I'm excited to introduce my guest Gabriel Timar to Barb'ed Comments.
Gabriel Timar is a Canadian with Hungarian roots. He writes novels in both languages. In English, he published the Hades Connection, Assassins’ Club, Air Mogadishu and the Novgorod diary. His Hungarian language titles, the Hősök vagy bűnösök, A Fegyverek árnyékában, and his fictionalized autobiography Menni vagy maradni earned the praises of the top Hungarian critics.
Gabriel Timar enjoys meeting readers at book-signings, visiting book clubs, speaking to local groups (at the library, community college, clubs, etc.) about his work, and may be contacted through his website at
http://www.gabor-timar.com/ or by e-mail at
gabriel@gabor-timar.comHopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I’m not going to ask you to tell us about yourself. Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer?
It is the most difficult to deal with literary agents and bookstores. They want their pound and a half of flesh and they don’t care about the blood.
What is your hero’s biggest challenge?
The hero of the NOVGOROD DIARY has to keep the heroine alive, fix the Russian elections, satisfy the CIA the KGB and the Mafia at the same time, and that is for starters. In comparison to satisfying the insatiable heroine, these are easy.
What is your heroine’s biggest flaw?
Her love of men is compounded by a burning desire of doing a perfect job as a professional. Oh, yes, she also wants to stay alive.
What prompted you to write this story?
I wanted to show the readers the true face of the twenty-first century. If I tried to do it in a serious novel, nobody would publish it. However, giving it an overdose of humor, it is a pushover.
What is your least favorite genre?
Historical adventure set between 1930 and 1975.
Would you ever consider writing it?
Most certainly! I just published one entitled AIR MOGADISHU. Some people consider it a romance, but I think it is rather an adventure.
Three of my novels about the same period were published in Hungarian to rave reviews in the major daily papers. I am working on the English versions.
Who has helped you the most?
My wife. She is a linguistics major (French and Hungarian), from the University of Budapest. She taught me the techniques of constructing a novel.
Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil;
I try to remain within the boundaries of reality. Let’s face it. Good never conquers evil; at best, the contest is a draw. I aim for that point. Love rarely conquers in the long run. For a few months, yes, but in the end most people realize that love is a feeling that starts in heart, hits below belt, and ruins one’s finances.
How do you use it?
In most of my books the end shows a direction only, and I leave the solution to the readers; imagination. This way they’d never wonder about certain things: like how is Sally going to put up with Jack’s incessant smoking
What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
Although I like to be in control, in the interest of success I let my characters solve the problems. They are clever people.
Why will your reader think your book is different?
Well, if the hero dies on the first page is rather unusual, but the guy coming back to Earth to interfere is more so. The fact that he overcomes insurmountable odds, deals with some of the most unsavory people, the greatest problems in our times while making the reader laugh is different from old fashioned boy meets girl.
Thank you, Gabriel. I'm sure readers will love your new book.
Barbara
Reviews:
The Novgorod diary, a piquant, science fiction spoof of the sacred cows of the twenty-first century from Wings ePress “I am particularly pleased to have this story published,” Gabriel said. “I wanted to write a book about the society of the twenty-first century. As I am not trained in sociology, to avoid the wrath of the professionals I resorted to sci-fi and humor.
“As someone tries stealing 350 million high quality Russian souls from Hades Limited, by electing the wrong man to the Kremlin, Luce (Lucifer), the Hades Limited CEO in the netherworld sends the soul of George Pike, a Newfoundland lawyer to Earth to protect the firm's interests by fixing the Russian elections.”
“NOVGOROD DIARY is an enchanting tongue-in-cheek tale using adult humor that kept me amused and chuckling from beginning to end. It is definitely the kind of book you’d need on a dismal rainy day to brighten your mood and make you giggle,” wrote JoEllen Conger, author of the Queen of Candelore.
Excerpt
~ Novgorod Diary ~by Gabriel Timar
As far as terrestrials are concerned, I am dead. My grateful ex-wife, after collecting my life insurance and taking possession of my assets, had an elegant black, marble headstone erected for me in Mount Pearl Cemetery, near the City of St. John’s in Newfoundland. Anyway, this was the least she could have done for me.
