Sometimes I imagine Amazon.com’s mysterious warehouse in the center of the earth and I shiver. An endless overheated concrete room filled with boxes, fluorescent tubes, conveyor belts, and no windows or joy. So now I’m selling my book directly through Civic Center. Each signed copy comes with a photograph mounted to a linen notecard, a handsome receipt, and a couple of Big American Night stickers. In fact, the book is really just an elaborate sticker delivery device. Order yours today.
The people at Photo Life wrote this very generous review, which might sweeten the pot:
Unpretentious and insightful, James A. Reeves’s The Road to Somewhere is a photo memoir of his journey driving all over the United States. Through his photographs and candid, episodic storytelling, Reeves documents his experiences and the people he encounters in various regions of the United States, reflecting with uncommon honesty on both positive and negative aspects of the culture. Reeves’s obsession with driving long distances in rental cars is fuelled by his search to figure out what it means to be an adult and to live a meaningful life in a complicated world. His unique point of view clearly comes through in both his writing and images: quirky, beautiful, disturbing, humorous, and at times unexpectedly and achingly moving.
More book info here.
Nobody could smoke a cigarette like Linda Darnell.
Stories from the white spaces on the map.
A dub field of mid-century blues.
Love among the ruins.
Lonely gas stations and motel neon.
Her best friend was a little battery-powered radio.
He felt close to her while he drove, his insides vibrating like a teenage dream.
Somewhere Roy Orbison plays on a battered old radio.
There’s no such thing as weirding out the normals these days.
Seeing a toddler’s shoes dangling over a bottle-strewn alley or swinging from a lonely tree bothers the soul.
Things I’ve read that altered me.
The gatefold sleeve and dusty touch, the hiss and pop.