By J. P. Donleavy
‘In this ebook of brief items Donleavy has given us the lyric poems to compliment his epics. they're just about all elegies – unhappy songs of decayed desire, sour little jitterbuggings of an exasperated soul, with barracuda bites of lacerating humour he brings blood-red into the grey of destiny. those tales and sketches flow among Europe and the USA, big apple and Dublin and London. the United States is often the spoiled paradise, the land of the curdled milk and maggoty honey. where that used to get you after all, yet that now does it within the beginning.’ Newsweek
‘The tales are fast, inventive, attractive and humorous, and no modern author is healthier than J. P. Donleavy at his best.’ the recent Yorker
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Extra resources for Meet My Maker the Mad Molecule
Some of them, who weren't class conscious, kept their mouths shut; but the young Cossacks who'd spent some time in the Red Army said : 'And about time too! No need to vote. . ' "The old men standing at the back opposed this at first, but I used my tongue to good purpose to propagandize them, and they all agreed with me that the Soviet government's our nursing mother and we must all cling categorically to her skirts. "The meeting sent a document to the District Executive Committee, asking them to issue us rifles and cartridges, and appointed me and the secletary Nikon to ride to the district centre.
The food requisitioning detachment retired into the heart of the district. Bodyagin and the tribunal commandant Teslenko remained in the village a further twenty-four hours. They stayed on to despatch the last wagon loads of grain to the receiving point. In the early morning a storm blew up. It raged, it smoked, it lashed the village with a white mist of snow. Late in the afternoon a dozen or so horsemen galloped into the square. The alarm bell went rattling out over the village sunk in snow-drifts.
But the calves went on dying, and with every day the herd grew smaller and smaller. Grisha began to notice that the graves had been roughly dug up and opened; gnawed bones were lying not far from the spot, and the herd grew restless and fearful at night. In the silence of the night a savage howl suddenly broke out, and the herd tore about the yard. Smashing down the fencing, the calves made their way in little groups to the shanty. They slept close to the fire, breath ing heavily and chewing their cud.