cult

“Writers are always selling somebody out,” Joan Didion once wrote. She was talking about journalists, but it can be just as true of novelists. Whether the genre is romantasy or autofiction, making up stories often demands making up stories about real people — exploiting them — to serve a narrative purpose.

Cali Adeline’s debut novel, “People Watching in the Desert,” gives this thorny ethical business an impressively complex treatment for a book that comes on like a beach read. Sonny, its hero, has checked into Sanctuary, a spendy Phoenix-area resort, for an extended stay. She’s 25 and unemployed, and it’s unclear at first how she acquired the funds to splurge on an on-site cottage with a pool, 90-minute massages, and various forced-fun adventures. It’s also unclear why she chose a five-star resort for the splurging, given her discomfort with everything from the menu on down. Sitting down for dinner alone, she “discreetly googled some of the words on her phone under the table: cotija, calabacitas, tabbouleh, bisque.”

Adeline lays out a breadcrumb trail that eventually reveals that Sonny has lugged some especially heavy personal baggage to Sanctuary. Her neglectful, addict mom died when she was a child, only to be replaced with a repressive, overprotective grandmother who stomped on her every ambition. Early adulthood has been defined by failed relationships and uninspiring work. People are to be feared: She’d sooner indulge in croquettes at the resort’s cocktail party than make small talk with other vacationers, and when she braves the world outside her cottage it’s usually with a notebook in her hand.

The early pages of “People Watching” weave Sonny’s perspective with brief sketches of her fellow resort-goers, which usually open with godlike authority: “Allana was ten feet tall and beautiful.” “Chloe and Mark had been married for seven blissful years.” “Dale was invisible. He had that way about him.” The odd bluntness of these statements, combined with their touches of surreality (“ten feet tall”?), makes clear that these mini-bios are scribblings from Sonny’s notebook. Terrified of the world, but determined to better understand what she’s been excluded from for so long, she’s determined to imagine her way into reality.

Sonny’s Walter Mitty-like imaginings do some valuable double duty in the novel. For one thing, they offer some necessary conflict in a setting that’s all about relieving tension. Resorts are, almost by definition, boring, but as Sonny hangs out poolside or does yoga or endures a singing bowl, her mind (and the novel) is reeling with imagined infidelities, deaths, gambling debts and other domestic dramas. Second, her sketches serve as character-defining examples of projection on Sonny’s part, as her observations of others reveal her own concerns about love, sex, money and rejection.

And, of course, she’s deflecting, too — better to make up drama about others than confront her own. The memories Sonny eventually surfaces are more potent than anything she makes up. But they’re also crueler, and you can understand why she’ll think and write about anything but. She recalls a time as a child when she was neglected for days on end and braved a trip to a neighbor for help. “The woman asked Sonny when the last time she took a bath or changed her clothes was and Sonny didn’t know the answer. Her only response was, ‘I’m four,’ as she proudly held up five fingers,” Adeline writes. “She was three.”

Remember the words “beach read” up there? It’s not difficult to predict how Sonny’s arc will curve: It’s a Walter Mitty story, but also an Ugly Duckling story. That notebook full of mini-dramas becomes a source of drama in itself. Say, that bartender is pretty cute, isn’t he? And Sonny eventually integrates with a few of her fellow resort-goers, and learns there’s more to them in reality than her imaginings. As one character gently chastises her, “People can surprise you, Sonny, but you have to let them.”

The pat-ness of Sonny’s Sanctuary journey makes her yet another entry in an evolving genre you might call “Is This Character Concussed?” In these novels, the main character has been so absurdly addled by a (late-revealed) trauma that everyday human interactions are wildly aglow with (at first) terror or (later) manic-pixie wonder. Prime examples include Gail Honeyman’s “Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine,” Sayaka Murata’s “Convenience Store Woman,” and multiple characters in the oeuvre of Sally Rooney and Ottessa Moshfegh. (Women are the most common character in these books, but guys can play too: See Fredrik Backman’s “A Man Called Ove.”) Socially awkward characters offer an opportunity for dry humor and deadpan prose. Because these stories have to dramatize a search for normalcy, its leads tend to be awkward in ways that strain credulity.

