If You Could Read What I Hear

The best part of going to sleep?at least for the last couple years?has always been the tapes. Since I can no longer read before going to sleep, the way I had for as long as I could remember, I now listen to audiobooks. At first, I thought this was a symbol of my finally giving up, of admitting defeat. Worse, by admitting defeat, I was, at the same time, giving up all the books that meant something to me, all the titles that mattered and were worthwhile. This is something I've talked about before, maybe a bit too often.

Oh, I know I could sign up with one of those blind man programs. They offer a lot of classic titles. But that would involve getting a special tape recorder, ordering these special tapes through the mail and having to return them within 30 days. Main problem with that is that I'm lazy. Too lazy to bother myself with anything as insanely complicated as that. And what's more, it usually takes me longer than a month to hear an entire book, given that I'm listening to them as I go to sleep. On average, I catch maybe 15, 20 minutes before nodding off, depending upon how drunk I am. And after I fall asleep, the tape, of course, plays to the end of the side. So before killing the light the next evening, I have to rewind until I hit a scene I recognize, and then continue from there. It takes a while. And one last problem with the blind man library program?if I find a book I like on cassette, I have no interest in the idea of returning it to anyone.

So there.

As a result of my innate laziness and stubbornness on these matters, I listen to a lot of crap put out by the major publishing houses. Contemporary thrillers, horror novels, whatever I can get my hands on that's not a self-help book or a romance. And I must say, I've developed a real taste for crap. It doesn't make me no never mind?it's like going to see the serials as a kid. It didn't matter how crappy the movie was?you spent all week looking forward to the next installment.

There are exceptions. I got Don DeLillo's Underworld on tape, and it was mighty fine. Gabriel Byrne reading Joyce is mighty fine, too. A few years ago, before I even got into the bedtime habit, someone was kind enough to give me an unabridged Notes from the Underground which, much to my amazement, turned out to be a reading of my favorite translation.

A few weeks back, I finally finished an unabridged edition of Pynchon's Mason & Dixon. I went through hell to get it (well, relatively?let's say I went through heck to get it) and it took me six months to listen to it, but it was worth it. I'd read the novel?it was the last major novel I was actually able to read in its entirety without too much physical pain. But it was the only Pynchon novel commercially available on tape, so I shelled out the big big bucks and ordered it from the Books on Tape people.

Granted, you lose a lot listening to it on tape?specifically the 18th-century typography and spelling, which is so integral to the novel. And at the beginning of one of the tapes, the reader?a distinguished-sounding gentleman I'd never heard of before, but who turned out to be perfect for the job?announced that I was listening to "Mason & Dixon, by Richard Pynchon"?a slip that kept me awake for a while, rewinding and playing it over and over again, to make sure I was hearing what I was hearing. But apart from those things, it's still the finest audiobook experience I've had?and expect to have anytime soon.

I've finally reached the point where I can distinguish the true crap from the so-so crap, and have found myself becoming more and more obsessed with absolutely atrocious, abominable audiobooks?the way I was with bad movies in my early teens. They're out there, they're amazingly bad and, by God, I love them for it.

It was a notion that first occurred to me a few weeks back, maybe 20 minutes into a series thriller called Deadly Decisions, by Kathleen Reichs. I should've known I was in for it when I discovered that the author's previous novels were called Deja Dead and Death du Jour. That's not a good sign. I mean, I'm glad she's found her niche and all, but Christ.

Anyway, the protagonist?like the author?is a forensic anthropologist who's brought in to investigate, y'know, murders and such.

Well, in Deadly Decisions, the murders in question involve outlaw motorcycle gangs. French Canadian outlaw motorcycle gangs. Who the hell would be afraid of them?

That aside, it may all read very well on the printed page. I couldn't tell you. But when 90 percent of the characters in the novel are French Canadian, and you bring in an actress to read the book aloud (Katherine Borowitz), and she, being an actress, insists upon using a heavy, Clouseau-esque French accent to bring all these characters to life? The results, while horrifying at first, soon became the lowest of comedy. And that suited me just fine. I mean, an American actress pretending to be a murderous French Canadian biker? "Yais, ay haff keeled heem, so fuck you, copair!"

Man, that had me laughing.

But not nearly so hard as the next audiobook on the pile. When I was in junior high, I was never much into the whole Don Pendleton cult. Pendleton, for those unaware of their own culture, wrote a number of book series?most notably the Executioner series and, in a later incarnation, the Mack Bolan series. Bolan was an absurdly hard-boiled commando type who, in each monthly installment, battled (and defeated) mobsters, terrorists, communists, anyone who got in his path and threatened the sanctity of the American Way of Life. They were like Harlequin romance novels for rednecks.

I read a few, but they never did much for me. Too cookie-cutter. But I had friends who were obsessive about them, and maintained complete collections (which, by the time I was in high school, amounted to several hundred titles).

I don't know if Pendleton's still around?I would imagine he is?but if he's not, there's an able replacement for him in the form of Richard Marcinko and his Rogue Warrior series.

I'm not going to bad-mouth the series?it fills a need, there's a market for it and it's fun. Besides, if I badmouthed it, Mr. Marcinko (a former Navy SEAL) might well find it in his heart to track me down and beat the living shit out of me. Ghostwritten by John Weisman but resting heavily upon Marcinko's experience and working knowledge of weapons technology, the Rogue Warrior books come off as sort of the flinty-eyed offspring of Pendleton and Tom Clancy?featuring Marcinko himself as the protagonist, leading his crack team of hardware-packing SEALs into battle with your terrorists and whatnot.

Problems arise when it comes to putting these things on audiotape. Now, granted, Marcinko is the inspiration, the coauthor and the star of the series?but that doesn't necessarily mean he should be allowed to read them aloud, for money. There are plenty of people out there, despite the actors' strike, who can read, and read well and sound like a tough guy when it's called for. Marcinko's problem is that he's?oh, fuck, how to put this delicately??illiterate? In the latest Rogue Warrior audio release, Echo Platoon, it sounds like Mr. Marcinko threatened the lives of the recording engineers, insisting that they do it in a single take. While he was drunk. He stumbles and rushes through the text, half-pronouncing some of the words and mispronouncing others. (Lesson: Never put a word in a book unless you know how to pronounce it correctly.)

The results for the listener, however, are amazed hilarity, as you listen to a tough guy try to play the tough guy badly, stammering and slurring and swallowing through bursts of automatic weapons fire and grenade blasts. I had so much fun listening to Mr. Marcinko's verbal incompetence that I gave up sleep for a couple nights, just to hear what he would blow next.

As a result of its soaring entertainment value, I can't wait for the next one to skitter along. In the meantime, I'll have to make due with a bunch of so-so crap. And that's hardly any fun at all.