Karate Is a Thing of the Spirit [ePub]

by Harry Crews

Just try saying "karate is a thing of the spirit" aloud. It makes you feel better about any possible situation.

Edited to add: I'm not sure one can say that about the book itself. The core of Karate is empty, becoming a blank slate, wiped clean with devotion, flattened like the knuckles of the fist of protagonist John Kaimon. He is referred to by his full name throughout like he's a little child in trouble, which he sort of is.

Everyone else in the dojo is electric and alluring on the outside, filled with sand while JK seems nebbish-y, unsure, post-human.

Crews is a master of trashy existentialism. You feel the heat in that abandoned Florida motel pool in which the initiates drill and pummel the walls. You the reader disappear like the ego does asphyxiated in the vacuum of karate.

This is not the raging, blackly funny snarl of Crews' FEAST OF SNAKES, but something just as deadly, the sublimation of humanity into a system until they add up to zero.



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