One of the greatest nonsense poems ever written, by the master Lewis Carroll.
To buy Mort Morte click here.
“Mordechai Murgatroyd Morte takes very good care of his mother with any weapon at hand through the thickets of her murky life. Explosive prose threaded through with a loan from Sophocles and hints of A.A.Milne, Lewis Carrol, and the brothers Grimm, is smoothed with many, many cups of tea. Black comedy, indeed!” …Jean D. Harlan
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Here’s a new review for David Henry Sterry’s Mort Morte. To buy the book, click here.
“Mort Morte is a beautiful coming-of-age story that’s frequently laugh-out-loud hilarious.”
“I never give away the plot of a book when I am reviewing it. What point is there in reading a book if you already know what is going to happen in it? So I’ll give you a taste that you can roll around on your literary palate, and get a good dose of the flavor of it.
Let’s do a science experiment. Get a good-size Pyrex flask (come on, we’ll need one far bigger than THAT!). Dump in a quart of Edward Gorey, a pint of Carl Sandberg, another pint of Dylan Thomas, two tablespoons of A.A. Milne, a couple of grifters with two-day-old stubble, a binky, a pistol, a shotgun, a large quantity of testosterone, two-thirds that quantity of estrogen, a gallon of warm mother’s milk, and very carefully, standing a safe distance away, drop in a vial of nitroglycerine: KA-BOOM!!!!! You’ve got Mort Morte. I loved it. You will too, unless you’re already dead.” – Laura Schulman
I’m proud to announce that the first book I ever wrote, which I started 20 years ago, is finally coming out. I’m very proud of this book, and the sublime illustrations by one of my favorite artists, Alain Pilon. But perhaps more importantly, this is the book that led me to the love of my life. To read the story behind that, click here it’s my first story on the wonderful website Salon. To see the video trailer, click here. To buy the book, click here.
On my third birthday, my father, in an attempt to get me to stop sucking my thumb, gave me a gun. “Today son, you are a man,” he said, snatching the little blue binky from my little pink hand. So I shot him.
So begins MORT MORTE a macabre coming-of-age story full of butchered butchers, badly used Boy Scouts, blown-up Englishman, virginity-plucking cheerleaders, and many nice cups of tea.
Poignantly poetic, hypnotically hysterical, sweetly surreal, and chock full of the blackest comedy, MORT MORTE is like Lewis Carrol having brunch with the kid from The Tin Drum and Oedipus, just before he plucks his eyes out.
In the end though, MORT MORTE is a story about a boy who really loves his mother.