Deo Vindice reviews HOW TO SLAY A WIZARD by the Big Bear.
Within the 185 pages of How to Slay a Wizard, Benjamin packs an abundance of truth. Wizards are ultimately only servants of satan’s lies. But the threat that they represent is immense. Word wizardry convinces otherwise honest, ethical people to do things like modify their DNA based on lies, support wars against people who mean them no harm, live child-free and miserable, limit what they say for fear of offending some nebulous victim or another, and on and on. This is today, just as it has ever been, a legitimate challenge.
The modern dominance of the wizards started, as Vox Day once suggested, by breaking the Christian prohibition against blasphemy. The people were told that anything was allowable under the guise of free speech and the like. Yet, no sooner had the wizards vanquished the old safeguards than they instituted new rules of their own. Free speech became hate speech, a concept Benjamin deals with decisively in his book. From page 88: “The word ‘hate speech’ is a wizard term. It means speech the wizard hates, because it threatens his position.”
Benjamin uses famous wizards, like Saul Alinsky, to show precisely how a wizard’s mind works. He points out that, like all evildoers, these shifty spell masters can only invert and mock; they cannot create. As such, and I was surprised to see the connection made, instead of formulating their own new formulas, the modern wizards only stole and perverted the tactics from The Art of War by Sun Tzu. (See page 53.)
As astounding as much of what Benjamin presents is, it is also very simple, as he explains it. He has quite the gift for communication. And he uses it, on page 178, to expose the “big lie” behind all wizardry: four simple words. And once one sees the lie, how does one then slay the wizard? Benjamin answers that question in only five words on page 129.
Read the whole review there.
And speaking of book reviews, Misako has a review of my favorite Murakami novel on Fandom Pulse. I can’t say I agree with her rating, but then, I’ve never read the Japanese edition.
The Japanese A Wild Sheep’s Chase, published in 1982, is the third novel by a young man who had already written two short, strange books and was not sure yet what kind of writer he was going to be. You can feel him deciding inside the sentences. The famous Murakami voice, the cool, slightly bemused first-person, the lists of records and brand names, the women who appear and dissolve, the well that opens under the floor of an ordinary life, is present here in a recognizable form for the first time. Pinball, 1973 had pieces of it. A Wild Sheep’s Chase has the whole assembled instrument. He picks it up. He plays a tune on it.
The tune is a detective story that is not really a detective story, about a thirty-year-old advertising copywriter who is sent on an absurd errand by a mysterious right-wing power broker to find a sheep with a star on its back. The sheep, it turns out, is something more than a sheep. The hero’s friend, called only the Rat in the earlier books, has gone north and stopped writing letters. Hokkaidō appears at the halfway point and the novel changes climate. There is the girlfriend with the beautiful ears. There is a Sheep Man. There is an empty mountain villa where a record plays through the floorboards.
What I love about this book is that it commits to its own absurdity without ever raising its voice. The narrator’s tone is so even, so unsurprised by the increasingly unhinged things happening around him, that the reader simply enters the dream alongside him. This is Murakami’s favorite trick, and A Wild Sheep’s Chase is where he masters it. The sentence rhythm does the work. He writes a calm sentence about cooking spaghetti, then a calm sentence about a sheep with a star on its back trying to take over the consciousness of Japan, and the two sentences have the same temperature. The horror enters by the same door as the spaghetti. You don’t notice you’ve crossed a border until you’re well across.