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The Elementals – A Rapid Review

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BOOK | FICTION | HORROR
THE ELEMENTALS
BY MICHAEL MCDOWELL
RATING: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

As they used to say back in my navy days regarding the structure of military correspondence: always put the bottom line first…

So, in harking back to days long past, I’ll (kind of) begin this non-military correspondence with the proverbial bottom line…

BOTTOM LINE >> THE ELEMENTALS just may be my favorite horror novel of all time.

 
 

I’m not ready yet to call McDowell’s wonderfully written Southern Gothic horror the favorite because there are a few other wonderfully written horror novels that are also in the running, one or two of which I hope to review in rapid fashion here one of these days.

But what puts THE ELEMENTALS in the running for being the best of the best is, not so much that it is scary — when you’re as old as I am and have been through as much BS as I’ve been through, you’ll find that words on a page, regardless how well written and who writes them, no longer have the ability to scare… and that’s unfortunate — but that it is powerfully descriptive.

I was overwhelmed with its haunting descriptions so completely and cast within its magical spell of verisimilitude so deeply, that it really seemed as if I could feel the oppressive Alabama Gulf Coast heat, or as if the constant glare off the steaming hot white sand was really blinding my eyes, or as if the aged Victorian beach houses were really being overcome by the creeping and creepy dunes… all of which stayed with me long after I finished reading the masterpiece.

Man*, I really, REALLY, love books that do me like that…

I only wish it would happen more often.

*Non-gender specific

Harrowed Insight

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I was inspired to write my first novel Inside the Skin (formerly The Sea Trials of an Unfortunate Sailor) by life experiences I earned back in the late ’90s, early ’00s while working as a navy Equal Opportunity specialist, experiences the focus of which centered around the harassment, abuse, injury, and sometimes sadly even death as a result of the hatred for and confusion of the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy which had recently been implemented throughout the military.

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Unprogrammable Me

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I began writing The Good Kill in July of 2017 and worked on it just about every day in some capacity until March 31 when I completed the manuscript at last and in a rush rushed right out to the UPS Store (I am not sponsored by or own stock in the UPS Store, it’s just that it’s like twenty minutes closer than Staples, of which I am not sponsored by or own stock in) to get three copies of the masterly work of art (as regarded solely by yours truly at this point) printed out in a rush and then rushed two of them out to my editors who are AKA my worldly-wise and well-read and spirited sister and her dashing husband – yeah, dashing as in he’s pretty studly, but mostly dashing as in he’s continually dashing off after my worldly-wise and well-read and spirited sister as she leads them on yet another global adventure — and then rushed right back home where I sat and admired and stroked lovingly for hours and hours the third copy of the manuscript.

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THE GOOD KILL – A Storyline Checklist

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    • Battle weary Navy SEAL    ✓
    • Fearless, kickass women    ✓
    • Corrupt corporate moguls    ✓
    • Conniving Russian agents    ✓
    • Ruthless ISIS terrorists    ✓
    • Cold-hearted pimps    ✓
    • Low-life sex traffickers    ✓
    • Evil henchmen    ✓
    • Traitorous scum    ✓
    • Dark Web hackers    ✓
    • Cool cars    ✓
    • Luxurious yachts    ✓
    • High-speed chases    ✓
    • Heartless violence    ✓
    • Brutal redemption    ✓
    • Love    ✓
    • Romance    ✓
    • Kittens        

#mysteries #suspense #thrillers

It’s Deja Vu All Over Again: TREE OF SMOKE by Denis Johnson, a Review (of sorts)

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As I sit and watch the surreal press conference between Trump and Putin after their so-called historic summit, where, after recently treating our allies like dog shit, Trump behaves like a sycophantic lapdog to a murderous dictator who wants nothing more than to destroy and subjugate the U.S. of America in retribution for how the U.S. of America destroyed and subjugated his beloved U.S.S.R., I am reminded of how I felt, or better yet, how my fuzzy, nightmarish memories leave me feeling from the surreal and tumultuous times in the U.S. of America during the late-Sixties through the mid-Seventies, you know, the era of national madness beginning with the Tet Offensive through the Watergate break-ins and subsequent hearings to Nixon’s humiliating yet palliative resignation and ending with America’s humiliating yet palliative retreat from South Vietnam.

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The Lullaby Effect of Carter & Lovecraft versus When Nietzsche Wept

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I’m only a so-so fan of HP Lovecraft. I guess I’ve read as much of him as I have more out of a sense of allegiance to the horror genre than a sense of loyalty to his literary acuity.

Which is why I was somewhat surprised when I found myself selecting Jonathan L. Howard’s CARTER & LOVECRAFT the other night when cruising my Overdrive app looking for an audiobook fix for which to fall asleep to…

Which, to me, is the primary purpose of audiobooks – literary lullabies.

And most of the audiobooks I listen to do a great job of it.

In fact, they do such a great job of it that most audiobooks I listen to, I don’t finish because each night I always have to go back to the last point in the book I can remember before drifting off to sleep the night before, which is, more often than not, only a minute or two after I started listening.

And the books I do manage to get through before the loan ends I often only remember in sketchy patches…

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Now that I’ve the Time

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A couple days ago, I wrote a painfully long post called The Irrepressible Nature of Irony.

I mean, dude*, it is a massive monster of a missive.

I mean, wow.

Anyway, as a mea culpa, of sorts, for torturing you with such interminablely tedious twaddle, I left a footnote that reads:

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Don’t be a Doormat

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I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat. ― Rebecca West

#notetoself
#timesup