But you don’t have to wholly buy into the idea of a character like Sonny to find something intriguing about what Adeline is saying about storytelling throughout “People Watching.” In Sonny’s notebook, every observation is a moral choice, a mini-essay about what proper conduct is, what failure is, how you might get past it, and what our responsibilities to others might be. A notebook is a place of wish fulfilment, and a place for vengeance. Sonny explains at one point that she only started to get free of her grandmother’s clutches once she was capable of imagining her violently erased:

“I wrote a story. About her. And how one day while I was at work the house caught fire. Which wasn’t that far-fetched because the whole place really was a fire hazard. And … and … well, she was asleep inside the house, in the story, and didn’t make it out. I didn’t mean it. I was angry. And it was a story.”

Adeline stresses the word “story” three times in one brief passage. Sonny wants to reassure everybody that she was just making it up. But no writer is, not entirely.

Athitakis is a writer in Phoenix and author of “The New Midwest.”

The 1970s were thick with New Age spiritual fads and movements, from the benign (crystals) to the unspeakably toxic and cultic (Jonestown). Somewhere in the middle of that woo-woo spectrum lies the work of Carlos Castaneda. A UCLA anthropology grad student turned self-appointed guru, Castaneda became a counterculture icon with the publication of his first book, “The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge,” in 1968, purporting to find enlightenment via psychedelic mushrooms, peyote and the cryptic musings of Don Juan, an Indigenous spirit guide.

That book, and the stream of his that followed, seduced millions of readers, plenty of them no doubt hoping that with the proper dosage they, like Castaneda, might also transform into a crow and soar across the purple skies of the dusty Southwest. That Castaneda’s books were largely flimflam isn’t in dispute. But Ru Marshall’s hefty biography, “American Trickster,” reveals the depth of his deception — and, just as potently, how easily people can be taken in by it.

“He didn’t lie out of convenience or opportunism,” Marshall writes. “He lied because he loved to. Lying was, for him, an art, and he did it exceptionally well.” This is a 1970s story, but anybody in the present can relate.

Born in Peru (not Brazil, as he often claimed) in 1925 (not a decade later, as he often claimed), Castaneda demonstrated no particular intellectual promise. But in the mid-1950s, first at L.A. City College and later at UCLA, he developed an affection for writing, philosophy and history. While pursuing a graduate degree in anthropology in the ’60s, he grew enchanted with Buddhism, Theosophy, existentialism and Native American spirituality — all key elements of the spiritualist goulash he would eventually cook up for his books. His timing was impeccable: From Timothy Leary’s LSD experiments to transcendental meditation, non-Christian religion and drugs fueled the zeitgeist. And Castaneda’s manuscript of “The Teachings” spoke effervescently about both.

Author Ru Marshall

(Allen Frame)

It hardly seemed to matter that the book also demonstrated his ignorance of both: He had little understanding of psychoactive drugs (you don’t smoke shrooms, dude), and there was nothing meaningfully Yaqui about Don Juan. Still, the book — and their follow-ups “A Separate Reality” and “Journey to Ixtlan” — were massive bestsellers. Castaneda made it to the cover of Time magazine. His work provided George Lucas with more than a little inspiration for his master-and-student space opera, “Star Wars.” And he became a target for parodists, the surest sign of fame. Donald Barthelme satirized him in his story “The Teachings of Don B.: A Yankee Way of Knowledge.”

That the ’70s American psyche, brutalized by Watergate and Vietnam, found solace in Castaneda’s sophistry isn’t surprising. More shocking is that the academic establishment tolerated it too: UCLA awarded him a PhD in anthropology with “Ixtlan” serving as his dissertation. Castaneda, Marshall writes, made an end run around the department’s Yaqui expert, with the other committee members overly impressed by his au courant melange of fieldwork and gauzy ruminations, despite the fact that his timelines and grasp of mycology didn’t make sense. “If we stop telling ourselves that the world is so-and-so, the world will stop being so-and-so,” Don Juan mused. Perversely, Castaneda’s success proved him right.

