Thursday, February 7, 2013

Gun Machine by Warren Ellis



I don’t normally read crime fiction. In fact, I’ve never read any crime fiction. I do, however, enjoy select crime shows (Law and Order: SVU, Lie to Me, early seasons of CSI). I don’t know why I’ve never been drawn to the written form of crime stories, but after finishing Gun Machine, I’m certainly going to read more.

Gun Machine is the story of John Tallow chasing the psychotic hunter, and the hunter, in turn, chasing John Tallow. Tallow is an NYPD detective stationed in the first precinct. He and his partner, Jim Rosato, respond to a 911 call about a naked man waving a shotgun around on the top floor of a walk-up. But Rosato’s wife had been on him about exercising more, and when he got to the floor with the naked man, his knees give out and a shotgun blast rips his skull off. Tallow kills the naked man and goes upstairs to survey the damage while in a mild shock. The naked man had shot out a section of wall and beyond that wall was an apartment filled with hundreds of guns arranged as if some sort of cathedral or machine (see what I did there). What’s more, each gun is linked to an unsolved case wherein a single victim was murdered. And each gun is matched to its victim. Tallow, with the help of two eccentric CSUs and quite a bit of hindrance from the corrupt NYPD, must find out what sort of man can execute a twenty year spree of murder, whilst never getting caught, and find him, because the murderer knows that Tallow destroyed his temple.

Gun Machine, first and foremost, is a stylish, fast-paced crime thriller. Tallow is an interesting protagonist who has a great character arc from reactive to active. Scarly – lead CSU – is cleverly vulgar but deeply competent. And Bat fulfills the role of ‘mad scientist’ with aplomb. The three play off of each other very well, making for some inspired conversations.

“Hello. I’m John. And your name?”
“Bat.” On Tallow’s chill look: “Hey. Parents in the eighties. What’re you going to do?”
“Go back in time and kill them before they breed,” Scarly suggested.

I wouldn’t call Tallow a hero, nor would I call the hunter a villain. The characters are real in a way that a lot of fiction gets wrong; gray in a truly human way, unlike those ‘gray’ characters from speculative fiction that rely upon the grotesque, the sexual, and the violent to give them a semblance of ‘reality.’ It’s refreshing.

These are characters who have real motivations and behave accordingly. Even if Tallow doesn’t fit into the typical categories of hero (classic, anti, etc), he’s still a compelling protagonist. In fact, it’s because he doesn’t have an overwhelming sense of honor or bravery that makes him all the more relatable and human. He wants to solve the crime to stop the murderer. On an ideological level, he wants to close the case because it is his job. On an intellectual level, it’s the greatest puzzle he’s ever faced. On a personal level, he wants to stick it to the brass at One Police Plaza who seem determined to find a way to fire him. And as the narrative unfolds, even these seemingly mundane motivations begin to twist and evolve into something original.

The city comes alive through the eyes of the hunter. I’ve never been to NYC, nor do I ever want to visit Manhattan, but that doesn’t detract from the visceral reality Ellis creates. Colors play an important role in the work, with gunmetal and blood being the predominant hues. The hunter lives a sort of half-life, able to shift his consciousness between the steel of glass of Manhattan and the wooded island of Mannahatta. Even in the modern metropolis, the hunter finds ways to pay homage to the Native Americans who once inhabited the island by foraging in Central Park for his food, and surviving off the land. As far as an antagonist, he’s unique. Because his pursuit is righteous and he doesn’t feel any remorse for the killing, neither did I as a reader while I was in his POV. It was only when the murders were reflected upon by Tallow that they made an emotional impact. It’s a rare writer who can string my emotions along like this.

The structure has to be commented on too. The two main points of view are those of Tallow and the hunter, and these switch back and forth not-quite-but-almost on a chapter-by-chapter basis. However, there are also chapters from the points of view of secondary characters and even a few with no characters. Some of the most interesting are the ones that are just chatter from the police band. More than anything, these interludes create a heady sense of atmosphere.