How did my ex-wife get hold of my fortune? It was easy. As a lawyer, I always advised my clients to review their last will the moment their divorce becomes final. Yes, you guessed right; I forgot to check my last will. It did not matter anyway, because my father was well off and had no need of the money, and I had no other relatives.
The events leading to my death were quite interesting. I hate to admit it: I made a stupid mistake.
The mistake was Lynn, a girl with the most beautiful derriere I’ve ever seen on a woman. She was an air hostess, and I did not realize that in addition to yours truly she regularly entertained Randy Bertozzi, the local representative of the Mafia in St. John’s. Although Randy claimed to be monogamous, he treated Lynn and about five other air hostesses as his private property. Under the circumstances, he figured I was an intruder, and in his world, trespassers were shot.
The last things I remember about my life on Earth are the suntanned, streamlined, naked body of Lynn, the report of a gun, the bullet hole in the wood paneling, and my blood spilling on the white carpet next to the black towel. I did not see the shooter.
I slowly started slipping into oblivion. I don’t know what part of my body or intellect staged the fight for survival. Was it a motor reflex, the nervous system, or perhaps an automatic reaction of my mind? Could it have been my immortal spirit wanting to hang on to its shell? I don’t know, and possibly nobody knows.
I was completely immersed in the fight to regain my faculties, and for the time being, I was winning, stopping at the opaque brink of consciousness. It took all my strength to maintain the status quo. I did not dare use any of my energies for thinking, because if I diverted even an infinitesimally small portion of my powers to reasoning, I would slip into the dark hole of oblivion from where, I was sure, there was no return.
Just as an arm-wrestler gives way when overpowered by the strength of a vastly superior opponent, I was pushed over the brink by a great surge of power, and suddenly a piercing beam of white light painfully penetrated my field of perception. It was mercifully short, and my marginal existence in the opaque world exploded into a kaleidoscope of pleasing colors. There was no need to fight, think, or resist. My exhausted spirit relaxed. I was curiously satisfied, even though I knew I had died.
Suddenly, my miserable existence changed again; someone started playing games with me. The sharp boundaries of the lively colors slowly faded into pastel washes, like a comforting cloak covering my field of perception. My mind broke free, and I could think again!
At this point, I realized my ex-wife, Joan, would claim my investment account in addition to the half-a-million-dollar life insurance. As I could not take any money with me wherever I was headed, I did not really care. The only thing bothering me was the thought of having to pass up a date with Helen Cooper, the singer pianist at the Starlight Club and the most beautiful--and least approachable woman I’ve ever encountered. It took me a long time to persuade her to date me. Now, I realized that I’d wasted a lot of money and energy chasing her.
Well, George, I thought, you win some and lose most. As you don’t have anything little Helen would appreciate, it doesn’t matter.
Unexpectedly, I sensed a presence of someone trying to talk to me!
There is a woman in the vicinity, I thought.
I knew I was very perceptive when it came to the fair sex. Although my miserable body had died, my immortal spirit, my soul, was alive and well. Apparently, all my instincts had stayed with me after death. I sensed the nearness of a feminine being trying to talk to me. I don’t know if it was vocal communication or a telepathic link, but the message was coming in loud and clear. Honestly, it was weird. “Welcome to the Third Dimension, Mr. Pike,” she said, sounding like an air hostess welcoming the passengers on board.
“I can’t say it is a pleasure being here, Mademoiselle,” I replied, “but I appreciate the management sending a beautiful young lady to welcome me.”
I did not know what she looked like, but even if she had the face of the devil and the shape of a pumpkin, most women appreciate compliments. I figured her goodwill might shave a few thousand years off my stay in Purgatory.
“Sir, this is your moment of truth,” she continued, disregarding the compliment. “As your soul has been graded at one-hundred and sixty Bertons, you must decide who should represent your immortal spirit in the future. Several corporations eagerly await your call.”
