Tuesday, February 19, 2013

The Kabrini Message

Book Blather correspondant, Sue Roebuck, graciously agreed to share her interview with Marie Carhart. Thank you, Sue and Marie

Author J.R. Egles is smiling on his sister right now. From Heaven.

Please welcome Marie Carhartwho has done something very special for her brother.

Sue: First of all Marie, many congratulations on the publication of your book “The Kabrini Message”. I know you’re not actually the author of the book, so could you give us some background to how and why it was published? 

Marie: As you know, The Kabrini Message is a novel written by my late brother, Joe Egles, back in 1987. I only recently discovered Joe’s manuscript (hand typed by our mother) in a box in my attic. It was in a manilla envelope that just said, “Joe’s Book” in my mother’s handwriting. 

The whole “story-behind-the-story” can be read on the two-part blog post I did, so I won’t repeat the entire thing here. 

But basically, after reading The Kabrini Message and becoming entranced by it, I decided it must be published. This “message” just had to make it out of the attic and into the hands of the public. I know everything happens for a reason, when and how it’s supposed to. I believe my “message” in finding this forgotten jewel was to get it out there and right now, twenty-six years after it was written, just must be the right time. 
I also had to make sure The Kabrini Message was finally published as a gift to both my brother and our mother who always believed in him. 
I have been “on a mission”…yes, a woman obsessed! But the journey has been a fun, fascinating and educational labor of love and I am thrilled and so very grateful to say that as of January 18, 2013, more than a quarter of a century after it was written, The Kabrini Message is a published novel! 

Sue: That is fabulous. You must be so proud (I am, I know that!) What’s your favorite genre in fiction? Apart from The Kabrini Message can you recommend any books for us? 

Marie: You are probably expecting me to say sci-fi, but no, that’s not it! The Kabrini Message is the first (and only) sci-fi book I have ever read! I admit it may open up a whole new world (literally!) to me now. Also, The Kabrini Message is not your typical sci-fi book in that it has a strong action/adventure crossover and a strong “message” of collective consciousness, which I am a big believer in, and it has a lot of very funny parts, too.

However, back to your question…I actually like romances. Especially historical fiction romances. My favorites are Danielle Steel novels and my all time favorites of hers are a couple of her older ones, No Greater Love, which takes place on the Titanic and Granny Dan, set in Russia in 1902 revolving around a young Russian ballerina and the Czar and Czarina and their family. That one starts out in the present, after the main character’s death and travels back in time as her granddaughter finds a box of old letters that tell the tale of a whole exciting life she never knew her grandmother had. I also like the Friday Night Knitting Club series of books by Kate Jacobs and Star of Flint, written by Jill Smith Entrekin, the mother of my friend Amy Entrekin Bell

Of course, my all time favorite book will always be Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind. 

Sue: I also know you love poetry. Would you like to end with an inspirational poem that sums up “The Kabrini Message” or life in general?

Marie: Just today I came across this one. I think it sums up both The Kabrini Message and life in general! 

Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
But, he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't" but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, as he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
At least no one we know has done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle right in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That cannot be done, and you'll do it

Sue: Thank you! I'd never heard that before and it's terrific. Marie, what’s next in line in terms of publication? 

Marie: Well, as you mentioned, I am not a writer, so personally, I have no plans for any further publications, however, I am anxious for the print release of The Kabrini Message. Also, I have already had readers ask about the possibility of a sequel. I’m not sure how that would work, but you never know. 

The storyline does lend itself perfectly to one and I think Joe probably originally planned to write one. Again, if it was meant to be, it will happen. My initial thought while I was reading The Kabrini Message the first time (and every time since) was that it would make a fabulous movie! So I think the next big project is the screenplay. (You heard it here first!)

Hooray! A FIRST on my blog!!!!!

Marie: I’d like to thank you so much for having me today, Susan, and for allowing me to tell our story. I hope your readers will enjoy The Kabrini Messsage in the true spirit of love from which it has come forth! 