There are so many good things about this book that I could fill a dozen posts with them. It’s truly a book that needs to be experienced to fully appreciate. It’s also one that you’ll want to budget a full six hours for, because it has such brilliant pacing that you’ll be hard-pressed to stop, even at a chapter break.

There are a ton of great thematic elements too, my favorites being the nature of insanity, the flow of information, and the revulsivity of the hypermodern. I’ll explore them in a following post.

Definitely my favorite crime novel and I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m saying that twenty years from now when I’ve read another.

Go read it.


Saturday, January 5, 2013

Short Fiction: Week of 01-05-2013

Miss Nyber and I by Karin Tidbeck (Recommended)

A very well written, lightly fantastic story about avant gardening (see what I did there). Recommended for its unique style and character driven narrative. It's also very short.

Rebecka by Karin Tidbeck

Promising, but I didn't care for the ending. It's not a bad ending at all and my dislike of it is entirely personal.

Dormanna by Gene Wolfe (Highly Recommended)

I am a Gene Wolfe fanatic and have read quite a few of his novels and dozens of short stories. For my money, this is his most perfect story.

Useful Phrases by Gene Wolfe

Very interesting, especially when you consider this story in relation to Jorge Borges "Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis, Tertius."

Monday, August 13, 2012

Lansdale and I: Part 4

Two Bear Mambo makes me question just how dark the Hap and Leonard series can become.
Savage Season was violent, aggressive, but on the whole, not terribly disturbing. Mucho Mojo took things up a notch with the introduction of a set of grizzly child murders.
But Two Bear Mambo. Yikes. While it's not perhaps as disturbing in subject matter as Mucho Mojo, the violence and outright racism written in this book are enough to make your skin crawl. Not to mention the fact that Hap and Leonard, faced with such horrifying evil, are placed in situations that scar them deeply and make them question the very bad-assetry upon which the entire structure of the series is built. To create such a pair of indisputable heroes and then fuck with our heads by fucking with their heads? It's the stuff of legends.
To a certain degree, Adam and I created Subgeneric as a place to recommend books that we liked to people that might be looking for something slightly out of the ordinary. As such, I don't feel at all ashamed for the gushing that I'm about to do...
Read these books. Seriously. I never thought I'd be the type to sit at work, just biding my time until I could go home and read a crime novel, let alone an entire series of crime novels. I'm doing that.
The other night, when I finished Two Bear Mambo, I got out of bed and bought Bad Chili. Despite the fact that I'm mostly broke, most of the time, I got up, rummaged in my wallet, and pulled out the first card that might, possibly have had 9.99 on it, because there simply wasn't an alternative. I was going to have that book, poverty be damned. And I'll do it again.
To call these books crime novels sells them short. I'm not sophisticated enough to name them by their proper title, whatever that may be. Suffice it to say that there's something very special about the Hap and Leonard series. They will not disappoint.
However, having said all of that, I think it's time to move on from them in the context of my Lansdale and I series of entries on Subgeneric - simply because there's a shitload of Lansdale country yet to cover.
So, for the time being, I'm going to take a brief hiatus into fantasy country. After that, I'll return with my next bit of Lansdalia - whatever it may be. Until then, though, if you've just gotta hear more about Hap and Leonard, you'd better go buy the books right away.



Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Lansdale and I: Part 3

If Savage Season is a lighthearted introduction to Hap and Leonard, Mucho Mojo is the sunday punch we never see coming. It's the declaration that, though there are some laughs, these novels aren't fucking around.

The subject matter in this novel turns from the crime/heist fare of its predecessor, to something much darker - namely pedophilia and child killing. Fortunately, Hap and Leonard retain their sense of humor and provide a much needed counterpoint to the excessive darkness of the subject matter at hand.

So, now that the formal stuff is out of the way, let's get down to the fun stuff. Mucho Mojo is packed full of the same things that made Savage Season such a fantastic read. Hap and Leonard, now past the formalities of introduction, are able to stretch out and show us what they're really all about. They feel familiar in Mojo; I find myself oddly comfortable with the notion that Leonard is a bad ass, always looking for a fight, or that Hap perpetually lets the women in his life lead him around by the, em, leash. And the interplay between the two becomes reliable without being repetitive, which can only happen in situations where the characters become so perfectly defined that they're actions make an organic sense within the context of their accumulated personality.

