Kockroach, by Tyler Knox

The tale I am about to relate is most undoubtedly true. The memory of it still manages to send chills down my spine, despite the fact that the following events happened over twenty years ago. The moment remains seared into my memory as though with a hot iron, driving into me a deep, irrational fear that is with me to this day.

It had been a day like any other. I sat, still blessedly innocent and unaware, playing in my bedroom. A light breeze moved the curtains and sounds of the city wafted gently through my window. I could hear the bleats and whirrs of passing cars, and the shouts of children (those who actually – I shudder at the thought – played outside) could also be heard.

I've been on a cleaning jag lately, and while organizing some papers I found a note to myself to read a short story by Ursula Le Guin. Hoping it was available online (and, quite frankly, looking for a reason to take a break), I found myself in luck -- and stopped cleaning immediately to read it.

The story, "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas," was short but very powerful, and I'm still thinking about it now, almost 24 hours later. Omelas is, in a sense, a utopia, although Le Guin ultimately proves that the only place a utopia can be found is no place at all.

If you haven't yet had the pleasure of reading "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas," then you may go here to read it in full.

I'd love to hear your thoughts after you've read the story. What did you think of the terrible paradox of Omelas? Could you live with this "terrible justice of reality"? Or would you be among those who "walk ahead into the darkness"?

Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane

It's 1954 and US Marshal Teddy Daniels heads to Shutter Island, just off the coast of Boston. He and his new partner, Chuck, are assigned to locate a missing person. It's not just any missing person's case, however: this one comes with a twist.

Shutter Island is home to the Ashecliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and the missing person in question is Rachel Solando, an extremely violent and delusional individual who murdered her three children. Her escape, however, is right out of a movie: she escaped from a locked room and a hospital full of employees onto the rocky, uneven terrain of the island -- all while wearing no shoes. Repeated searches for Solando turn up nothing, and time is of the essence. A hurricane is bearing down on the island, leaving communication and retreat impossible.

Personally, I'd rather stab myself in the eyeball than use a port-a-potty. I don't care if I'm the first person to use it. There is no level of cleanliness that would ever convince me to step foot inside one of these foul chambers. As far as I'm concerned, they are tiny vestibules of torture, just waiting to trap an innocent asshole inside its gaping maul of death.

Amnesia Moon, by Jonathan Lethem

I was immediately intrigued upon reading the summary of Lethem’s Amnesia Moon, so much so that I ignored my earlier disappointment in his Fortress of Solitude, which I found to be well written but nevertheless disappointing. (Besides, Amnesia Moon was discounted and only cost three bucks. Three bucks + intriguing summary = Lethem gets another go.)

Here’s the summary that hooked me:

Since the war and the bombs, Hatfork Wyoming is a broken-down, mutant-ridden town.

Larryisms: Book One, by Larry John

For the record, Larry John seems like a nice guy. He seems like the type who could swig back a few beers, tell a few stories, and eat so much off the grill that you feel like an anorexic supermodel standing next to him. And to that I say: Bravo, Larry John.

However, a good drinking buddy does not a good author make, so I’m just gonna call this one like I see it right from the get-go: at best, this is a bathroom book, plain and simple. At worst, well, it’s a waste of money, but I got it for free, so no worries on my end.

The Long Walk, by Stephen King

Okay, let me get something out of the way. I do a lot of cardio. A LOT of cardio. I walk, run, whatever, at least five times a week. And I can say unequivocally, without a doubt, that I would be the first mothereffer issued a ticket if I were a contestant in Stephen King’s The Long Walk.