“American Trickster,” at more than 600 pages, is at once more information about Castaneda than any reader needs, and not nearly enough. Marshall (who in 2006 published a novel, “A Separate Reality,” inspired by Castaneda), has gone to ground on every element of his subject’s life, from his upbringing in Peru to his celebrity (he’d find his way into the orbits of former Gov. Jerry Brown, Federico Fellini and Oliver Stone at various points), to the years before his death of liver cancer in 1998. By that point he’d focused his attention on Tensegrity, a modified martial arts practice demonstrated at pricey workshops, and gathered a host of followers, mostly women, who he played against each other and psychologically abused in various ways.

But who did this guy think he was? How did he come to invent such a strange spiritual system, and develop the nerve to sell it both to mainstream publishers and the academic establishment? Why did he keep a box of knives under his bed? “Carlos acted in the zone where the trickery of the cult leader and that of the literary hoaxer (and the anthropological hoaxer) overlap,” Marshall writes. But all the biographical detail brings us no closer to what made him such a successful triple threat of eyewash.

Perhaps a book that couched Castaneda’s story more deeply in the context of the ’70s counterculture and the nature of cults past and present would make his story clearer. But perhaps not — his tale is inevitably something to wonder at, evidence of humans’ capacity to spin a yarn that flatters our egos and urge to understand our spiritual selves, and to buy into what’s spun.

Maybe it’s unsurprising that one of the first people to publicly sound the alarm about Castaneda was a novelist. In 1972, Joyce Carol Oates wrote a letter to the New York Times Book Review questioning a credulous review of Castaneda’s books. (The New York Times had spiked a more skeptical one, Marshall reports.) “It is quite possible that Don Juan represents a ‘non-ordinary’ reality so strange to me that I cannot accept it, and must try to reason my way out of believing,” she wrote. “But I don’t think so… I’d be very interested in whether other readers share my bewilderment.” No doubt others did. But what if bewilderment was exactly what they were seeking?

Athitakis is a writer in Phoenix and author of “The New Midwest.”

A HUGE British band has been forced to cancel their UK tour after one of the member’s revealed a devastating diagnosis.

Popular indie duo Seafret have scrapped the remainder of their current UK tour after the band’s lead guitarist Harry Draper was diagnosed with a debilitating eye disease that will eventually cause him to go blind.

The band, who consist of Harry alongside frontman Jack Sedman and first formed in 2011, shared the news in a statement on the band’s social media on Tuesday afternoon.

Harry explained he had been diagnosed with Stargardt, which is a rare genetic eye condition that causes progressive central vision loss.

The post read: “Hey everyone, I’m so sorry to have to do this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel the remainder of the tour.

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, I’m struggling. I’ve recently been diagnosed with an eye disease called Stargardt, which will sadly mean I’m going to go blind.”

OFF STAGE

Legendary UK band cancel Radio 1 event as member battles mystery illness

No Show

Mystery as huge UK band cancel two gigs just hours before they’re due on stage

The musician said he was going to take some time out but thanked his fans for their support and insisted “I won’t let this stop me”.

“It’s been so much to get my head around, and I’ve really struggled to see last few nights on stage,” the statement continued.

“I just need to take a bit of time out to get my head around all of this.

“I won’t let this stop me, but I do just need a little time.

“I know you’ll understand, you’re the best fans in the world. From the bottom of my heart, I’m so sorry. Harry xx.”

The band’s fans rushed to show their support for the musician following his statement regarding his diagnosis. 

The duo kicked off their huge UK and European tour last week and were due to visit a number of cities around the UK before heading over to Europe next month. 

The band first achieved chart success in 2016 when their debut album charted on the official album charts.

They then went on to release a number of singles and EPs. Their biggest success came in 2022, when a sped-up version of their song “Atlantis” went viral on TikTok.

Following this, they released an official version of the song, leading it to chart all across Europe and pass over 400 million streams on Spotify.

While their monthly listeners on the platform increased to over 13 million.

White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt blamed democrats for promoting the rhetoric which fuels what she described as “cult of hatred” against US President Donald Trump following the shooting that took place at the correspondents’ dinner in Washington, DC on Saturday.