An alien race. A shocking message. Let the evolution begin…
During an archaeological dig in Greece, Jeffrey Driscoll stumbles upon a miraculous find: ancient crystals with celestial coordinates that will connect humankind with the Kabrini, a highly advanced alien civilization. His discovery leads him on a quest from the jungles of Africa to the
Islands of Greece, from the streets of London to the tombs of Egypt, from Washington D.C. to Los Angeles, Jamaica, and Vienna, and finally to the deepest depths of space and Earth’s first global space effort, the Legacy mission.
When Driscoll Mining and the U.S. Army complete deep space construction of the Kabrini communications network, the Legacy mission is deemed a success. But a dangerous terrorist group hungers for revenge, and Driscoll will stop at nothing to save the project. As his obsession with the Legacy mission spirals out of control, he risks losing everything—his company, his grasp on reality, and the one thing he’s ever truly loved: his wife. And when humankind finally makes contact, they discover the Kabrini Message isn’t exactly what they expected to hear…


The fire in Professor Gregory’s study burned low.  Outside, it was just getting dark and the first drops of a cold London rain splattered against the windows.
“Alrighty, then,” Gregory started as he sat down behind his desk. “As you may know, the Romans had umpteen gods. So did the Greeks. So what’s one more soothsayer? With a god for every occasion, they were only being religious by convenience anyway. That’s why I never took this damn thing so seriously in the first place.”
“Took what seriously?” asked Driscoll.  “The Romans…or the Greeks?”
“Neither,” said Gregory sounding exasperated already. “I’m talking about the Oracle, the Oracle, you numpty.”
Gregory was clearly annoyed.  He was used to dealing with his razor-sharp archeology students, and they were used to paying attention to details.  Driscoll was not…at least, not to the point required for Gregory’s complex explanation. Driscoll practiced what he liked to call a holistic approach to life situations.  In other words, he took in the big picture and then did whatever was necessary to keep from getting chucked out of it.
“The Oracle, right, at Delphi,” said Driscoll. “You mentioned that on the phone. But what’s the fuss? It’s not news. That’s where rich folks went for advice about the future, right? The place where people went for prophecies…from priests or something.”
“But the Oracle wasn’t just a place, like a fountain or a shrine,” corrected Gregory. “It was supposed to be a person, or a deity, who only spoke through priests. The priests in turn doled out the information to the faithful.”
“And by ‘faithful,’ you mean those who could afford to pay,” said Driscoll.
“Well, yes,” agreed Gregory. “But my point is, it couldn’t have been all rubbish or they wouldn’t have kept coming back for advice. And they did…important people, like Caesars and such. There must have been something to the Oracle’s prophecies.”
“Unless it was just fashionable,” said Driscoll.
“Ah…wait, what?” stammered Gregory. Driscoll had broken his train of thought, which stunned the professor into silence. “This is what’s so difficult about talking to Driscoll,” thought Gregory. He never knew when to expect an intelligent comment. This one had caught him by surprise.
Driscoll kept talking as Gregory struggled to regain his composure. “I mean, in those days, you couldn’t impress your wealthy friends by buying a flat screen TV or a Ferrari—so you blew a load on the Oracle to show off.”
Gregory was mildly shocked. “Has money made Driscoll wise?” he wondered. “No, no, surely not. It never works that way. But trust Driscoll to do everything ass-backwards, including getting smart,” he thought.
“Precisely!” Gregory finally answered. “And what do you suppose the priests did with all that wealth, mate?”
“I don’t know,” Driscoll responded as he thoughtfully scratched the stubble on his cheek.
“Neither did anyone else,” Gregory said with a slight leer in his eye. “Until now.”
Driscoll dropped his boots to the floor and leaned forward on the leather couch. This had definitely piqued his interest.
“Listen to this,” said Gregory, producing a notebook from his jacket pocket. “This is an exact translation from a scroll my colleague Jessup unearthed near Delphi.”
The professor flipped through the tattered pages of his composition book and read aloud:
“‘I am an apprentice to a scribe.  But, by the time this is read, I will not only have been a scribe, but will have been dead for some two thousand years.
However, due to my experience as apprentice to Piros—scribe, scholar and personal acquaintance of the Great Emperor Claudius—I have access to certain knowledge, which if I do not set down, may be lost forever; unless the High Priests forsake their vows, which is not likely.