Is that a point of common sense in written character building? Certainly. But it's still not done nearly enough, and even less frequently does it achieve this degree of success.

It's hard to put my finger on it, but there's an undeniable charisma about the way Lansdale writes these characters. It's source is obvious, for anyone that's heard Mr. Lansdale speak - the man's got an awful lot of charisma; but it's damn impressive how well he translates it to the written word.

So, as it stands right now, the Lansdale and I experiment is a resounding success. Thus far I've read the following:

  • The Complete Drive In
  • Dead in the West
  • Savage Season
  • Mucho Mojo
  • Edge of Dark Water
  • (Assorted Shorts)

The Champion Mojo Storyteller is batting 1000 so far. Can he keep it up? We'll see. Two Bear Mambo is up next.

 

 

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Lansdale and I: Part 2

In the wee hours of the evening last night, I finished the first Hap and Leonard novel, Savage Season.

For the most part, it felt like a long introduction to the two main characters, Hap and Leonard. Not that there wasn't plot, of course; there was, and it was apeshit, as Lansdale plots often are. And I mean apeshit in the best possible way.

It's hard not to envy Lansdale when you read his characters. Hap and Leonard are presented so well, in such startling detail, that you wind up liking them before you know it. Part of this might be attributed to their uniqueness - Hap being a sensitive but jaded ex-revolutionary that's a little ashamed of his time during the 1960's, and Leonard being a gay Vietnam veteran. They struck me as good old boys at first, but it's hard to not think of them as something more in the end.

As I've said, it's a little daunting just how damn good Mr. Lansdale is at creating characters. If I'm able to pull off even a fraction of the finesse shown in the character creation in this book after a comparable number of years in the game, I'd be pretty proud of myself.

As good as the characters are, they are nearly outshone by the locations. The rivers, small towns, and countryside of Texas all get star treatment. As a reader that's something of a sucker for rural locations - in particular rivers, small towns, and countryside - I can tell you that you won't find much better than Joe Lansdale in terms of descriptive environments. For a long time, I thought no one would be able to supplant Daniel Woodrell in my brain as the most evocative creator/writer of location; now he and Lansdale share that small honor.

After wrapping up Savage Season, I wasted no time purchasing Mucho Mojo. By chapter 3, it had already begun a vicious assault on my soft and sensitive parts. But that, friends, is a blog entry for a different time.

Pickles



Monday, July 16, 2012

M. John Harrison: Empty Space

On July 19th, John Harrison's new book Empty Space comes out.

Since I haven't read it yet, I obviously can't recommend or slander it mercilessly, but I will say this: I'm going to read it. I'm going to read the shit out of it. 

You see, the thing about Harrison's books, in my experience, is that they stick with you. I still have a perfect picture of Annie Glyph in my head; I can still taste Yaxley's tea in my mind-mouth (it's a thing); I can still picture the herds of cats running out of the Event Zone on Straint street; and I can still picture the Gabelline Oracle. 

Ask me what I ate for dinner, or how many pairs of pants I own, or how many miles are on my car. I have no idea. I am not a man of intellect, folks. But if Harrison can paint these pictures on my crude canvas, just imagine what he can do for you. 

You've got just about 3 days to do the following: 

  1. Read Light. 
  2. Read Nova Swing. 
  3. Read Course of the Heart.
  4. Read Viriconium.
  5. Write me a Thank You letter. 
  6. Accumulate $18 dollars in wealth.
  7. Travel to your local bookmonger.
  8. Give the bookmonger said wealth in exchange for a copy of Empty Space.
  9. Plant your ass in a chair. 
  10. Read, friend. Read. 

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Lansdale and I.


From time to time, in the course of searching for all things subgeneric, we stumble upon a specimen so rare and wonderful that we must pause to study its habits. Such is the case with the champion mojo storyteller, Joe Lansdale.

