Books To Bury Me With: Mather Schneider

The book I’d want to take with me to the grave:

I don’t think I’d really care by then. Would you?Just burn me up.

The first book that hit me like a ton of bricks:

The Clan of the Cave Bear. Mostly because of the sex parts and the idea of old wild cave people living like that. Plus it was the first real “adult novel” I ever read and when I finished it I felt grown up. Age 12. Writers love to say they were reading things like Plato and Shakespeare when they were 12 but I think that’s mostly bullshit.

The book that’s seen more of my tears, coffee stains, and cigarette burns:

I often use shitty books as mouse pads until they get so grody with stains and burns I toss them in the trash. If it’s a book I like I don’t spill coffee on it or put cigarettes out on it. Tears? I do cry but I can’t imagine tears actually falling on a book. I mean, you’d really have to be balling for that to happen, right?

The book that shook my world like a goddamn hurricane:

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. Tom Robbins was very popular in the early 90’s when I lived in Washington state where he lived, and his style was crazy and for me refreshing and wild and free. I tried to write like him for a few years, but finally got over it.

The book I wish I’d discovered when my liver was still intact:

My liver is still intact. I suppose people who don’t have an intact liver wish they’d discovered the AA handbook or maybe the bible. But not me. I might have diabetes and skin cancer but my liver is fine.

The book I’d shove into everyone’s hands if I were king of the world:

Easy one. The Bacanora Notebooks, by me.

The book that nearly drove me to madness:

No book has ever come close to driving me to madness. Anyone who says a book nearly drove them to madness is being melodramatic, I think. I guess if you were taking enormous amounts of psychedelics or getting the shit beat out of you while you were reading the book, it might drive you to madness. Books are just words on paper. Reading a book that you know is shit but still brought the author tons of money and fame is, I guess in a way, maddening. But that’s not really madness. That’s just being angry and resentful and confused. I hope I never go truly mad. That’s one of peoples’ biggest fears. That and speaking in public and getting caught in school naked.

The book I can’t keep my hands off of, no matter how many times I’ve read it:

The Stranger. Other than this book I don’t think I’ve ever read any book more than twice, after which I had no problem keeping my hands off of it. Unless I was moving and putting it into a box or taking it to the used bookstore to sell it for pennies, or credit.

The book I’d hide in the back of my closet, pretending I’m too highbrow for it:

I would never pretend I’m too highbrow for anything. I am most certainly lowbrow. And even if there were such a book, I would not have to hide it in the closet because no one ever visits me, or if they do they can’t read English.

The book that left a scar I wish I could forget:

No book has ever done that to me. I don’t even understand what that means. Do people get mental scars from books or is that just another hyperbolicthing writers/readers like to say? Early books I read like Catcher in the Rye and Siddhartha had a big effect on me. But scars? No.

The author who made me think, "Now that’s a soul in torment":

Gene Gregorits. You rejected his latest book, but he is probably the only living mad genius I’ve met. He wrote a book while in prison and is still trying to get it published. My Kate like the Seashore.

The book I’d get a tattoo of if I had the nerve:

I don’t like tattoos. I would never pay someone to carve anything into my skin. I don’t like them on women or men. Not a fan of piercings either. That all seems silly to me.

The book that made me question everything I thought I knew:

I became a reader because I didn’t trust or understand or “know” anything and became addicted to writers who wrote and admitted the same. No writer has ever made me change my mind about any solid world view because I never had one in the first place. Any writer who writes as if they know something without a doubt is not for me. I like the skeptics because they doubted everything. I remember reading Richard Brautigan and thinking, How the hell could this guy be so popular and actually make money from this shit? But he did.

The book that’s so damn good I’d never loan it out:

I would loan out any book but no one asks.

The book that’s been my companion through the darkest nights:

Anything by Henry Miller or Bukowski helps me. Man’s Search for Meaning helps me. Seneca helps me. The old Buddhist texts help me. Montaigne helps me. But it’s not like I cuddle with these books during my darkest nights. No one book has ever helped me through the darkest nights.

The book I’d throw in someone’s face during a heated argument:

I’ve never had a book at hand to throw at someone during a heated argument and I’ve never thought about that. I’ve tried to read a few books that I’d like to throw in the author’s face but they’re never around at the moment. Most heated arguments I’ve had involved money or me drinking too much, with my wife.

The book that reminds me of a lost love or regret:

Love in the Time of Cholera.

The book I wish I could have written, but know I never could:

100 Years of Solitude.

The book that makes me want to drink myself into oblivion:

I don’t need any book for that. I suppose the obvious answer is Bukowski, because he just drinks and drinks and he still made it.

The book that’s been my refuge from the world’s cruelty:

Still waiting for that one. Although I don’t feel the world has been that cruel to me. The better question is what book will help you overcome your cruelty to yourself.