Robbins,Tom Wild Ducks Flying Backward ISBN 13: 9781842431719

Wild Ducks Flying Backward - Softcover

9781842431719: Wild Ducks Flying Backward
View all copies of this ISBN edition:
 
 
Known for his meaty seriocomic novels–expansive works that are simultaneously lowbrow and highbrow–Tom Robbins has also published over the years a number of short pieces, predominantly nonfiction. His travel articles, essays, and tributes to actors, musicians, sex kittens, and thinkers have appeared in publications ranging from Esquire to Harper’s, from Playboy to the New York Times, High Times, and Life. A generous sampling, collected here for the first time and including works as diverse as scholarly art criticism and some decidedly untypical country-
music lyrics, Wild Ducks Flying Backward offers a rare sweeping overview of the eclectic
sensibility of an American original.

Whether he is rocking with the Doors, depoliticizing Picasso’s Guernica, lamenting the angst-ridden state of contemporary literature, or drooling over tomato sandwiches and a species of womanhood he calls “the genius waitress,” Robbins’s briefer writings often exhibit the same five traits that perhaps best characterize his novels: an imaginative wit, a cheerfully brash disregard for convention, a sweetly nasty eroticism, a
mystical but keenly observant eye, and an irrepressible love of language.

Embedded in this primarily journalistic compilation are a couple of short stories, a sheaf of largely unpublished poems, and an off-beat assessment of our divided nation. And wherever we open Wild Ducks Flying Backward, we’re apt to encounter examples of the intently serious playfulness that percolates from the mind of a self-described “romantic Zen hedonist” and “stray dog in the banquet halls of culture.”
From the Hardcover edition.

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

About the Author:
Tom Robbins, maverick author of eight juicy, daring and sagacious novels, is one of those rare writers who approach rock-star status, attracting SRO crowds at his personal appearances in Europe and Australia as well as in the United States. He lives primarily in the Seattle area.
From the Hardcover edition.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Canyon of the Vaginas

When one is on a pilgrimage to the Canyon of the Vaginas, one has to be careful about asking directions.

I mean, there’re some pretty rough ol’ dudes in west-central Nevada. One knows the ol’ dudes are rough when one observes that they eat with their hats on.

Nine days I was in the high desert between Winnemucca and Las Vegas, during which time I never witnessed a male Homo sapiens take his noontide nor his evening repast with an exposed bean. In every instance, a grimy bill or brim shaded the fellow’s victuals from the vulgar eye of light. I assumed that they breakfasted en chapeau as well, but by the hour that your pilgrim sat down to his flapjacks, the rough ol’ dudes had already gone off to try to strike it rich.

When a man’s brain is constantly heated by thoughts of striking it rich, thoughts that don’t fade much at mealtime, perhaps he requires some sort of perpetual head cover to cool the cerebral machinery. On the other hand, since they live in relatively close proximity to America’s major nuclear test site, a nerve-gas depot, several mysterious airfields, and numerous depositories for our government’s nasty toxic secrets, maybe the rough ol’ dudes are just trying to prevent their haircuts from ever flickering in the dark. If I lived in west-central Nevada, I might dine in gloves and a Mylex suit.

Naturally, one has to wonder if the men of Nevada also sleep in their hats. More pointedly, do they sleep with their wives, girlfriends, and thoroughly legal prostitutes in their hats? I intended to interview a Nevada woman or two on the subject, but never quite got around to it. However, something at the Canyon of the Vaginas gave me reason to believe that the answer is affirmative. Of that, more later.

Getting back on course, beneath those baseball caps that advertise brands of beer or heavy equipment, under those genuine imitation Stetsons, there’re some rough ol’ hangovers being processed and some rough ol’ ideas being entertained. One simply does not approach a miner, a wrangler, a prospector, a gambler, a Stealth pilot, a construction sweat hog, or sandblasted freebooter and interrupt his thoughts about big, fast bucks and those forces—environmental legislation, social change, loaded dice, et cetera—that could stand between him and big, fast bucks; one simply does not march up to such a man, a man who lifts his crusty lid to no one, and ask:

“Sir, might you possibly direct me to the Canyon of the Vaginas?”

***********

Should readers desire to make their own pilgrimage to the Canyon of the Vaginas—and it is, after all, one of the few holy places left in America—they’ll have to find it by themselves. Were one to inquire of its whereabouts at a bar or gas station (in west-central Nevada they’re often one and the same, complete with slot machines), the best that one could hope for is that a dude would wink and aim one at the pink gates of Bobbie’s Cottontail Ranch, or whatever the nearest brothel might be called.

In the improbable event that he fails to misinterpret one’s inquiry, and/or to take sore offense at it, a dude still isn’t likely to further one’s cause. For that matter, save for the odd archeologist, neither is anybody else. The population of Nevada arises every morning, straightens its hat, swallows a few aspirin, and trucks off to try to strike it rich without so much as a nervous suspicion that the Canyon of the Vaginas lies within its domain.

