John Hunter told me at the Melbourne Writers Festival that Eric Dando’s dedicated his latest book to me, and that it was called OINK OINK OINK …. (*@,!) (W(((What?!))) and that he’d like me to launch it — All it would entail he said is for me to say a few words (or a lot of words, depending on how i felt). I told him to Thank to Eric, but shouldn’t they get Salman Rushdie or someone like that to do it ? —- I hate prose!—- I haven’t read a novel in decades.

John said that Rushdie had been nagging him for years for a gig and he was sick of the little crawler. I told him it isn’t a good idea getting a Poet to launch anything cos as you know (commercially) a Poet’s word is worthless; not worthless but worth-less. No, he insisted, i was the MAN for the job —- I’ll send you a copy thru the post, ….. and that’s how come I’m up here (now). (If i fuck up, its not my fault).

I’m serious about not having read a novel in decades. I find it a minor art form (inspite of its commercial popularity) unless it continuously collapses back into poetry, and then I like it — Lots!!!!

But I don’t know my NOVELISTS, that is, not after Balzac, Gogol, Dostoyevski, Zola, and Tolstoy. I gave up reading novels after Elvis died! — the Novel is DEAD!!! — and I was glad: No-more-pages and pages and pages of leaf turning —- who gives a fuck what colour hat the villan had or what they felt on the way to the train station; Get On With The Story, is my approach —- Don’t Waste my time!!!!!! — I’m a busy man!

But after due consideration I figured the best approach was to just read the novel right thru, and tell everyone what ((((((I)))))) thought was important, or exciting, or interesting etc
Well, the first thing i found interesting, was on the first page, and that was the definition of the word “Zzz” from the Australian Concise Oxford Dictionary, and it sez it’s a convention found in comics where a sleeping person is depicted as having a “stream of zeds” issuing from their mouth. That defintion never left me throughout the reading of Oink Oink Oink — it kept coming back to me, after ever episode in the story.
The “zzzzzeds” variously represented day-Dreaming, Walt Disney nightmares, Madness, bullets whizzing pass, Imaginings, Memory, they represented “crying one’s self to sleep”, Forgetfulness, a desire to find a place to rest i.e. exhaustion, being drunk and inebriated, the logical end of satizzzzzzzzzfation, the zzzzzip of a car, the fuzzzzzz of the Tv, the horizzzzzzon of inheritance, the puzzzzzzlement of identity, the zzzzzzz you get when you grit your teeth, the scissor-action z-z-z, the fizzzzzz of an unsuccessful explosion, the Zeds of satizzzzzfaction, the dreams of becoming Zzzzzzzzzillionaires, the Fonzzzzzzzs of Happy Day fame, the zzzzzz of the end points, the cut and thrust of Ninjas like Zzzzzorros, the zzzzz of boring tunes (off the Tv set, like “A horse is a horse of course of course”), the deep satisfaction of that snoozzzzzze at the end of a promise, the zzzzz sound one makes after they’ve over eaten, the Zzzzzzooomming off into outer space, the zzzzzzz of stitch-work found in textiles, the fizzzzzzz in Coke Colas, the Zzzzz of ad nauseum, or etzzzzzzzzetera, the zzzz of a shaver, the visual suggestion or motion of a Zzzzzz gesture to mean No! No! No!, the shape of a crack in the mirror, the Zzzzz sound of a pig flying thru the sky, the Zzzzzzzzkream that trails off into a delusion, the zzzzz of wounds, the zzzz that suggests a gritting of the teeth in a nightmare, the zzzzz that is the end point of all science i.e. the dream. Those zzzzzzzzz-sounds are everywhere in this book, the teeth of a baracuda are zzzzzzzs,its even in the word crazzzzzy, the subordinate gesture of a man bending at the knees is in the shape of Zed, the Zzzzzzap of the primordial soup of electricity, the sound of the buzzzzzzer (meaning times up), the zzzzzound one might make thru the teeth (thinking about all the winnings you’ll make at the Casino), the visual shape of a zzzzzzznake. Even the desire of wanting something to be much lezzzzzzz has a zzzzzz in it, as does the Viva La Revol-oo-zzzzzzzzion; the looking about for someone who’zzzzzzzzzzzz gone —- the hezzzzzzitation of realizzzzzation, going to meet a Drug Dealer in some Twilight Zzzzzzone, Pigzzzzzzz may fly!, Its hard not to think of these Zzzzzzzzzzs as being some kind of elaborate poem feeding the novel through-out, as tho in a dream or a nighmare— it permeates every page of the novel like a new kind of Symbolist tract! — the zzzzzz of a saw opening up a stomac, the sound of going bazzzzzzek, the zzzzzz of insects, injection by syringe (that sooothezzzzzzzz), even the 3 Z Z Z eds on page 2 2 2 (somehow mocking me!). Everything about this book is delirious, dreamt, or dreaming. The most chilling moment (for me) came when the main character forgets a dream, and can’t find it on any of his files, only to be told later that it isn’t there cos it wasn’t a dream it was reality! There are lots of other chilling moments in the book, but i can’t tell you about them without belittling the complexity of the plot!

I don’t think i have read anything in my life that has had so many words in it that are, or have been commercially Trade marked, or Registered to a company, or organization, everything in this novel seems to be Copyrighted, the intensity of the manipulation of the words in this text is as palpable as the story line. It rattles like a busy Doctor’s bag of pills.

This book is a comic strip, it’s a movie, it’s a cultural moment, it’s a soapy, it’s a scientific treasise, it’s a horror story, its an epic, it’s a warning, it’s a cultural ambassador for Japan, America, and Australia, it’s a biography, it’s a serial, it’s a portrait, it’s a picture book, it’s a drug novel, a consumerists nightmare, a dream, an allegory, and it’s a Surrealist novel in much the same way as the underlining horror of Pop-art was to America the mid 60s. It is post modern, premodern, and most modern in everything its about (whatever its about!) […and I’m glad you still haven't told you].
The book is the funniest novel i’ve ever read (and i’m not kiding). Eric Dando is a terrific story teller. He’s managed to master the huge skill of keeping my interest, while moving the action along, in just the right potions to fit into my life. The cast of characters is amazing. I’m flaggergasted by how much can be express in such a small space, with all its complexity in tact. And the logical sequencing of the book has the viscosity of a good oil — the pieces just seem to fit into each other so easily, and i know from my own experience that when that happens it underlie a demand for an uncompromising discipline in the writer’s craft. The interconnections between the scenes and characters is so tight, it feels it could only have been real, and the scenes set in Fitzroy and the City (corner of Bourke and Russell Street for example) are so realistic i can vouch for them!
Another approach i thought i could take was to just stand up infront of you, and just start reading out all the best bits, one after the other —- the intention being, if you laughed a lot like I did then i was right it was a great book, and if you didn’t it wasn’t — only problem being, i figured it might be better to pass that on to Eric Dando himself — which is where i’ll leave it. I hereby officially welcome this book into the universe, and Australia.
with pleasure!

PiO. 30/09/2008