Pipe Smoking In Books
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I just read a Curious George book to my son in which George relaxes at the end of the day with a pipe.
Regis McCafferty, co-founder of the NASPC (North American Society of Pipe Collectors), writes a lot of mystery and detective stories that feature pipe smoking characters, and he gets into the pipe smoking thing with them fairly substantially. All are especially fun reads because of that. The characters even mention specific brand names of pipes and tobaccos.
A list of McCafferty's books with pipe smoking characters can be found here - Amazon.com: regis McCafferty books: Books - https://www.amazon.com/s?k=regis+McCafferty+books&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss
A list of McCafferty's books with pipe smoking characters can be found here - Amazon.com: regis McCafferty books: Books - https://www.amazon.com/s?k=regis+McCafferty+books&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss
As mentioned J.M. Barrie's "My Lady Nicotine" is a classic.
Damn Cosmic, now I'm on to the Hangman's Daughter. Read the preview, now I gotta buy it. You keep throwing some gems out there. This one has a cool style. I swear there's an Alfred hitchcock, or a Thiller that I've seen with a very similar plot. I realize the book is much newer, maybe the story got borrowed.
Thanks Studly. I was hoping Regis would get a hearty nod here. A very generous guy who’s written some enjoyable novels.
The Monuments by Peter Cossins refers to a famous Belgian cyclist who in his 90's credited his old age to a tipple of whiskey at breakfast, as well as 50g of pipe tobacco every 3 days!!
The book is at work so I will have a trawl through to see if I can find the paragraph again.
The book is at work so I will have a trawl through to see if I can find the paragraph again.
Jesus, that's a lot of smoking. I'll have to pick up the pace, for my health's sake
Jesus, that's a lot of smoking. I'll have to pick up the pace, for my health's sake
Leave the bicycle at home, and bring an extra jar of tobacco with you tomorrow.
The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. I believe he was an avid pipe collector as well.
Just finished it, fantastic recommendation! Will start the second in the series tonight.
Might have missed it but I don't think I saw anyone mention The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
Speaking of C.S. Lewis, there's an anecdote he relates (in his autobiography, maybe?) about a time his father was in a railway car with an elderly man who is clearly in a state of agitated discomfort. The old man finally jumps up from his seat, drops his pants and takes a dump in the corner of the car. Lewis's dad, trying not to react, lights his pipe to try to cover up the smell. The next thing he knows, the old sinner is rapping a "no smoking" sign and shaking his head at him with disapproval.
I didn't know about that (but I'm not surprised). I have 2 copies, one with the Ernest Shepard illustrations, and one with Arthur Rackham's. Both of them were reprinted sometime in the early '50s. I love the Shepard illustration of Mr. Toad swaggering into the Red Lion Inn, cigar clutched in one hand (paw?), so very pleased with himself.
I FOUND ANOTHER ONE!!!!
While not a “proper” “book” per say, my lovely wife, who shockingly after years maintains not only a tolerance, but an ill-advised appreciation for my oddities and idiosyncratic nonsensical sense of humor, got me an awesome coffee table book called “Crap Taxidermy.” for my birthday last year.
And while most of it is hilarious crap indeed, this esteemed gentleman graces the rear cover, and I for (possibly, nay, likely) one, would be proud to own him (or her, as chance may have it).
While not a “proper” “book” per say, my lovely wife, who shockingly after years maintains not only a tolerance, but an ill-advised appreciation for my oddities and idiosyncratic nonsensical sense of humor, got me an awesome coffee table book called “Crap Taxidermy.” for my birthday last year.
And while most of it is hilarious crap indeed, this esteemed gentleman graces the rear cover, and I for (possibly, nay, likely) one, would be proud to own him (or her, as chance may have it).
Kesey
“You know, like ‘He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum’” - but it’s too late. The first resident turns on him after setting down his cup of coffee and reaching in his pocket for a pipe big as your fist.
“Frankly, Alvin,” he says to the third boy, “I’m disappointed in you. Even if one hadn’t read his history all one should need to do is pay attention to his behavior on the ward to realize how absurd the suggestion is. This man is not only very very sick, but I believe he is definitely a Potential Assaultive. I think that is what Miss Ratched was suspecting when she called this meeting. Don’t you recognize the arch type of psychopath? I’ve never heard of a clearer case. This man is a Napoleon, a Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun.”
Another one joins in. He remembers the nurse’s comments about Disturbed. “Robert’s right, Alvin. Didn’t you see the way the man acted out there today? When one of his schemes was thwarted he was up out of his chair, on the verge of violence. You tell us, Doctor Spivey, what do his records say about violence?”
“There is a marked disregard for discipline and authority,” the doctor says.
“Right. His history shows, Alvin, that time and again he has acted out his hostilities against authority figures - in school, in the service, in jail! And I think that his performance after the voting furor today is as conclusive an indication as we can have of what to expect in the future.” He stops and frowns into his pipe, puts it back in his mouth, and strikes a match and sucks the flame into the bowl with a loud popping sound. When it’s lit he sneaks a look up through the yellow cloud of smoke at the Big Nurse; he must take her silence as agreement because he goes on, more enthusiastic and certain than before.
