing you a wonderful and resolution-free New Year. Be well, be happy, be kind, and remember to giggle out loud

And, in a quick pause for the cause…

Thanks for reading my blog post. I hope you enjoyed it. If you liked what you read here, how about trying one of my novels? You can even take a book for a test ride with a FREE eBook. That’s right, my novella CLOUDS BEFORE RAIN, the first volume in THE BEST DARK RAIN SERIES, is available as a free download. Subscribe to my mailing list and the good folks at Book Funnel will take care of the rest. No matter what country you live in, no matter what eReader you use, they should have you covered.

To learn more, click the menu up at the top of this page and look for the big button that says GET A FREE BOOK!! It’s kind of hard to miss. Happy reading!!

Marco Etheridge Fiction

Book Review: “Ali: A Life” by Jonathan Eig

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Ali: A Life

Ali: A Life by Jonathan Eig
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Jonathan Eig’s “Ali: A Life” is a detailed and comprehensive biography. The book charts the life of heavy-weight boxer Muhammad Ali, perhaps the most famous athlete of the Twentieth Century. It is an arguable point, but Ali would have had an answer. He would say that he was the greatest of all time. Except that he would say “of allllll times…..!!” “Ali: A Life” was published in 2017 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and has a length of 640 pages.

There are several distinct narratives living between the covers of this book. There is the story of a heavy-weight boxer, Muhammad Ali. In and of itself, the tale of Ali’s life would carry a normal biography. His larger-than-life personality, both in and out of the ring, made him front-page news. Ali’s fame ran far outside the borders of the United States. Not only was he one of the most famous men in the USA, he was quite likely the most recognizable face in the world. And that face was Black.

Muhammad Ali was a Black Man. He was not a quiet Black Man. He did not fit into the mold of what a Black athlete was supposed to look like in a White society. Muhammad Ali was the man who would break that mold; upset the comfort zone of sportswriters and boxing fans. And this controversy, this collision of worlds, is the stuff of the second narrative. The second narrative is about race in the United States.

As a reader, I found a third narrative woven into the story of Muhammad Ali. That story was an oblique cultural history of the last quarter of the 20th Century. The perspective is as of something viewed in a mirror. In this case, the mirror is the life of Muhammad Ali.

To return to our first narrative: A Life. For readers who love a straight biography, there is a lot of meat here to chew on. Mr. Eig covers Ali’s early life, when his name was Cassius Clay. We see a young boy growing up in segregated Louisville, Kentucky. He is always on the move, always in motion. Soon he is learning to box; the story of Cassius Clay mentored by a White policeman. Clay boxes his way to the US Olympic Team and a Gold Medal. And the story goes on, tracing his path to his first heavy-weight championship. The personal life of Muhammad Ali is documented in great detail, including the flaws and clichés that would become famous. The story continues, of course, through a new name, through other fights, other losses, other wives. As this very personal and complex life plays out, the author brings us to a fourth narrative but I will leave that for the last, as Mr. Eig does.

Woven through the transition from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali is the question of race in modern America. The very idea of race, of what it means to be a Black Man in the United States, is part and parcel to the life story of Muhammad Ali. There is no separating the two. Ali would not be quiet and he would not be humble. Ali would not be contained or defined by any preconceived notion of what a Black athlete should or should not do or say. Then, as if to draw the question of race into sharper focus, Cassius Clay did the unthinkable. He changed his name, he changed his religion, and he thumbed his nose at the US Government. He became more than a loud-mouthed Black boxer. Now he was thorn-in-the-side of those who hold the reins of power. Ali was a threat to the status quo.

Challenging the Powers-That-Be is a dangerous game. Cassius Clay changed his name to Muhammad Ali after becoming a member of the Nation of Islam. During these tumultuous times, the life of Ali holds up a mirror for the reader. In this mirror, we see many of the famous Black men of the time. Malcolm X was a friend and mentor to Ali, until the former split with Elijah Muhammad. Ali had to chose between the two men, and the choice would haunt him. Dr. King is seen through the mirror of Ali’s life, as are Jesse Jackson and Louis Farrakhan. There were the Black men Ali would fight: Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier, Ken Norton, George Foreman, and Larry Holmes. Over the course of his career, we see Ali stripped of his title for refusing the Vietnam draft. We see him regain the heavy-weight title. Things are changing in the world. Black athletes from the US Olympic Team give the Black Power salute from the podium. Ali becomes a star. Some of the sportswriters that formerly reviled him now embrace him in their columns.

There remains a final narrative to the story of Muhammad Ali. Like many champions, he stayed too long. There are other clichés as well, sad and oft heard. There were other famous men, Black men, who would take advantage of the Champ. They sought a way to make a profit from Ali. It is the same sad story that happened to other champions from the past. Then there began to be clear signs that all was not well with the Champ. He was slower in the ring. He was slurring his speech. This was the time, the moment where Ali could have made the choice to retire. The Black men who profited from the Champ, Don King, Herbert Muhammad, they could have stopped Ali. But they did not. There was money to be made. Here we enter the final tragic chapter, the neurological damage that Muhammad Ali suffered. The end of Ali’s life is the story of him dealing with this damage.

“Ali: A Life” is a well-written and well-crafted biography. The author does not pull any punches when it comes to the Champ’s life. We see Ali as he was; complex and brilliant, flawed and naive. We see his generosity and his selfishness. Ali’s life story is a large narrative, but when overlaid with the story of race and culture in the USA, this book reaches very far. I am happy to say that the author’s reach does not exceed his grasp. A wonderfully successful biography, this is highly recommended reading.



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