Your pilgrim learned of it from a Salt Lake City artist who has hiked and camped extensively in the high deserts of the Great Basin. The man drew me a fairly specific map, but I, in good conscience, cannot pass along the details. My reluctance to share is rooted neither in selfishness nor elitism, but in the conviction that certain aspects of the canyon are quite fragile and in need of protection.

Not that genuflecting hordes are likely to descend upon it: the canyon is remote; troubled, according to season, by killer sun, ripping wind, and blinding blizzard; and is reached by a road that nobody making monthly car payments should even think of driving. Still, there are plenty of new-agers with the leisure and energy to track down yet another “power center,” and plenty of curiosity seekers with an appetite for the exotic souvenir. Surely I’ll be forgiven if I’m ever so slightly discreet.

Besides, what kind of pilgrimage would it be if it didn’t contain some element of hardship and enigma? The quest is essential to the ritual. To orient ourselves at the interface of the visible and invisible worlds—which may be the purpose of all pilgrimages—we must embrace the search as well as its goal. If our journey into the heart (or vagina) of meaning resembles in any appreciable manner our last trip to the shopping mall, we’re probably doing something wrong.

I can disclose this much: to arrive at the Canyon of the Vaginas, your pilgrim had to travel a ways on Highway 50, a blue guitar string of asphalt accurately described by postcards and brochures as the Most Lonesome Road in America. It will impress some readers as poignantly correct that so many vaginas are reached only by a route of almost legendary loneliness. Others won’t have that reaction at all.

***********

Physically, my pilgrimage commenced in downtown Seattle. Downtown Seattle has long been my “stomping grounds,” as they say, although in the past couple of years it’s lost its homey air. A side effect of Reaganomics was skyscraper fever. Developers, taking advantage of lucrative tax breaks, voodoo-pinned our city centers with largely unneeded office towers. In downtown Seattle, for some reason, most of the excess buildings are beige. Seattleites complain of beige à vu: the sensation that they’ve seen that color before.

In any case, it was in a Seattle parking lot, flanked by beige edifices, that I exchanged cars with my chiropractor. He took my customized Camaro Z-28 convertible, a quick machine whose splendid virtues do not include comfort on long-distance hauls; I took his big, new Mercedes.

If, indeed, the reader should decide to motor to Nevada and it proves to exceed an afternoon’s jaunt, may I suggest swapping cars with a chiropractor? Chiropractors’ cars are not like yours or mine. Theirs tend to be massage parlors on wheels, equipped with the latest breakthroughs in therapeutic seating, lumbar cushions, and vertebrae-aligning headrests. It’s like rolling along in a technological spa. The driver can get a spinal adjustment and a speeding ticket simultaneously.

So relaxed was I in that tea-green Mercedes that I didn’t look around when I heard my chiropractor burn a quarter inch of rubber off the Camaro’s tires. In a certain way, it was reminiscent of the movie Trading Places. As the good doctor tore off to drag sorority row at the University of Washington, I oozed through the beige maze with a serene, chiropractic smile, braking tenderly in front of Alexa’s apartment, and then in front of Jon’s.

For days to come, the three of us, Alexa, Jon, and your pilgrim, would take turns piloting the doctor’s clinical dreamboat along tilting tables of rural landscape. Once we’d crossed the tamed Columbia and were traversing the vastness of eastern Oregon, once we were out of the wet zone and into the dry zone, out of the vegetable zone and into the meat zone, out of the fiberglass-shower-stall zone and into the metal-shower-stall zone, we would glide through a seemingly endless variety of ecosystems, most of them virtually relieved of the more obvious signs of human folly, all of them unavoidably gorgeous.

Some of the hills were shaped like pyramids, others resembled the contents of Brunhilde’s bodice. One was so vibrantly purple-black that we suspected we’d discovered the mother lode where eye shadow was mined. There were craters and slumps, stacks and slides, alkali lakes and sand dunes, gorges and passes, fossil beds, dust devils, and enormous ragged buttes that could have been cruise ships for honeymooning trolls. We followed chatty little creeks, spilling their creek guts to anybody who’d listen; we swerved to miss antelope, reduced dead jackrabbits to two dimensions, honked at happy dogs and range steers, photographed gap-toothed windmills and churches in which no collection plate would ever circulate again, inhaled sage until our sinuses gobbled, and cast self-righteous judgment on the bored adolescent gunmen and beered-up Cattle Xing terrorists who’d blown a Milky Way of holes into each and every road sign.

It delighted me that the Canyon of the Vaginas was out here smack dab in the middle of the Wild American West. How swell that in the Old West of gunfights and land grabs, massacres and gold rushes, bushwhackings and horsewhippings, missions, saloons, boot hills, and forts, there existed a culture that celebrated with artistic eloquence and spiritual fervor the most intimate feature of the feminine anatomy.