“Pause for a minute and imagine, Alvin,” he says, his words cottony with smoke, “imagine what will happen to one of us when we’re alone in Individual Therapy with Mr. McMurphy. Imagine you are approaching a particularly painful breakthrough and he decides he’s just had all he can take of your - how would he put it? - your ‘damn fool collitch-kid
pryin’!’ You tell him he mustn’t get hostile and he says ‘to hell with that,’ and tell him to calm down, in an authoritarian voice, of course, and here he comes, all two hundred and ten red-headed psychopathic Irishman pounds of him, right across the interviewing table at you. Are you - are any of us, for that matter - prepared to deal with Mr. McMurphy when these moments arise?”
He puts his size-ten pipe back in the corner of his mouth and spreads his hands on his knees and waits. Everybody’s thinking about McMurphy’s thick red arms and scarred hands and how his neck comes out of his T-shirt like a rusty wedge. The resident named Alvin has turned pale at the thought, like that yellow pipe smoke his buddy was blowing at him had stained his face.
“So you believe it would be wise,” the doctor asks, “to send him up to Disturbed?”
“I believe it would be at the very least safe,” the guy with the pipe answers, closing his eyes.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to withdraw my suggestion and go along with Robert,” Alvin tells them all, “if only for my own protection.”
They all laugh. They’re all more relaxed now, certain they’ve come round to the plan she was wanting. They all have a sip of coffee on it except the guy with the pipe, and he has a big to-do with the thing going out all the time, goes through a lot of matches and sucking and puffing and popping of his lips. It finally smokes up again to suit him, and he says, a little proudly, “Yes, Disturbed Ward for ol’ Red McMurphy, I’m afraid. You know what I think, observing him these few days?”
“Schizophrenic reaction?” Alvin asks.
Pipe shakes his head.
“Latent Homosexual with Reaction Formation?” the third one says.
Pipe shakes his head again and shuts his eyes. “No,” he says and smiles round the room, “Negative Oedipal.”
“You know, like ‘He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum’” - but it’s too late. The first resident turns on him after setting down his cup of coffee and reaching in his pocket for a pipe big as your fist.
“Frankly, Alvin,” he says to the third boy, “I’m disappointed in you. Even if one hadn’t read his history all one should need to do is pay attention to his behavior on the ward to realize how absurd the suggestion is. This man is not only very very sick, but I believe he is definitely a Potential Assaultive. I think that is what Miss Ratched was suspecting when she called this meeting. Don’t you recognize the arch type of psychopath? I’ve never heard of a clearer case. This man is a Napoleon, a Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun.”
Another one joins in. He remembers the nurse’s comments about Disturbed. “Robert’s right, Alvin. Didn’t you see the way the man acted out there today? When one of his schemes was thwarted he was up out of his chair, on the verge of violence. You tell us, Doctor Spivey, what do his records say about violence?”
“There is a marked disregard for discipline and authority,” the doctor says.
“Right. His history shows, Alvin, that time and again he has acted out his hostilities against authority figures - in school, in the service, in jail! And I think that his performance after the voting furor today is as conclusive an indication as we can have of what to expect in the future.” He stops and frowns into his pipe, puts it back in his mouth, and strikes a match and sucks the flame into the bowl with a loud popping sound. When it’s lit he sneaks a look up through the yellow cloud of smoke at the Big Nurse; he must take her silence as agreement because he goes on, more enthusiastic and certain than before.
“Pause for a minute and imagine, Alvin,” he says, his words cottony with smoke, “imagine what will happen to one of us when we’re alone in Individual Therapy with Mr. McMurphy. Imagine you are approaching a particularly painful breakthrough and he decides he’s just had all he can take of your - how would he put it? - your ‘damn fool collitch-kid
pryin’!’ You tell him he mustn’t get hostile and he says ‘to hell with that,’ and tell him to calm down, in an authoritarian voice, of course, and here he comes, all two hundred and ten red-headed psychopathic Irishman pounds of him, right across the interviewing table at you. Are you - are any of us, for that matter - prepared to deal with Mr. McMurphy when these moments arise?”
He puts his size-ten pipe back in the corner of his mouth and spreads his hands on his knees and waits. Everybody’s thinking about McMurphy’s thick red arms and scarred hands and how his neck comes out of his T-shirt like a rusty wedge. The resident named Alvin has turned pale at the thought, like that yellow pipe smoke his buddy was blowing at him had stained his face.
“So you believe it would be wise,” the doctor asks, “to send him up to Disturbed?”
“I believe it would be at the very least safe,” the guy with the pipe answers, closing his eyes.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to withdraw my suggestion and go along with Robert,” Alvin tells them all, “if only for my own protection.”
They all laugh. They’re all more relaxed now, certain they’ve come round to the plan she was wanting. They all have a sip of coffee on it except the guy with the pipe, and he has a big to-do with the thing going out all the time, goes through a lot of matches and sucking and puffing and popping of his lips. It finally smokes up again to suit him, and he says, a little proudly, “Yes, Disturbed Ward for ol’ Red McMurphy, I’m afraid. You know what I think, observing him these few days?”
“Schizophrenic reaction?” Alvin asks.
Pipe shakes his head.
“Latent Homosexual with Reaction Formation?” the third one says.
Pipe shakes his head again and shuts his eyes. “No,” he says and smiles round the room, “Negative Oedipal.”