A New Introduction to Vineet Tiruvadi's Book of Monsters

My son Vineet is not a particularly talented artist in the conventional sense, but I admire his dedication to his craft, which is evident in these some three hundred improving illustrations. The nature of these illustrations has upset everyone quite a bit. There are winged creatures devouring busloads of children and land-squids the size of the National Mall. An army of large, disembodied mouths floats across Midtown Manhattan. Bankers and Broadway dancers run for their lives.

Vineet's work has already been impounded once by Mrs. Morris, his fourth-grade teacher, and brought to the attention of Principal Brecken-ridge. Then my wife was notified. I was then contacted by my wife, which led to a long, bitter, and abusive discussion about my parenting skills, or lack thereof, my unresolved anger issues, my alleged arrogance, and many of the other oppressive qualities that these monsters undoubtedly personify. Despite my limited training in hermeneutics, I am fairly certain the giant Yeti shitting joyously on the statehouse is my son's symbolic portrayal of my hatred for the entire democratic system. In particular, I am wary of cuts to higher education funding. The long-term economic effects will be disastrous.

In fact, there is an entire series of illustrations featuring the same Yeti, who is aptly named Cloudy to match both his general disposition and white fur. Cloudy goes to the movie theatre and massacres people who are on their cell phones. Cloudy dines on the Kardashians. In one scene, which I am especially proud of for its high moral fiber, Cloudy defenestrates a priapic Catholic priest and saves a flock of schoolboys.

Vineet used to get dropped off for dinner on Tuesday nights. He helped me in the kitchen as I prepared carbonara with shrimp, chicken parmesan, and loaves of garlic bread. I eat too well, the byproduct of an impoverished childhood in India. At the table I would ask about his studies and he would tell me all about Mrs. Morris, the central villain in our drama, even more so than my estranged wife. Mrs. Morris is a mean-spirited woman who has learned to control her students' behavior with a token economy consisting of "Morris Money," sums of which are redeemable for prizes at the end of each six-week term. Frankly, these prizes are ludicrous: flimsy toy cars made in China and old movie posters. I once told Vineet that Mrs. Morris is a well-preserved woman, probably because she is so full of hate, which can curb the effects of aging when combined with vigorous exercise. Vineet asked me what I meant by "well-preserved" and I changed the subject.

I have been accused of being a misogynist by both my wife and a string of female graduate students. Nothing untoward ever happened. I just think people, of either sex, should dress professionally and I have verbalized these thoughts from time to time. If ever one requires proof that I do not hold women in special contempt, one should peruse the following pages. You will note that almost all the monsters appear genderless and lack both genitals and secondary sexual characteristics.

My favorite chapter is in the middle of the notebook and is less outwardly gruesome than most of Vineet's work, though its deeper implications are just as gloomy. It occupies a couple of pages and depicts an America where people use the petrified feces of long extinct sea serpents as a fiat currency. They buy useless consumer electronics and pills to combat erectile dysfunction. They go antiquing. Regardless of whatever form it takes, average Americans cannot be trusted with their disposable income. We need to revert to the palace economies of Ancient Greece or at least go back to the Gold Standard and honest money. I discuss both options at length in my dissertation, which I read to Vineet when he was younger, in lieu of fairy tales.

A few weeks after my "well-preserved" comment, I received the phone call from my wife. I rushed to the school and found my son in tears in the principal...