“Kane didn’t pick his line of work.” The words came out softly, with exhaled smoke. “In World War II he was a fighter pilot. Then one time he bailed out behind enemy lines and had to fight his way back. That time he killed an even six. It happened again. And he killed five more. So headquarters figured he had a talent. And they made him a specialist. They’d drop him behind the lines on clandestine missions and let him get back as best he could. He always did. And he wasted a lot of the enemy. A lot. With a knife. With his hands. Most times with a wire. And it ripped him apart. He was good. A good man. We stuck that wire in his hands and said, ‘Get ‘em, boy! Get ‘em for God and country! It’s your duty!’ But part of him didn’t believe it: the good part. That’s the part that pulled the plug. Then some computer dropped a stitch and gave the poor bastard a halfway out: a way to find help without facing his illness; a way to hide, to hide from himself; and a way to wash away the blood: a way to do penance for the killing—by curing.”

What started as crude silliness turned into something deep, unexpected, redemptive, quasi-sublime. The novel could’ve been longer, but then it may’ve felt dragged out. I was led to this by BRMC’s song by the same name off their new album. I had no idea what the “ninth configuration” was and even after reading the book don’t have a firm grasp of what it means. Nonetheless, it is an interesting case for God in a nihilistic cosmos—an astronaut’s wish for meaning after an aborted rocket launch.

The ending was quite stunning. Not to give anything away . . . so I fucking won’t. Yeah, and there’s a cannonade of f-bombs in this thing. Almost overboard at first, but then, eh . . . what the fuck is a soldier struggling with PTSD supposed to say? To find meaning, with or without expletives, is more than enough for any human—pure gold kissed by angels for a soul strung out on the Cinerama of the worst of humanity.

Someday I’ll get to Blatty’s 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘹𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘵. I’d expect to enjoy it more, with all the demon possession and loss of faith and Assyrian mythology. But I’m happy to see that a lesser known work by an author largely famous for one novel can carry such emotive power; even if it feels a bit truncated.

“If we could scrub away the blood, do you think we could find where we’ve hidden our souls?” ( )

Loved this book. This book grabbed me and did not let go. It is constantly in my mind and seeing the connection with the Exorcist and Legion only enhances the experience. Just knowing that the Astronaut from the Exorcist is in this makes waves for me. It's the little things. ( )

The Unitarian Exorcist.

Mmmmmmmm....I think it's a safe bet to say that the 17 other owners of this book [now 19 as I finally finish this review up 3 months later (I wasn't satisfied with everything I came up with before, but now that I'm just writing out s.o.c. sort of crap and submitting it all without care...whatever, right?)], Blatty's The Ninth Configuration, probably picked it up after seeing the excellent '80 cult film of the same name. This slim little novel is, to be frank, almost exactly the same as the movie. There were only a couple of minor differences between them (none of which I can even remember now), and, even though I'm giving it a 70, a pretty damn good rating from me, I'm going to let anyone interested know now to...ignore this book (no longer in print, anyhoo) and just go rent or be a criminal and illegally download the movie via a torrent web page like mininova or cinemageddon. The film is better. The humour, very similar to that of Heller's Catch-22 mixed with a little too much religious advertising (typical of Blatty, but I don't usually mind so much; he's actually a pretty good writer despite producing horror/thriller novels), actually works a little better on film, partly thanks to great casting (exactly the opposite and taken to extremes in the case of Heller). The ending, despite it being a preachy somunabitchin piece of shit in both mediums (and it took him 12 years to perfect this story from the original? [Twinkle, Twinkle, "Killer" Kane (1966)]), works a little better in the film, probably because it doesn't take as much of your precious time. Or really, since this book is so rare, and if you're interested (not likely) or already are one of the very few who love the movie, and come across it, pick it up. I seriously, very seriously, tinkled a little in the pants when I saw it on a shelf in a Fort Worth Half-Price for 75-cents.

"I think the end of the world just came for that bag of Fritos in my pocket."

I can't believe I haven't gone into detail on the book at all. Blatty considers this the sequel to The Exorcist, or at least sort of. It's about that hepcat nameless astronaut getting pissed at and threatened at by a possessed girl at a fancy schmancy house party in that nice little novel. He's since gone crazy, and lives in an ol' mansion called Center 18, used by the military to store Vietnam vets who may or may not have lost their minds. Kane comes to the mansion as the new psychiatrist, and not to spoil the ending, but is actually a new patient (hint: "Killer" Kane), but then, the majority of the 146 pages are just witty conversations, mostly dealing with Catholicism, between Kane and Cutshaw, or mostly Cutshaw, because honestly Kane is a terrible character who just mopes and stares at Cutshaw speak and speak and speak, looking like Joaquin Phoenix with a cleft lip (an instance where seeing the movie made it worse: that Stacy Keach did nothing with the role--Scott Wilson as Cutshaw and Jason Miller [Father Karras] as the melodramatic and silly Reno, however, actually enhanced it...hmm, you think).

"Can't I ask a rhetorical question without some asshole trying to answer it?"

Father Karras puts on Shakespearean plays with canine actors. A black man dressed as Superman (with a giant N in the movie--haw, haw) tries out. Yeah, go download that film. And then look up The Holy Mountain by Jodorowsky, or just do that and ignore The Ninth Configuration completely.

F.V.: 6.5 / 10

"Some psychiatrist! You haven't even asked me if I have obsessions."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do. I hate feet. Christ, I can't stand the sight of them. How could a so-called beautiful God give us ugly padding things like feet!"
"So you can walk." [Look at that Kane...he's a god damn robot, I swear.]
"I don't want to walk, I want to fly! Feet are disfiguring and disgraceful. If God exists, he's a fink. Or more likely a foot: a giant, omniscient, omnipotent Foot. Do you think that is blasphemous?"
"Yes, I do."
"I believe that I capitalized the F." ( )