Books to Bury Me With: Dan Denton

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

If I have to be buried with one single book, send me out with The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry. It’s long been my text book. My guidebook. I carry a copy with me on every poetry reading and book-promoting road trip, because you shouldn’t leave home without your Bible.

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

Mortal Stakes by Robert B. Parker. I found it randomly at the library when I was 16, and that book sent me down a beautiful rabbit hole of reading all of Parker’s novels. Those books impacted me so much that I named my son after Parker’s most famous character, Spenser, you know, like the English poet.

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

East of Eden by Steinbeck. Oh, fuck, it’s so beautiful that I cry every time I read it. That book changed my life. I read it when I first got sober, over 18 years ago. No other book perfectly describes the human condition, and it taught me that I have a choice in what kind of man I want to be. I re-read it once a year.

The book that shook my world like a goddamn hurricane:

Courage: The Joy of Living Dangerously by Osho. Look, Osho was a fucked up, wild ass, criminally flawed guru. Fucker owned 57 Rolls Royces, and the people in his commune poisoned a whole village. But that book changed the way I live, plus it was recommended by a friend that had a huge impact on my writing, and that friend died of an overdose. The fact he recommended a book I often list in my top 5 most life changing is an eternal gift from him, R.I.P. Austin.

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

I quit drinking at 27 by court order of the State of Ohio, and my liver was already shot then. But I’m going to say The Color Purple by Alice Walker. I think that book is just as much the great American novel as East of Eden, or Grapes of Wrath. Walker can write with the greatest of them.

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

Fuck. Don’t ever put me in charge, or make me the king of shit. That’s terrifying. I can’t find my car keys 60% of the time. But if I were king right now I’d make Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States required reading. We live in a country that is still to this day teaching elementary school students that the indigenous peoples welcomed the white man over here for a big thanksgiving feast and shit. Howard Zinn is a good place to start the un-brainwashing.

The book that nearly drove me to madness:

Pfft. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. I finally gave up, and refuse to ever try to read it again. Sure, his short stories are good, and he was on the cover of the Rolling Stone, Pulitzer famous, but what a pretentious fuck. Three page long paragraphs? Try poetry before you learn to write a book. I don’t know what story he was trying to tell, but he didn’t need all those words, and if those words ain’t needed, you’re wasting my fucking time. That book pisses me off.

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

Still Life With Woodpecker by the recently deceased Tom Robbins. I’m reading it again now (I’ve always got three or four books going at once.) It’s an outlaw manifesto. A novel that contains some of the best poetry ever written. Robbins was a real bad ass, too.

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

Shit. I’ll stand 10 toes down, as the kids say, on any book that I love. But one that might shock you is Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It’s a pretty soul searching book that contains a ton of wisdom, and Gilbert’s a good writer. Try it. You might like it.

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

Birth of a Monster by my good buddy A.S. Coomer. Fuck. It’s one of the sickest, horror show books I’ve ever read, and Coomer is a fucking sweetheart. A beautiful human, and the fact that he wrote something this big and twisted, disturbs me a little. If you like serial killer shit, this is the book for you. And it’s good fucking writing, but I don’t ever need to read it again. Shit’ll give you nightmares while you’re awake.

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

Did you read my previous reply!? But nah, David Lerner. He’s my favorite poet of all-time. Try his poetry collection A Bouquet of Nails. First, his poetry is nuclear shit, and second, Lerner was beyond a genius, but also, I don’t know if anyone else better captured a bipolar, addict’s mind.

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

I’m covered in literary tattoos. Got one for Bukowski’s poem, Bluebird on one arm, Buddha on the other. Got Vonnegut’s famous butthole drawing tattooed. Timshel from East of Eden, and a loaf of bread for that Roque Dalton poem, Like You. That’s the most pristine, perfect, angelic poem ever written.

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

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin. It was the first Baldwin book I ever found. I was a fairly open minded white, straight teenager when I found it, but that book helped shape my ally-ship for LGBTQ rights. And it led to me finding more James Baldwin books, and those helped shape my views on America. Baldwin? One of the ultimate badasses.

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

Any of my Richard Brautigan books. They’re too rare, and hard to replace, and when it comes to writing stories in a poetic style that leaps off the page, no one did it better than Brautigan. Reading him changed my entire concept of what a story could be.

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

Oh shit. I’ve had a lot of dark nights, and when the struggle is that desperate, it’s hard for my foggy brain to focus enough to read novels and books, I always go back to the poetry. Lately, it’s been Ferlinghetti, Bob Kaufman and Federico Garcia Lorca.

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

I’m reading this 930 page biography of Jackson Pollock right now. It’s big, so it would do damage, and if any artist would be proud to be included in a heated outburst, it would be that fucker.

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

Books are my first true love, and three divorces later, the books are still here and I’ve got few regrets, but the way Patti Smith has written about her life's loves is pretty inspirational. Plus, it's Patti Smith. Another badass you should read. Her book Just Kids is a how-to for artists.

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

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver. Truly, that book has a lot of my life’s story in it, and she wrote it so much better than I ever could that it’s time for me to move on and write something else. She’s done it as good as it can be done.

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

Over 18 years ago I accepted the fact that I’d abused the privilege of drinking so badly that I’d never be allowed to have it back, but you know, I’m California sober, bro, and you can’t read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Fucking Thompson without smoking a fat one.

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

All of them. I grew up in an evangelical christian home in trauma-fueled extreme poverty. Books and the public library were my life preserver then, and always. But when the world is real fucked up and I feel nihilistic, I like to revisit Shel Silverstein. So much wisdom and silliness in his poetry, and you know, he wrote the song A Boy Named Sue, too, right? Another badass, and even still at 46 years of age, Shel Silverstein’s poems bring me comfort. Next time you’re struggling, try it. Read a dozen of his poems and see if it don’t at least make you chuckle. Dude was brilliant.