“Is this the final judgment?” I asked. “Are you going to decide whether I’m going to Heaven or Hell?”
“Not really,” she replied. “You should make the decision based on the influences of a lifetime. According to the rules, the souls rated one hundred Bertons or higher should select a compatible management firm to represent them. For the lower-rated souls coming in as part of the slush, the Board automatically selects a firm having the same ideology as what the soul developed during its stay in the First Dimension. We call them the soul-slush, as they have no right of immediate selection, but later can ask for a Board of Trade review. However, highly rated souls like yours must make the choice for themselves.”
“Are you just tormenting me? The wise people in school and church taught me to be a nice fellow, because after death, my fate would be decided according to the balance of my sins and good deeds.”
“That was the illicit advertising of some unscrupulous soul management corporation operating in the First Dimension without a proper license,” came the message from my distant lady friend. “I represent the Board of Trade, Mr. Pike. It is my responsibility to make sure that your decision is your own, made without undue pressure or interference.”
“I appreciate it. May I ask what my choices are?”
“I can give you the names of the corporations, their place on the ideological spectrum in a manner similar to terrestrial political parties in the First Dimension, and a short statement about each of them. This seems to be the most practical approach when it comes to souls from planet Earth.”
“What happens after I make my choice?”
“At first, you will be pleasantly stimulated, and sooner or later the representative of the firm you have chosen will contact you. They normally have something to offer to a soul of your caliber.”
“Shit,” I growled, “this is beginning to sound like a goddamned election!”
“Although I resent your crude terminology, Mr. Pike,” came the prompt reply, “you are right, it is just like a goddamned election.”
“Okay,” I said, amused, “let me have the list of the candidates.”
“Reading your orientation index, I doubt you would be interested in Red Star Company Limited. They are on the extreme left,” she started.
“Skip them. I don’t like the Commies’ egalitarian philosophy. According to them, one must do his best to have his needs satisfied. We call them Marxists on Earth,” I remarked.
“Nirvana Corporation is left of the center. They are non-violent, relaxed, but meditate a lot.”
“I never enjoyed meditation. I pass.”
“Near the center, a little to the right, is Heaven Inc.”
“Now you’re talking,” I said, interrupting. “Tell me more.”
“Every terrestrial shows interest in them,” she replied and continued. “We know they have perhaps the most extensive illegal advertising network on planet Earth. Very few souls understand the strict dogmatic philosophy of Heaven Inc. They demand unquestioning faith, discipline, and obedience. They do not value creativity.”
“Disappointing,” I remarked. “I was always an independent spirit. As far as my faith in others is concerned...”
“Yes or no, Mr. Pike?” she asked impatiently.
“Check, but reserve the right to examine this option further at a later date,” I replied.
“Very well.” She sighed. “The next, still a centrist organization, is Hades Limited.”
“I don’t like the name. It is synonymous with Hell.”
“I’ve heard it too. However, their main characteristics are discussion, thriving on controversy, and claiming creativity the most important quality of a soul.”
“Interesting,” I said. “They just became a distinct possibility. What else?”
“I doubt you would like the last major firm, Seventh Paradise Inc., on the extreme right,” she continued.
“Forget them. I assume they also demand high standards of discipline.”
“They do, and at the same time demand the display of hostility against all other soul managers.”
“No, it’s not me,” I concluded. “Anything else?”
“If you are not satisfied with these, I have a few specialist firms, subsidiaries of the big ones. If you want one of them, I will arrange another selection session with the small firms’ representative. Can you make up your mind now, sir?”
“Let me think, my dear,” I remarked. “Clearly the choice is between Hades and Heaven. If I elected Heaven Inc., Father Golding’s soul would likely accompany mine for an eternity. That would be hard to bear, as he would always force me think big, clean thoughts, talk about church, donations, and no booze. Hades Limited cannot possibly be so bad. Therefore, my dear, they are going to be stuck with me.”
“So, if I understand you correctly, your pick is Hades Limited?” she asked.
“I’m afraid it is.” I sighed.
“Thank you, Mr. Pike.”
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