The relative lack of decent genre fiction in the past couple of yearsis something of a puzzle--other than a few diverting titles in sf (Blaylock, Gibson/Sterling, Shiner) and the last James Ellroy book (okay, it's not really a "genre piece"), it seems like all the good science fiction and mysteries I read came out a handful of years ago... although, admittedly, the books that pass through my hands these days are not very numerous by any measure. What this all has to do with a piece of pulp fiction written in '62 is anybody's guess (flipping back through this a year after I first read it, though, it comes to mind how few books I've actually enjoyed recently the way I enjoyed this).

Unlike some books of this ilk (Paul Cain's A Fast One, for instance) this never descends into such a clipped style that I just wanna go read a newspaper or something, nor do I get the impression that there's any "great art" trying to be created here. What you get is simple, photographic prose, from the showstopping beginning all the way to the pulpish EC Comics "I'll be back" surprise ending.

And although Florida as a literary setting creates excessive cringing in this house (due to my unfortunate perusal of Carl Hiassen's thoroughly shitty Double Whammy), Marlowe's descriptions of backwoods criminal excess and larceny is as flatulently fascinating as a bursting bubble of swamp gas. What we also get is a peculiarly American travelogue of disillusion, meaningless and arbitrary justice, endless mediocrity, boredom--and (natch) booze, broads and small, unmarked bills. Through flashbacks, we get the archetypal story--the loner (Earl Drake) who don't take no shit from no one, disgusted with "normal" interrelations between economics, politics, and law enforcement (i.e., bribery, brutality, and conformity) turns to the black and white (in this book, anyway) morality of nomadic bank-robbery. Avenge your friends and fuck your enemies. Our hero winds up in Florida after a botched bank job, looking for the take his partner took off with, only to find his partner dead and the local cops with very fat pockets. There aren't any surprise turns in the way everyone gets theirs in the end--this is, after all, the pulps. But as a modern morality play, you could do a lot worse. --T.C.

(first appeared in Reign of Toads #3)

Designed specifically to offend and outrage even the most jaded sensibilities,this (pre-Itchy & Scratchy) reworking of the archetypal Tom & Jerry conflict insplatter movie/hardcore pornography terms is sexist, nauseating,and overstuffed with incident, but that's kind of the point. After a series of standard cartoon cat-and-mouse escapades, the title character is caught and messily devoured by his nemesis--a humorous shockwhich is repeatedly topped by subsequent events. The Mouse, you see, returns (and returns and returns) as an unstoppable revenant who delights in disrupting The Cat's explicit sex scenes with bright, colorful carnage. The entire story is wordless, relying on cinematic sequences to recreate the cartoon-short atmosphere which is merrily blasphemedand turned on ear (not really satire, but effective nonetheless). My favorite detail is a cameo by the Tex Avery wolf, who waits patiently at a phone booth, question mark floating near his head, and listening to the odd sounds that result as the three "Charmettes" havetheir orgy interrupted by the carnographic vengeance of Squeak theMouse. The original shipment of this book was seized by US Customsand brought to trial on charges that it was obscene. The jury decidedit wasn't, but I think they were wrong. --K.S.

(first appeared in Reign of Toads #3)

Volume One of a Trilogy: "The Dancers at the End of Time"

A highly colorful and evolved Earthly society is well along its way towards some utopia. Hedonism, habits and friendships are an elaborate game, each player trying to upstage and co-opt the others. It becomes not the actual playing of the game--but rather the bizarre social and sexual strategies behind this elaborate lifestyle--which the players enjoy most. In this advanced society, nothing is needed except enjoyment... and perhaps some roots in the past. Enter Jherek Carnelian--the beloved but oddly pensive young man who, unlike his contemporaries, is enthralled with history. This consuming hobby provides fuel for the social tête-à-tête but ultimately Jherek encounters alien and dangerous waters: love, the past, the power of commitment and connection with another human being. (Moorcock tips his hat to his cohorts in the sci-fi-heavy-metal band Hawkwind via the novel's dedication.) --A.R.

(review date: 5/17/97)

last update 7/30/97


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