The Day's Vanity, The Night's Remorse

Rated 5.00/5 based on 1 reviews
For Byeford Pritchett, bureaucrat isn’t a dirty word. With initiative and integrity, he rose to the top of middle management, only to be felled by a bureaucratic rule he’s too busy to honor. He vows “never again,” but an unlooked for offspring forces him back into the fray. He discovers, when there’s no time left for mistakes, integrity is not enough to win the day. More

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Words: 114,680
Language: English
ISBN: 9781465916259
About Angus Brownfield

My life, sort of
The writers whose lives interest me most are either long dead or have led lives not typical of writers. Yet it evidently helps readers to know about writers. A writer whose works I’ve recently become acquainted with, Jodi Picoult, writes a lot about herself on her web page, posts candid photos, and I’m guessing this helps readers connect with her books.
Megan McCafferty, author of Sloppy Firsts, Second Helpings, etc., started a retroblog—her diary from age ten through twenty-something, in part, I gather from reading a review in, to separate herself from her characters ( ).
There’s nothing about my life that will enhance the experience of reading my novels. To the extent that they’re autobiographical, they’re not so in any direct way. Flaubert said of Madame Bovary, “Emma, c'est moi.” In the same sense, I’m all the characters in, say, Rigoberto and his two wives: Rigoberto Calderón, Carmen Noble de Calderón, Juan the apprentice and Bernardo the curandero. Like personages in dreams, all the characters in a novel are the author.
Still, I think it helps to know where an author came from, not to read his or her works but to put you in touch with him as you would with a performing artist whom you can see in the flesh. Celebrity is an inappropriate concept for writers, usually, but feedback is a workable one.
So, here are some of the accidents of my life that I believe helped form me:
I’m the last of five children, my oldest sibling twelve years older than I, the closest in age six years my senior.
My mother died when I was six, an accident of her life I can’t blame her for but have never fully accepted: I never got enough of her.
My father had an extensive library, and I read constantly growing up, though since college television has cut into my reading time.
I was raised a Catholic, going to parochial schools and an all-boys Catholic prep school.
I graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, back when it was the consensus best university in the world. This is a humbling experience: you may have been a whiz in high school, you were no big deal on that campus.
I live in Ashland, Oregon, which is an interesting small town, with a world-class repertory theater and a satisfying mixture of foresters, bohemians, geeks, artists and coupon clippers.
I married (and divorced) three times, all interesting women, and fathered five children. All of these have shaped me.
These authors’ works have most informed my own writing:
Elmore Leonard, whom I put first because I’ve read him most recently. There is no one better at catching the flavor of places and peoples through using their patois.
Thomas Mann, whose Joseph and His Brothers is the nonpareil of epic novels, indeed, may be the best work of prose fiction ever written. (I consider Shakespeare’s plays to be poetry.)
William Faulkner, whose apocryphal Yoknapatawpha County was in my youth as familiar to me as any place I’ve ever lived, and who made me realize what power words have. Faulkner’s short fiction is matched only by Mann’s.
Ernest Hemingway, whose The Sun Also Rises surpasses any novel I’ve read in the way he put words down on paper; for a large part of my formative years I read this book every eighteen months or so.
Albert Camus, whose novel, The Plague, touches my heart beyond any prose I’ve read.
Carlos Castaneda, whose first four books (fiction? non-fiction?) blew out the corners of my imagination.
Aeschylus, whose Oresteia made me understand what drama is.
E. E. Cummings, who demonstrated that a seemingly mined-out convention, the sonnet, could be fresh and new in the hands of a master.
W. B. Yeats, whose corpus is the standard by which I judge all modern poets.
Here are some other likes and dislikes:
To cook: it’s the bead game, it’s a challenge, it is manic and relaxing at once. I bake all my own (sourdough) bread and make a mean soufflé.
My favorite movies: Black Orpheus and Shoot the Piano Player, with 8½ Some Like It Hot, Treasure of Sierra Madre and Chushingura not far behind.
My favorite music: almost anything but Rap and the heaviest of Rock and Roll—Allison Kraus to Denny Zeitlin, with Chopin, Beethoven and The Beatles thrown in for good measure. But if I were shipwrecked with the work of just one person, it would have to be Bach’s.
Writing is both a therapy and my compulsion. In 2011 I published eight novels, some started back in the Eighties, four completed last year, two started and finished in 2011. For a list of extant works, click here.

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Review by: Zacharias O'Bryan on Nov. 28, 2011 :
----First of all, "The Day's Vanity, the Night's Remorse" by Angus Brownfield, is a book for grown-ups, one of the few serious works of literature I have encountered in the eBook jungle. It's a book for women and men mature enough to excavate their own almost-forgotten attributes: the joys and sorrows within their pasts, the abilities that lie dormant, the paths not taken... then to ask the painful questions, "Who am I now? Where did that onetime can-do idealist go? Can I ever reclaim the rich possibilities that were my absolute birthright?"

-----Brownfield's title "The Day's Vanity, the Night's Remorse" is taken from a poignant poem "The Choice" by William Butler Yeats, who learned the hard way that the consequences of The Choice are permanent and often severe--perhaps the deepest existential question of peacetime moderns. As a reader of serious literature, you no doubt carry enough IQ points that The Choice has forced itself upon you: Violin virtuoso or devoted mother? Research physicist or small-town dad?

-----In Brownfield's book, we do not approach The Choice from the viewpoint of a Yeats-like successful poet and dramatist, but from an intelligent, successful, decent bureaucrat (Byeford Pritchett) who makes a very strange decision: During the exact years when middle age is giving way to old age, he chooses to walk away from his present life and stake claim to the path he didn't take. But that's not the story. The story is the price that is paid, the complications that ensue: such as homelessness, temporary confinement as an insane person... and most of all, his agreement to return the decomposing body of a deceased bum to its own Valley of Peace. Beneath it all is his innate determination to love those around him more than he could ever love a balls-out drive toward personal fulfillment.

-----The storytelling, from multiple points of view, is intelligent and insightful. The descriptions of towns, friends, thoughts, hopes, motorcycles and the endearing plumpness or thinness of the various women that still tempt the protagonist... all are enthralling. This is a fine novel: Herman Hesse's "Steppenwolf" crossed with Hemingway's "Islands in the Stream."
(review of free book)

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