Eduardo Aquifer and the Great Tanning Incident
The world’s filling up. One positive aspect of this is that lyricism and self-psychiatry are on the rise.” So writes Eduardo Aquifer at the beginning of his novel. And he then proceeds to introduce the reader to amorphous, carrie-ridden and dentally challenged Black Riders, a shape-shifting beauty named über girl, a psychiatrist named Dr. Reilly who’s fond of Hamlet, an Indian/cowboy named Way bent on avenging the U.S. Cavalry’s use of pox-infected blankets in germ warfare against his fellow Indians, and of course, Eduardo himself. Are all of these characters masks for Eduardo himself in this romp of a novel posing as a . . . Socratic? Hamletian? Freudian? . . . investigation of Eduardo’s psyche? Will the real Eduardo ever stand up?
Yes, somehow, some way, he does, through a myriad of entertaining memories, stories, and family anecdotes. He does, because as Dr. Reilly, the novel’s resident psychiatrist, comments after missing sleep and food just to hear one patient’s story, “the play’s the thing, the patient’s story.” Wherein we catch the conscience of—the unconscious Eduardo? Seemingly so.
ISBN, trade paper: 978-1-931982-23-8, $14.95 Sale $7.50
ISBN, library edition: 978-1-931982-22-1, $25.00 Sale $12.50
Jeff Hunt was born in South Texas in 1973. He’s a product of the public school system. He’s written three novels, although one lives and will maybe always live in a drawer. Mr. Hunt has worked so many places and had so many jobs he forgets about some of them until he walks in there, looks around, and remembers, “Hey, I used to work here.” He once had a job for fifteen minutes, for instance. He is currently living in San Francisco, CA.
The following all happened before I moved
into the House Above the World. Of course, the house wasn’t actually above the
world, it was just on 47th street in Austin, but I’d spent most of August
without a roof over my head. Mostly because I couldn’t decide what to do. Some
of those nights I’d slept in the woods off Loop 1, and some of it I’d gone to a
rest stop off I-35. It made sense to do the latter, because people were even
expected to be sleeping in their cars there.