Texas Jack Page, on the eve of his 48th birthday, emptied his last seven cartons of books, placing them volume by volume across his front door – a one-man human cask of Amontillado interring himself inside a shining silver Airstream trailer sized aluminum tomb of tomes.
"The story is a cracker. An ageing book collector called Texas Jack Page looks back over his life, his loves and hopes and regrets, and waxes philosophical about the books that have kept him going. Avid readers and collectors will recognize some of themselves in Texas Jack Page; everyone else will be touched by the pathos of this character. To say more would be to ruin the effect, so I'll say only that this story tugged at my heartstrings while making me smile. I honestly cannot recommend this book enough. The tale is lyrical and knowing, and the chapbook itself is a thing of wonder, created with real affection." - Whispers of Wickedness
"Steve Vernon pays homage to horror authors and bibliophiles in this tale of Texas Jack Page, a collector of books including horror books. Texas Jack’s obsession with his books, starting from an early age, continues to dominate his life and ultimately leads to some very strange developments." - Monster Librarian
THE LAST STAND OF THE GREAT TEXAS PACKRAT
(A TALE OF BOOKS AND OBSESSION)
When a Congo Pygmy dies the tribe pulls his hut down on top of his body and moves their camp, carefully choosing a circuitous route to prevent the spirit from visiting their new home. The relatives wail along the journey, casting the name and belongings of the deceased away to the winds of the veldt, and from the moment that construction of the new camp begins, the dead person’s name is never mentioned again.
Real life doesn’t work that way very often.
Real life is a whole lot more complicated.
I mean, face it.
Our lives are mosaic maps of moments far too small and too numerous to be catalogued. Memories are just dreams that forgot to let go. Sometimes our shadows stand farther away than we could ever believe.
Don’t believe me?
Why don’t we take a look at the case of Texas Jack Page?
Texas Jack Page, on the eve of his 48th birthday, emptied his last seven cartons of books, placing them volume by volume across his front door – a one-man human cask of Amontillado interring himself inside a shining silver Airstream trailer sized aluminum tomb of tomes.
Should I count them, he wondered? I really ought to count them.
He reached down and placed another book upon what was to become his final pine shelf. A frayed shirt cuff tore and snagged on a bit of loose splintered timber.
“Damn!”
A tear.
Mary would have fixed that, or bought him a new shirt.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Stefano Vazzola
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Gabriel Rocha de Sousa
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Author review: One of my favorite stories, and Gabriel did a terrific job on the translation. |
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Enrique Vazquez
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