Imagine Custer’s cavalry troop thundering innocently over a ridge, only to come face-to-face with (gasp!) the pink, the moist, the yielding, the delicately curly. Imagine a Saturday matinee: Roy Rogers at the Canyon of the Vaginas.

Mentally, emotionally, my pilgrimage began back in my late twenties or early thirties, whenever it was that it first occurred to me that the female genitals were literally divine. In the Orient, especially in the religious systems of Tibet and India, that notion has prevailed since dimmest antiquity, and as a matter of fact, there are yonic symbols in the caves of Paleolithic Europe (dating back twenty thousand years) that are indistinguishable from those venerated today by the tantric cults of the Himalayas.

When I read how, among the practitioners of tantra, the vulva is adored as the organ for th...

"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.

  • PublisherNo Exit Press
  • Publication date2006
  • ISBN 10 1842431714
  • ISBN 13 9781842431719
  • BindingPaperback
  • Number of pages256
  • Rating

Other Popular Editions of the Same Title

9780553383539: Wild Ducks Flying Backward

Featured Edition

ISBN 10:  ISBN 13:  9780553383539
Publisher: Bantam, 2006
Softcover

  • 9780553804515: Wild Ducks Flying Backward

    Bantam, 2005
    Hardcover

  • 9781842431443: Wild Ducks Flying Backward

    No Exi..., 2005
    Softcover

  • 9781863254908: Wild Ducks Flying Backward : The Short Writings of Tom Robbins

    Bantam, 2005
    Softcover

Top Search Results from the AbeBooks Marketplace

Stock Image

Robbins,Tom
Published by No Exit Press (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 1
Seller:
Mr. Bookman
(Franklin, PA, U.S.A.)

Book Description Condition: New. All books are mailed out in a bubble wrap mailer to protect your purchase. Orders are ALWAYS shipped same day or next day with FREE TRACKING emailed to you automatically. (WE TRY HARD TO DESCRIBE OUR BOOKS ACCURATELY SO YOU CAN BUY WITH CONFIDENCE). Seller Inventory # 352D3X0020UJ

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 3.98
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 3.99
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Robbins, Tom
Published by No Exit Press (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 5
Seller:
Magers and Quinn Booksellers
(Minneapolis, MN, U.S.A.)

Book Description Condition: New. Brand New. Seller Inventory # 1025859

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 4.99
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 3.99
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Tom Robbins
Published by Bedford Square Publishers (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New PAP Quantity: 15
Seller:
PBShop.store US
(Wood Dale, IL, U.S.A.)

Book Description PAP. Condition: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000. Seller Inventory # AR-9781842431719

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 11.23
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: FREE
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Tom Robbins
Published by Oldcastle Books, Limited (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 4
Seller:
Books Puddle
(New York, NY, U.S.A.)

Book Description Condition: New. pp. 256. Seller Inventory # 261446388

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 7.95
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 3.99
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Seller Image

Robbins, Tom
Published by No Exit Press (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 1
Seller:
GreatBookPrices
(Columbia, MD, U.S.A.)

Book Description Condition: New. Seller Inventory # 4135588-n

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 10.35
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 2.64
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Tom Robbins
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New paperback Quantity: 5
Seller:
Blackwell's
(Oxford, OX, United Kingdom)

Book Description paperback. Condition: New. Language: ENG. Seller Inventory # 9781842431719

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 7.32
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 5.68
From United Kingdom to U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Robbins Tom
Published by Oldcastle Books, Limited (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 4
Seller:
Majestic Books
(Hounslow, United Kingdom)

Book Description Condition: New. pp. 256. Seller Inventory # 6401579

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 5.65
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 8.20
From United Kingdom to U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Robbins,Tom
Published by No Exit Press (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 1
Seller:
GF Books, Inc.
(Hawthorne, CA, U.S.A.)

Book Description Condition: New. Book is in NEW condition. Seller Inventory # 1842431714-2-1

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 14.32
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: FREE
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Robbins,Tom
Published by No Exit Press (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Softcover Quantity: 1
Seller:
Book Deals
(Tucson, AZ, U.S.A.)

Book Description Condition: New. New! This book is in the same immaculate condition as when it was published. Seller Inventory # 353-1842431714-new

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 14.32
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: FREE
Within U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds
Stock Image

Tom Robbins
Published by No Exit Press (2006)
ISBN 10: 1842431714 ISBN 13: 9781842431719
New Paperback Quantity: 2
Seller:
Monster Bookshop
(Fleckney, United Kingdom)

Book Description Paperback. Condition: New. BRAND NEW ** SUPER FAST SHIPPING FROM UK WAREHOUSE ** 30 DAY MONEY BACK GUARANTEE. Seller Inventory # 9781842431719-GDR

More information about this seller | Contact seller

Buy New
US$ 11.87
Convert currency

Add to Basket

Shipping: US$ 11.34
From United Kingdom to U.S.A.
Destination, rates & speeds

There are more copies of this book

View all search results for this book