nce, standing by the walls of Alexander's lost city of Balkh in northern Afghanistan, I observed a caravan of Bedouins as it headed out into the trackless wastes towards Uzbekistan. I shall never forget the look of adventurous rapture on the faces of the camel drivers as they set forth. Later I discovered that each one carried a copy of Flowers of Shanidar, personally inscribed by the author. This did not surprise me, for the author himself was astride the hindmost camel.
If Thomas Paine had taken quantum physics; If H. G. Wells had eaten magic mushrooms; if Carl Jung had spent time with W. H. Auden; if Karl Marx had worked up a routine with Groucho; if Henry David Thoreau had worked for the IRS; if Neil Armstrong had been synchro-energized; if Rudyard Kipling had used WordPerfect; if e. e. cummings had used a sense of humor or Andy Rooney had used a dictionary; if all of us had grown up, but not too much; if we had each embraced the cosmos, but had not lost the human touch -- well, then we wouldn't have had to invent Bobby Matherne.
But we did, and in this slim volume, Bobby returns the favor. You're sure to recognize yourself.
Peter Devine