I have not read Fabio’s Viking but I have looked at its cover, for quite some time actually, if I am being honest, and what is the internet if not a place where we can be fully honest with not only ourselves and each other? A place where not only truth but sincerity and earnestness abounds, and so I feel I must tell you that I stared quite longingly at this cover, and others, pausing to go so far as to count the ab muscles depicted—one, two, three four, five…
Something I have wondered—is Fabio his actual name or a nickname? How did it come about? Did he first decide on “Fab” but then hesitated, not wanting to align himself with designer purses or lattes? No, no, he must have thought, thinking that extra “-io” would add just the sort of perceived manliness necessary. Or, maybe, perhaps instead it was because he liked the name “Mario” but his agent persuaded him not to choose it, believing there were already too many famous Marios—Nintendo Mario (my favorite), Mario Puzo, Mario Cantone, Mario Vargas Llosa, Mario Lopez—so maybe after that he decided he would somehow still use the name, just changing the letter, thinking the beginning would do, and so he went through the list—Aario, no, Bario, no, Cario, no, Dario, no, Eario, no, FABIO YES. Fabio, Fabio, Fabio. It is such a lustrous name, like his hair on the cover of this book. Such a lustrous mane of golden hair. All his books really have him with gorgeous hair. Wind-swept is a good descriptor, but really the more accurate one would be fan-swept.
Fabio has written many books, depending on how loose your interpretation of “written” and “books” tends to be. Most of their covers seem to involve him not wearing a shirt, which is understandable, the man knows his market, or his publisher does, but then I wonder why they didn’t go further and add photographs within the text (I mean, I am assuming there are no images inside, I have not read them after all), and then I wonder why they didn’t just go all out and have them all be photographs, and then I realize that what I am expecting and wanting this to be is a calendar.
The titles of this and his other books are all one word. Viking. Pirate. Rogue. Champion. Mysterious. Wild. They read like a dating ad when compiled together. Viking. Pirate. Rogue. Champion. Mysterious. Wild. Fabio. There is one named Comanche that makes me a little uncomfortable in its colonialistic connotations. I’m too afraid to read the book’s description.