This is one of the most interesting, intoxicating, and innovative books I’ve read in a long time. It’s a journal, a confession, a celestial manifesto for the Fallen. But it’s also a throwback to all the great writers of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, those who lived on the edge of art and admission, paving the way for deep meditation and mental masturbation. Tortured thoughts and explicit scenes steeped in a rich vat of lush vocabulary, all make up this devil / vampire / possessor’s confessions—think Marquis de Sade (who makes an appearance), if he were a vampire.
But this isn’t an easy read, nor is it a read for those who’ve spent a lifetime ignoring the core of romantic literature and its predecessors. The wealth of literary, religious, and philosophical knowledge Planner Forthright possesses is astounding. One can believe he’s a fallen angel if only for the immense head on his shoulders. His voice is emotive and stilted at once, and his honesty would have anyone too embarrassed to read his words aloud. But he’s also shared more here than one could ever hope, teaching his reader about the ways of God and the power he’s usurped, a potency that may well have been split evenly. Planner tells us he is heir apparent to the Universe herself, but has no interest in power. If he had a talent, he says, he’d pursue it to the exclusion of all else because “forsaking one’s gifts, when you are lucky enough to have them, is one of the greatest crimes.”
That’s not the only bit of wisdom here. Anyone who calls himself a philosopher would be remiss not to read these delicious pages, set free from Planner’s nutty head. I’m still reeling from the elegant explication of The Fall, melding science and faith in a seamless way that has me questioning how the two can be at odds. Faith relies on leaps, science on bridges. Yet Planner Forthright, the demon / angel / pseudo-man, convinces his reader that the two aren’t so different after all. For instance, did you know that a meddlesome entity named Parvus Cornu—the anti-hero to God’s hero—created the Black Hole in the Cygnus X-1 star system with his venomous hatred for God? I didn’t either …
Religion tells us the angels are exempt from redemption because they knew God’s love and light, and still they rebelled. But as Planner says, they “had known nothing but Light for millennia,” which means they couldn’t know of the other, darker energies. An argument Aristotle would admire, persuasive and replete with ethos, pathos, and logos.
This review comes with a warning, for not only will your eyes be opened, but your mind may be blown too. Ghosts walk among us, demons dance before us (yes, it was Planner who appeared on stage in a production of Marlowe’s “Doctor Faustus,” stirring the theatergoers into a frenzy), and vampires spout poetry before and after slurping up blood. I’ll admit my sympathy for Planner ballooned each time he confessed the hideous figure he’d become, cloven-hoofed and all. Once a vision of beauty on a par with Lucifer, an angel with fckable hair and pouty eyes, he’s turned into the Evil manifestation of Dorian Gray rotting away in an attic somewhere. So, who wouldn’t want him hanging on his wall?
Delve into these minor confessions, raise the bar on your reading, meet Planner Forthright and see what may no longer be unseen … if you dare.
TITLE: Minor Confessions of an Angel Falling Upward
AUTHOR: Planner Forthright
PUBLISHER: Burning Bulb Publishing