I’m so glad to be back to Bedtime Noir! After a few weeks hiatus we’ll kick off the summer with Whiskey Leavins’ genre bending/ blending detective novel with clowns a-poppin’ and a femme fatale (with special talents) like you’ve never seen (or heard) before. Click here for the video, and for more about Whiskey Leavins and his other work, check out his web site here.
Bedtime Noir #6: Reading from My New Novel, Cracker!
Tonight, I’m sharing a passage from the latest book in my Eucalyptus Lane series from Outcast Press. Cracker picks up where the first book, Poser, leaves off. Much more about Cracker soon, some exciting news about upcoming publications and events (!) & more posts about film, writing, reading and life. But for now—here are a couple of scenes between Jessica and Ambrose (and Beau!) from Cracker. Click here to watch!
Bedtime Noir #4: Dead Dogs by Manny Torres
Reading from Manny Torres's debut novel. Manny has some other novels as well, including Father Was A Rat King, and Perras Malas. He’s also an accomplished visual artist. I interviewed Manny for Deep South Magazine last year, so if you’d like to know more about Chuck and Phobos from Dead Dogs, and Manny’s other work, click here for the interview.
Click here to watch my short reading from Dead Dogs.
Bedtime Noir 2: Valentine's Edition
Tonight, a short selection from Cracker, the next book in my neo-noir Eucalyptus Lane series from Outcast Press. And, meet Mitzi!
Book Review: The Recalcitrant Stuff of Life, by Sean McCallum
If books are supposed to transport one to another place and time, The Recalcitrant Stuff of Life by Sean McCallum (Outcast Press) is a vehicle for a journey to a mystical place where few have been. The physical destination is Iquitos, Peru, and the emotional destination is to the heart of what makes one human. Roosevelt’s (Rosie’s) journey there is originally to escape the pain of a (very) bad relationship, and his best friends, freewheeling Deuce and strait-laced Izzy, are on a mission is to find and return Rosie to Canada. Of course, best laid plans do often go awry, but in this case, detours and derailments lead to better things for all involved, albeit each of these three has to walk through his own kind of fire to attain them.
The structure of this book is complex but like the fractal geometric patterns that so captivate Vanessa, another seeker arriving in Iquitos whose story weaves in with that of the three main characters, it has a clarity and symmetry that makes for a satisfying conclusion. Flashbacks of what brought Rosie to Iquitos are like pieces in a mosaic that, by the final page, create a clear snapshot of Rosie’s emotional journey that started well before the beginning of the book. As the story progresses, the teeming chaos of Iquitos and of these characters’ lives doesn’t really sort itself out so much as provide the travelers with tools to navigate this world a little better the next day than the day before.
In Iquitos, resistance to the flow of life is futile, and if there’s one thing Rosie has learned and the others will eventually, the best one can do is go with it and stop trying to make sense of everything.
It’s only through Rosie’s resignation to making all the pieces fit: his past, present and what the future holds, that he finds the way back to himself. The disparate shards of his recent past start to fall away when he meets Vanessa, and the slights, questions and betrayals that hang between Izzy and the Deuce come to a head even as they briefly celebrate a mission accomplished by finding Rosie before turning back for the more than 5000-mile return trip home.
The portal ringed by fire, guarded by dragons of memory through which each must pass (FYI, this isn’t a fantasy; just figurative language here, nonetheless apt) is the experience that awaits them all deep in the Amazon jungle when they take part in an ayahuasca ceremony. To say that one “trips” on this drug, or very intense plant-based substance, doesn’t do it justice. Its effects on the mind and body are as spectacular as they are terrifying, and it is not an experience to be taken lightly. Having already transported us to an unfamiliar place, McCallum does us one better by transporting us though the violent pyrotechnics produced by the individual experiences of Rosie, Deuce, Izzy and Vanessa in the throes of ayahuasca so that, like them, we emerge whole but not unsinged. This book contains indelible images, but one phrase that still echoes in my mind is that of being “pulled under,” as when members of the group are most firmly in the clutches, or embrace, of ayahuasca tea, and which that is can change moment to moment.
McCallum’s insider knowledge of this remote location imbues the fictional narrative with documentary realism, making it a different kind of novel, one that deserves a special place on the shelf with others containing mystical wisdom, along with the geography of the continent to our south, and that of the heart.
