This abandoned car is oh, I don’t know, maybe a half mile or so from my humble yet lovely abode and it’s been parked right there for as long as I’ve lived in my said humble yet lovely abode, which has been oh, I don’t know, maybe eighteen years or so.
Every time I pass the beautiful, wabi-sabi of a relic on one of my walks, I always think to myself, I bet there’s a heck of story to go along with that thing…
And I also always tell myself that one of these days Ima gonna write my own story about it.
So, it’s kind of becoming a thing for me to head straight to the WordPress reader after publishing a new post to do a search on whatever it is I have just posted about so I can see what others have written about it.
I like to do this especially after posting reviews since I don’t like to read other reviews regarding whatever it is I’m reviewing prior to writing the review…
First I did a search on the title and pretty much came back with zippo, except for my review.
Then I did one on Jack Kerouac and a ton of stuff came back on him of course, but nothing regarding the book I just reviewed.
Next came the search for William S. Burroughs.
I found nothing on his relationship with the book, as expected, but I found a whole slew of information about him that I didn’t no otherwise, which was easy because I really didn’t know much about him except that he was an OG Beat, the author of Naked Lunch, a junkie, and a murder.
Quite the portfolio of virtues, no?
So I had fun reading up on him for a while.
But then, all of a sudden, I scrolled upon a post by Zé Burns entitled How I Discovered Bizarro Fiction, and which I have reblogged here (way) down below for your entertainment and instruction…
And a whole new world opened up to me.
I cannot believe I have never heard of Bizarro Fiction before.
After reading Ze’ informative and highly interesting article about how he got turned on to the genre and where he trumpets the virtue of one bizarro writer in particular — Danger Slater, whose book now adorns my Want to Read list — I spent the next several hours digging deeper and deeper into the subject as a result.
What a ride that was.
Here are some description of the genre direct from Bizarro Central:
Bizarro is like:
Franz Kafka meets John Waters
Dr. Suess of the post-apocalypse
Takashi Miike meets William S. Burroughs
Alice in Wonderland for adults
Japanese animation directed by David Lynch
So, to be honest (Now, I’m not saying that I haven’t been honest up to the point… or am I?), I don’t really think the genre is for me.
I mean, I like the idea of it…
Just like I like the idea of low-grade cult movies, which is another comparison of bizarro fiction I found…
But I never, ever watch cult movies.
At least not any more.
Which takes me to where yesterday’s adventure eventually ended up.
When I was a kid growing up in Ashtabula, a lake-front town an hour or so east of Cleveland, there were some pretty bizarre dudes on TV back in the 70s and early 80s that would “perform” severely bizarre/warped skits interspersed and sometimes overlapping with seriously low-grade cultish movies, and/or Three Stooges skits, and/or cartoons.
These bizarre dude were Hoolihan & Big Chuck, The Ghoul, and Superhost… and their sole purpose in life was to lovingly pollute the hearts and minds of every adolescent in the Greater Cleveland area.
And they did.
At least they did of yours truly.
Poor Froggy never had it easy…
But that was long, long ago and I have long since pretty much turned up my nose to such bizarre, cultish entertainment…
And I expect I may end up doing the same with bizarro fiction.
I didn’t know it at the time when I read Brian Evenson’s Last Days [about] that he is regarded as a bizarro author (at least he is included in the long list of them on Bizarro Central’s website).
As you can tell by my review, I didn’t think too highly of his work…
Not because of its highly bizarre, cultish story (it really is a story about bizarre cults)…
But because it was poorly executed in my opinion, one which, as evidenced by the high praise it receives from others elsewhere, seems to be in the minority.
But who knows…
Maybe I’ll like Danger Slater’s work better.
In Zé’s interesting and informative post, of which I reblogged here down below for your entertainment and instruction, hé highly recommends Slater’s HE DIGS A WHOLE [about].
But I’ll probably start off with his novella ROADVOLUTION [about] since its available with Kindle Unlimited.
Hey, I’m not cheap…
I’m cost conscious.
Anyway, I’ll report back to you after I finish the read.
I promise…
🤞
TL;DR: There’s a thing called Bizarro Fiction. I may or may not like it.
BOOK | FICTION | LITERARY AND THE HIPPOS WERE BOILED IN THEIR TANKS BY JACK KEROUAC AND WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS FORMAT: AUDIOBOOK RATING: ★ ★ ★
In the summer of 1944, a shocking murder rocked the fledgling Beats. William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac, both still unknown, we inspired by the crime to collaborate on a novel, a hard-boiled tale of bohemian New York during World War II, full of drugs and art, obsession and brutality, with scenes and characters drawn from their own lives. Finally published after more than sixty years, this is a captivating read, and incomparable literary artifact, and a window into the lives and art of two of the twentieth century’s most influential writers.
Book description, grammar errors and all, as found at Amazon
BOOK | FICTION | LITERARY
THE CONTORTIONIST’S HANDBOOK
BY CRAIG CLEVENGER
FORMAT: AUDIOBOOK
RATING: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
This is the book’s description, as diminutive as it may be, and as it may be found on its Amazon page…
John Dolan Vincent, a forger who suffers from migraine headaches and mental illness, invents a new identity for himself in order to be released from a mental hospital and build a new life.
And this is my review of the book, as diminutive as it may be, and as it may be found as follows (huh?)…
Subsequent to this seemingly short-sighted review, I was at least long-sighted enough to read more of Evenson’s work and happily I have found him to be one of the most interesting and smart and original voices writing today. Obviously I need to re-read Last Days because, obviously, the fault in its failure to successfully entertain me seems to lie with me and not Evenson.
However, until I do re-read the work, the original impression I have of it remains, so, so too shall the following review with its original two stars. – June, 2024
BOOK | FICTION | HORROR LAST DAYS BY BRIAN EVENSON RATING: ★ ★
I had been looking hard for a killer horror noir novel ever since reading FALLING ANGEL by William Hjortsberg, a stellar benchmark of the sub-genre that is in close competition for greatness with ANGEL HEART, its movie adaptation starring Mickey Rourke.
I eventually came across a couple of pretty good lists of horror noir books and found that LAST DAYS was high on both of them.
And then when I began reading Peter Straub’s introduction for it there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was going to be the absolutely best horror noir book I had ever read.
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…
Night Film by Marisha Pessl is a haunting mystery with a complex, engrossing story and complex, intriguing characters, especially Stanislas Cordova, a creepy, reclusive cultish film director who I wish to the literary gods was a real person.
Anyway, as happens with my other such favorite influential authors — Kafka, Vonnegut, Melville, Hemingway, London, Conrad… (I know, I know. This list is very male and very white… I’m working on that. I promise.) — I, like clockwork, begin jonesin’ for a Camus fix at least once a year.
Right now I’m in the midst of satisfying my most recent Camus craving by plowing through several of my perennial favorites of his — The Stranger, The Plague, and The Fall.
However, yesterday I began reading for the first time a short story collection of his called Exile and the Kingdom, and I’m saddened and a bit embarrassed to report to you that, after three stories in, I really don’t have a clue what’s going on in any of them. They, after the first read, just don’t make any sense to me. Hopefully they will after subsequent reads.
