The Kingdoms of This World

Yesterday, I was making my daily stop at Day by Day for a laugh, when something in the sidebar caught my eye.

A ram's head.

It had appeared, was disappearing. I began to pay attention. A message soon emerged:

. . . as it changes you.

This, too, faded away, replaced by a book whose title I didn't immediately catch. Then a strange, half-man, half-elephant creature . . . bearing an ax. This also faded. Another message appeared:

The adventure begins in our world but begins to change . . .

Realizing that this was the beginning, I watched more carefully, rearranged the two messages:

The adventure begins in our world but begins to change . . . as it changes you.

Having time to kill, I watched the images and words emerge and fade, emerge and fade. I caught the book's title . . .

The Kingdoms of This World

. . . ran my cursor across its image, hesitated . . . and clicked. Darkness, the strains of a guitar, and a low, rough voice singing:

"My girl, my girl, don't lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night. In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines, I would shiver all night through . . ."

From the year that I'd worked in a music library as an undergrad, I recognized these words to an old Leadbelly version of the traditional, southern Appalachian folk song "In the Pines":

My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun never shines
I would shiver all night through

Her husband was a hard-workin' man
Till a mile and a half from here
His head was found in a drivin' wheel
And his body never was found

My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun never shines
I would shiver all night through

My girl, my girl, where will you go
I'm goin' where the cold winds blow
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver all night through

Only the first stanza played its haunting sound while on the darkness appeared, successively, these words:

Tommy Woodbine thought he was homeless . . .

. . . but even if you don't know where your home is . . .

. . . everyone has a home

. . . everyone has a home.

Then appeared a page with a broken cattle skull. Below, the image of the book. I made out the author's name: Gabe Posey.

The word "Downloads" caught my eye. I clicked it and found the first chapter: "Before":

My name is Tommy Woodbine and I'm one of the many young drifters that wander this country in search of work, money and food.

I don't have a home . . .

Gypsy Scholar that I am, intellectual drifter, this immediately appealed to me, so I read the remainder of the chapter.

Eerie.

I won't say any more, but here's the author's approved summary from the back of the book:

Tommy Woodbine thought he was homeless. Even if you don't know where your home is, everyone has a home.

Drifting all his life from job to job and town to town, Tommy always assumed he knew exactly who and exactly what he was. In the sleepy little town of Drycreek, Texas, Tommy learns that all his preconceived notions of home, identity and reality are all gossamer thin.

Traveling from Drycreek, Texas to points unknown, Tommy finds a place more bestial and primal than any in the human world. Tommy seeks truth on a journey fraught with peril. His quest begins to change him, though, as he learns things about himself and about his role in a dark intrigue that spans two worlds.

I think that I'll order a copy.