Review: Two Novels by Duvay Knox--The Soul Collector and The Pussy Detective
Writer Duvay Knox demonstrates how great storytelling can both honor and explode literary tradition in his debut novel The Soul Collector (Creative Onion Press) and in his latest, The Pussy Detective (Clash Books). Both incorporate fully and to the bone, the language of street vernacular and the power of the image, with laser-sharp poetic precision. Magical realism is woven seamlessly into everyday life in modern “Amerikkka” through Knox’s trademark style, minimalist and authentic, which makes make both of these innovative works of fiction fast-paced, satisfying reads.
In The Soul Collector: As Told by that Nigga Death, Death (formerly known as Sippian when he was a living human), moves through hell, establishing himself as a player in those infernal corporate offices that echo with the atmosphere of an abandoned downtown office building. His mentor, Mr. Otis, manifests as a middle-aged streetwise guy with a sharp wit and the uncanny ability to produce a Kool cigarette or a frosty mug of beer out of thin air. Even with Death’s keen awareness and ability to read others, including how they might react when given their two-week final notice, he’s philosophical and questioning. When Mr. Otis tells him, “…We gone upgrade you some mo to sumpen you mite not be ready for. So we gotta make sho you ready for it,” Death replies, “Im ready for anything. Cuz that last case put sumpen on mah mind and made me see visions of this game I aint know about.”
Far from an unfeeling entity, cold as the blade he figuratively wields, Death possesses sufficient memory of his own earthly existence to feel pity, an attribute that he seeks not to lose, but manage. His capacity for hope, and concern for the greater good, occasionally give this ace reaper pause, like a hit-man burdened with a conscience.
The title character of The Pussy Detective, Reverend Daddy Hoodoo, emerges from the classic detective mold then smashes it to bits, redefining the phrase “private dick” on a natural, supernatural and cosmic level. The Pussy Detective blends the cinematic antecedents of 1970’s detective shows and the best of blaxploitation together with folkloric tradition and respect for the limits of magic into a surreal twenty-first century mystery. Reverend Daddy Hoodoo’s specialty is helping women find their lost pussies, or more accurately, the lost essence of their pussy, which, in the case of his newest client Abyssinia, seems to include a loss of self and direction as well.
Along with his partner (in more ways than one), Madame X, the Reverend assesses the deepest needs of his clients, guiding them through intricate rituals not for his own fulfillment, but to help them reclaim the part of themselves that was lost, often through contact with those who would take them for granted or exploit them. Rev. Daddy seeks to restore, with much preparation and soul-searching involved. He’s an old-school detective for the New Age, as comfortable cruising over to “go see Sonja’s fine, troublesome ass about …customized GANJA,” as he is navigating the frontiers of consciousness. He’s astutely observant, equipped with a well-developed bullshit detector: ear to the ground, back against the wall, and does not suffer fools.
Knox’s innovative use of language has an addictive effect, and both The Soul Collector and The Pussy Detective have gripping plots, and sharply drawn characters. These works are hip in the OG sense of the word, and to engage with the first-person narration in each book is to be taken on an extraordinary journey with a protagonist in possession of his own superpower. So, get “Suited and Booted,” as Reverend Daddy Hoodoo would say, and prepare for a hell of a ride!
Excerpt from POSER now up at Deep South Magazine!
An excerpt from my novel (first in a series, ) POSER, submitted for Deep South’s call for pieces on the theme of “Separation” is now up! Click here to find it.
It's an Ending--and a Beginning
Finished POSER New Year’s Eve and now doing a final edit—well, not final—but enough to keep going forward, getting it into the best shape it can be (#journey, # process!). I spent most of 2020 on this project and little else, but now I’ll be back at the blog more frequently—at least once a week— and I have a new “Fretville” ready to post soon! Happy belated New Year and all best to you on YOUR writing/ reading/ whatever-project-makes-you-most-happy goals!
Editing at Last!
I haven’t posted in a while because I’ve been so obsessed with completing a rough draft and now I have it—a rough draft! So I’ll be posting more here much more frequently as I continue in the writing process.
As for the title of this post, perhaps I say ”Editing at last!” with such joy, not because I think I’m anywhere near finished with my novel, but because I feel that I’m taking another step forward in the process—That’s why it’s a joyful thing to me! I have quite a long way to go, but as they: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” And the closer one gets to one’s goal—the more steps one wants to take.