But to share this knowledge in my own time would certainly be the cause of my death.  Therefore, I share it with yours.’”
 Gregory paused and glanced at Driscoll, who seemed to be mulling over the words.
“So this guy has something important to say, is that it?”  Driscoll said sarcastically.
Gregory rolled his eyes.  “Yes, yes…brilliant.  Now, listen to this part, mate,” he said.  He continued reading:
“‘In my time, I have no understanding of what I have seen.  Yet I hope the passage of many centuries may bring wisdom to my words so that you, in your distant world, though you are standing exactly where I am now, may read and understand.
 For I have seen the Oracle at Delphi.  And It is not Human.’”
 “Not human?!”  Driscoll repeated.  He was leaning so far forward now, Gregory thought he might tumble off the couch.
“That’s what the bloody man says,” said Gregory, “and he should know.  He claims to have been there several times and seen this Oracle thing twice.  Once while it was reclining and going about ‘business as usual’ with the High Priests, and once when it was being carried out.  During this second viewing, the scribe said the Oracle didn’t look at all well.  It might have been dying or perhaps already dead, and the priests were taking the body to some secret burial place.  Anyhow, It was never brought back.  Apparently, interest in Delphi seemed to wane after that, at least among the big shots.  For the Caesars and the like, the Delphi prophesies seemed to have lost most of its punch.  The priests continued to sell prophesies, but more so to the public—at a cut rate, I presume.”
“Discount prophecies,” Driscoll said with a pensive grin.  “Talk about bargain shopping.”  He paused briefly to take another sip of brandy.  “Did he write anything else about the Oracle, Itself?” he asked anxiously.  He was already getting involved. “I mean, did he say what it looked like?”
“Oh yes,” said Gregory with a smug smile.  He knew he had Driscoll now.  “In fact, he was quite descriptive.  The scroll was very long . I only copied the first part, but I read Jessup’s entire translated version.  He said the Oracle’s appearance was that of a boy with longish hair—except It had pale blue skin and dark blue hair.”
“Holy shit…sounds like some kind of freakish Smurf!”  Driscoll said.
Gregory restrained from rolling his eyes this time.  “Also, Its eyes were clear, or maybe white.  The translation is not precise on that point.”
“Pretty strange, either way,” Driscoll said, genuinely interested.
“Yes, and it gets even stranger,” continued Gregory.  “The scribe’s description was from that first occasion, when the Oracle was reclining on a couch and being attended by the priests.  He said it appeared to be nude except for a thin, light blue veil and—are you ready for this Driscoll?—It had the sexual organs of both male and female!”
Driscoll said nothing.  He just sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his empty glass dangling from one hand.
Gregory stood up, stretched and walked out from behind his desk.  He leaned against the front of the desk and said slowly, “Driscoll, I think that Oracle was an alien.  Those High Priests had found, and were keeping, a bloody alien!”
The rain tapped on the windows.  The darkness from outside seemed to crowd into the study, despite the blazing fire.
Driscoll slowly set his glass on the coffee table and stared into it for a few moments.  His mind raced back to his boyhood bedroom.  He recalled all those sleepless nights he’d gazed at the stars through his homemade telescope as his drunken father raged downstairs.  Fast-forwarding to college, he remembered the countless hours he spent in the Princeton observatory studying the infinite depths of space, examining each pinprick of light.  Every time he’d ever looked up at that endless vista, he’d always had a feeling there was something—or someone—looking back at him.
“Gregory…”  Driscoll began stiffly.  For once, he was truly at a loss for words. “Gregory, are you…that is, well…don’t you think you might be jumping to conclusions?  I mean, isn’t it more likely that that poor thing was the sad result of generations of inbreeding or something?  We know it went on all the time, back then.  Maybe that or some terrible disease or something…”
“Goddammit, I’m a scientist, Driscoll!”  Gregory interrupted.  “I don’t jump to bloody conclusions.  It’s true, I don’t have any real proof, but that’s where you come in.  And anyway, there’s more. About the crash site.”

Oh, Marie, I love The Kabrini Message already. Come on guys! Let's get the book (I'm off to Amazon immediately after I post.


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