Up until recently, my exposure to Mr. Lansdale was limited. I'd seen (and loved) Bubba Ho-Tep, and watched the Masters of Horror episode Incident On and Off a Mountain Road, both of which were adapted from Lansdale's work. My wife had also read two of his novels and recommended them to me - A Fine Dark Line and The Bottoms. After hearing my wife rave about the books and seeing Don Coscarelli adapt the man's work not once but twice, I began to realize that I was missing something big by not reading him.

I set out to remedy my Lansdale deficiency immediately. After combing Amazon, I settled on reading The Complete Drive In. I cracked it that night (electronically speaking, as I bought it on my Kindle) and started reading.

To say that I fell in love with The Complete Drive In would be a gross understatement. The prologue alone punched my soul like a rabid ogre. Not your everyday ogre, either, but a big, burly bastard with an enourmous ogre dong straining against his ogre loin cloth. The kind of ogre that sharpens knives on his knuckles and eats beans from the can.

Here's an excerpt, to drive my point home:

"You park your car, go to the concession stand. Inside it's decorated with old horror movie posters, plastic skulls, rubber bats, and false cobwebs. And there's this thing called bloody corn that you can buy for a quarter more than the regular stuff, and it's just popcorn with a little red food coloring poured over it. You buy some and a kingsize coke to go with it, maybe some peanuts and enough candy to send a hypoglycemic to the stars. 

Now you're ready. The movies begin. B-string and basement-budget pictures. A lot of them made with little more than a Kodak, some spit and a prayer. And if you've watched enough of the stuff, you develop a taste for it, kind of like learning to like sauerkraut. 

Drooping mikes, bad acting, and the rutting of rubber-suited monsters who want women, not for food, but to mate with, become a genuine pleasure. You can simultaneously hoot and cringe when a monster attacks a screaming female on a beach or in the woods and you see the zipper on the back of the monster's suit winking at you like the quick, drunk smile of a cheshire cat."

Get out of my head, Lansdale. For those of us that are fans of B-cinema this is poetry. 

The book includes all three volumes of Lansdale's Drive-In trilogy, each of which is stranger than the last. I can't say enough good things about it. And while I don't intend to review it, since that's not technically part of our Subgeneric mission statement, I will certainly write more about it in the future. Our business here is to find excellent and strange books, and I'd fail at that miserably if I didn't spend a few hundred words raving about the Complete Drive In - but I've gotten off track for my original purpose for this article.

Here is what I propose to thee, reader. I intend to embark on a mission. It's very clandestine - I'm only tell you and a couple of other people about it. It's called: Lansdale and I. 

The course of Lansdale and I will be the following: 
  • The remainder of the summer will be spent reading Lansdale's books. Thus far I've read the following: 
    • The Complete Drive-In 
    • Dead in the West 
    • Edge of Dark Water 
    • (Currently Reading) Savage Season: Hap and Leonard, Book 1
  • Studying the Lansdale in his native habitat, via the following mediums: 
    • Youtube Videos 
    • Interviews 
    • DVD Extras 
  • Stopping in at this blog and reporting the various wisdomlets and intellitrinkets that I am able to gather from this research. In short, I shall blog about the books I read. I hesitate to call them reviews, since I don't really do that - let's instead call them opinions. Essays if I'm feeling fancy. 
The purpose of this research is one of the following: 
  • To study Lansdale so intensely that I am eventually able to seamlessly take his place, living his champion mojo lifestyle as my own. 
  • It's actually a clever misdirection to cover the fact that I'm reading the 50 Shades of Gray books. 
  • Nothing special, other than a good excuse to be productive blogwise while getting to know one of the best authors in the game. 
I shan't tell you which it is. 

There you have it - Operation Lansdale and I, coming to you this summer. Right now. Probably starting, let's say, next week? Okay. Next week. 

For now, I'll leave you with this. It's a video that proves Lansdale is not only able to kick your ass with his novels and short stories, but can also kick your ass in real life, with his fists of fury. 

Enjoy,


Pickles.