This 1988 novel is in the running for the most poorly written professionally-published book I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a fair amount of Z-grade LeiThis 1988 novel is in the running for the most poorly written professionally-published book I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a fair amount of Z-grade Leisure and Zebra trash from the era in my day. The entire thing is riddled with typos — actually, scratch that, as these weren’t really typographical errors, but just plain bad spelling and grammar, to the point that I’m not sure how an editor didn’t catch things like “potatoe” and multiple instances of “it were” or “they was” instead of “it was” or “they were.” Poor grammar is of course fine in dialogue or a character’s thoughts, but it plagued the entirety of the narrative, and I’m easily distracted by this sort of thing.
Which is a shame, too, as I love me some Native American horror, and this had all the makings of a good, spooky procedural-type mystery in the vein of Tony Hillerman’s “Leaphorn and Chee” series, only with the supernatural elements and gore cranked up to 11. It takes place on a Navajo reservation in New Mexico where, 50 years after a man sacrificed a rabbit to the rabbit gods so that they might grant his son good luck, bodies are turning up at an alarming rate, and in conditions that seem impossible for any human or animal to have accomplished. Sheriff Sam Featherock of the Navajo police is on the case, and he was a relatively well-written, sympathetic character who follows the clues no matter where they might lead, despite his rational, measured nature.
The terrible writing was hard for me to get past, however, even with the many insanely gory kills and intriguing curse-related mystery at the heart of it all. It also wasn’t very fun, which is what’s most important to me when picking up a cheesy paperback original with a ridiculous cover. In fact it’s pretty dour, overall. Still, it would have rated slightly higher if Critic’s Choice hadn’t seemingly decided it was fine to simply publish the first draft as is instead of doing any editing at all. The last book I read from this publisher, the excellent hardboiled detective/horror mashup The Brass Halo, didn’t suffer from any of these issues, as far as I recall. Maybe author James Nugent turned in a more finely-polished first draft.*
Despite all these issues, I can’t quite bring myself to give this 1 star, as I found Featherock to be a well-drawn, relatable character who I was rooting for. He did seem pretty similar to Hillerman’s Leaphorn to me, but this could just be due to the fact they’re both principled, caring Native American law officers on a reservation, and both face paranormal-seeming threats that go against their logical temperaments. Or it could simply be my fault, as I’d recently binged the first two seasons of the Dark Winds TV series based on Hillerman’s work (and read the first novel), so I was picturing actor Zahn McClarnon the entire time. Also, I did kind of dig the dark overall atmosphere (even if dour), but not enough to save this from being a bit of a mess.
1.5 Stars.
*ETA: Come to think of it, The Brass Halo was written in first-person, which makes it easier to overlook bad grammar, especially when the narrator is a 1930s hardboiled, tough guy type. So it’s not really a fair comparison....more
Like if American Gods had been written by Joe R. Lansdale, only published a decade earlier, and featuring strictly deities from Catholic lore instead Like if American Gods had been written by Joe R. Lansdale, only published a decade earlier, and featuring strictly deities from Catholic lore instead of various beliefs from around the world. “But wait,” you might say, “Catholicism only has one god.” Well, as someone who was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school for eight years, I can tell you that the Virgin Mary is treated almost like a god, and is prayed to and worshiped nearly as much as the God/Jesus/Holy Spirit trinity, at least in my experience. Then you have all the various saints, who, since they seemingly have the power to hear and answer prayers, are like lesser gods or demigods. Plus Satan, who has godlike powers. Oh and the angels. So, while one can argue they’re not quite gods, they’re definitely more than human, and they make for good fodder for a comedic fantasy/horror roadtrip novel such as this.
It was a blast pretty much straight through, and the only reason I’m going with 4 stars instead of 5 is because, as ridiculously far fetched as the entire story is, it became a little too over the top for me toward the end. Still fun as hell, but I felt it lost a little something with the relentless silliness. The mystery and intrigue dissipated just a bit. But if you’re down for a humorous holy grail-esque, demon-haunted roadtrip/adventure through Texas and New Mexico (and possibly Hell as well), with the charismatic slacker Mojo; his hot newfound drug dealer friend Juanita; a gruff no-nonsense Texas Ranger; and an endearing old mystical Catholic lady for company, and featuring cameos from various saints and all manner of unholy beasties, you should have a good time. The constant action and supernatural intrusions, not to mention the many eccentric personalities they meet along the way, ensure that it’s never boring, and I can only hope that a sequel (or anything else at all from author Douglas Bell) turns up one day.
I normally don’t care for Christian-based mythology in my fiction (thank you Catholic school!), but this was an exception that I’m glad I took a chance on.
[image] (Cover of the 1982 Pocket Books/Timescape mass-market, with Bosch artwork.)
When the starship Schiaparelli lands on a distant planet to check up[image] (Cover of the 1982 Pocket Books/Timescape mass-market, with Bosch artwork.)
When the starship Schiaparelli lands on a distant planet to check up on a colony set up there a couple hundred years previous, the crew is shocked to discover a scene straight out of Bosch’s famous triptych painting, The Garden of Earthly Delights. People frolicking around naked, strange creatures and plants everywhere. It appears to be almost a utopia. But if the entire planet is based on the Bosch painting, that can only mean that Hell is not far away.
Much talking while being naked ensues. This may in fact be the talkiest book I’ve read, reminiscent of Z-grade “atomic age” science fiction films of the 50s. There are plenty of novels that, almost like plays, tell the story through dialogue, elegantly. But this has massive, endless dumps of info being exchanged through dialogue, which can go on for chapters at a time. Also, the characters are all basically devoid of any personality traits, which made differentiating between them a struggle.
And yet, there are some insanely far out concepts and ideas here, enough so that despite the fact that I’m basically 0 for 2 when it comes to Watson, I haven’t entirely given up on him. He seems to be more of an idea man than a plot man, so I’d be interested in checking out one of his collections as opposed to another novel.
Considering Kubrick chose him to write the initial 90-page story treatment for A.I., which I love, he can’t be all bad. Plus I already own several more of his books and need an excuse to give him another shot....more
I hate to sound overly hyperbolic, but this was simply one of the most disturbing and nightmarish stories I’ve ever experienced. I’ve mentioned beforeI hate to sound overly hyperbolic, but this was simply one of the most disturbing and nightmarish stories I’ve ever experienced. I’ve mentioned before in various reviews that, as an avid reader of horror fiction for over three decades, it’s rare for me to be truly unsettled and horrified these days, but this was like being trapped in a literal hell, and I have a feeling it will be sticking with me for a long time to come. I wouldn’t call it a particularly “fun” type of terror, but I kept furiously turning the pages anyway, despite my apprehension for what was in store.
The disturbing aspects have less to do with any violence or gore or body horror (though that’s all here too) and more with the horrific psychological concepts detailed — ones that play into a couple of my greatest fears, concerning memory and self. So your mileage may vary. Considering it’s only a hundred pages or so, I’ll not go into the plot other than to say that it’s about a “melancholy” young woman in a bizarre alternate 1923 whose husband has her committed to an insane asylum — on the moon, at the spot where a giant spider is said to have once lived and been worshipped as a god. It’s probably best to read this in only one or two sittings at night in order to maintain the atmosphere of inner unease and cosmic dread. It worked for me.
The prose is of very high quality as per usual for Ballingrud, who’s just moved into my “must read everything” list. Good thing there’s a decent amount out there that I haven’t gotten to yet. I enjoyed North American Lake Monsters and The Visible Filth, but this was on a whole other twisted level, for my tastes.
And yet, it was oddly thought-provoking and even moving at times.
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