Returning to his popular hitman character, Max Allan Collins provides the sixth and perhaps final Quarry adventure in THE LAST QUARRY. And with this being Hard Case Crime’s zippiest and most effortless read yet (and sporting the sexiest cover, no less), I now I have another whole series to investigate, dammit.

Don’t take “effortless” to mean “worthless,” because the thin novel is rippling with brutal violence and surprising sexuality. Essentially retired from the hired-hit game, Quarry lives quiet at an isolated Minnesota resort lodge, which he takes care of for the owners during off-season. Trouble comes back to his idyllic life when, during a late-night trip to a convenience store, Quarry sees a former client buying snacks and Tampax. Because this acquaintance is gay, Quarry wonders what use he could have for feminine hygiene products, and tails him to a cabin, where he finds his answer in the form of a kidnapped woman being held for ransom.

Quarry saves the day, but demands the ransom anyway for the hell of it. The girl’s father is a Ted Turner-esque media magnate named Jonah Green, who soon offers Quarry a job: eliminating Janet Wright, a hot young librarian with an abusive boyfriend. Because a quarter of a million dollars beats a 401K any day, he takes it. Thus begins an episode of surveillance, revenge, passion, double-crossings and more revenge. A lot is packed into under 200 pages, and I savored every turn.

With thought-out plotting and biting wit (one woman wears jeans so tight “she wouldn’t have to remove when she next went to the gynecologist”), Collins makes it look all so simple. But that’s part of the gambit, and we surrender to his machinations through each well-timed twist. With verve and economy, Collins writes like many of his old-school idols, and when his work is as strong as this, deserves to stand alongside them. He’s an underrated author who pumps out some real gems; with THE LAST QUARRY, it’s damn time you took notice. –Rod Lott

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“Her confusion didn’t leave, but she began to smile, wide, a kid Christmas morning, seeing her gifts. Her gift to me was dropping the blankets and sheets to her waist. The cute cupcake breasts had pierced nipples with rings, like beer cans waiting to be opened. … She was a beautiful piece of ass, no question, and even with those rings in them, the titties were as cute as puppy dogs.”

OTHER BOOKGASM REVIEWS OF THESE AUTHORS:
• THE WAR OF THE WORLDS MURDER by Max Allan Collins

Like most folks, I hate lawyers. F. Lee Bailey? Scum! Johnnie Cochran? Glad he’s gone. When Enron defense attorney Michael Ramsey was hospitalized earlier this year for a blockage of his carotid artery, I was rooting for the blockage. I’m a fan of prosecutors who lock up bad guys, but the rest of ‘em can go to hell. The cover of ANONYMOUS LAWYER appropriately shows an attorney with devil horns mounted atop his head.

Jeremy Blachman has created another despicable attorney for me to hate. The anonymous lawyer of his novel is a pompous and bigoted hiring partner in a corporate law firm. He is all about making money, exerting his power and advancing his career. Nothing else.

Anonymous admits his deficiencies by saying, “There are a lot of things I’m terrible at, like being a human being.” Among the people on his shit list are fat people, “service providers” and his wife and kids. He especially despises anyone in his firm who hasn’t yet made partner, as he views them as second-class citizens. The only person he seems to have an affinity for is his niece, and that’s only because she’s attending Yale’s law school. He also disdains chain restaurants in favor of more exotic cuisine. In describing Applebee’s, he states, “I ate there once. There is no part of a pig called a riblet.”

With no real friends or confidants, Anonymous finds an outlet for venting his pent-up feelings by setting up an online blog, on which he writes about his job and the internal workings of the firm. In fact, the entire book is written as a series of blog entries and e-mails. While it was a clever idea for Blachman to present the narrative in this fashion, it isn’t original; Lucy Kellaway’s WHO MOVED MY BLACKBERRY?, released this spring, is written as a series of emails.

Due to his bitching and moaning about the goings on of his firm and co-workers, revealing his true identity would most certainly jeopardize his career and his dream of one day being named chairman of the firm. He laments the fact that summer interns always seem to have high ideals of saving the world and doing virtuous pro bono work. “Give me a little time and I’ll squeeze that ‘helping people’ crap right out of you,” he tells them.

One of the most revealing posts discusses the fact that when a female attorney gets pregnant, her number of billable hours decreases, reducing the firm’s profitability. Therefore, the clinic in the basement that quells the pesky problem is viewed simply as a fiscal responsibility and seems to present no ethical issues for him or the firm. The blog entries are peppered with ultra-contemporary references to DEAL OR NO DEAL, FAMILY GUY and Sudoku puzzles, which were fun but I fear will be woefully outdated in six months.

In an attempt to keep his identity a secret, Anonymous takes creative license with certain details on his blog. He sometimes lies outright to show himself in a more favorable light to his readers, many of whom are law students referred to the blog by his niece. He refers to co-workers and colleagues not by name but by descriptive attributes. Among them are The Suck-Up, Harvard Guy, The Girl Who Dresses Like a Slut and The Word Processing Guy Who Used to Be Under House Arrest. Oh, and there’s The Jerk, Anonymous’ arch rival and chief competition for chairmanship.

The blog becomes increasingly popular and Anonymous becomes even more concerned that a co-worker might discover his true identity, and the inevitable happens when a couple of them do. The book’s thin plot suddenly thickens as Anonymous tries to avoid being outted as the blogster while at the same time politicking, plotting and scheming to be appointed to the newly vacated chairman position.

A testament to Blachman’s ability as a writer is the fact that even though I hated Anonymous and everything he stands for, in a weird kind of way I wanted him to succeed and have the happy ending. ANONYMOUS LAWYER has a crafty conclusion that made me smile. I’ll admit I didn’t “get” it right off the bat, but a quick e-mail to the author remedied this. (The fact that I didn’t immediately understand the ending should not be considered a reflection on Blachman, but instead is proof of my occasional dimwittedness.) The storyline was a bit slow in taking off, but once it did, I was drawn into it and stayed hooked until the end.

The book is supplemented with a very entertaining blog at www.anonymouslawyer.blogspot.com (on which the book is based) and the fictional firm’s very funny web site at www.anonymouslawfirm.com. –Ken Davis

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Though I’ve never read the original novel or seen the subsequent film, the comics adaptation of F. PAUL WILSON’S THE KEEP makes me want to. Because if either captures half the atmosphere and sense of dread present in this five-issue miniseries, the experience would be well worth it.

Scripted by Wilson himself with art by Matthew Smith, THE KEEP is the story of a foreboding, castle-like fortress in the Transylvania mountains. During World War II, German soldiers run across it, mess with it and, as a result, die by it. Each night, a sinister force within the structure’s bricked walls summarily beheads one of the troops. Ironically, they are forced to consult a Jewish professor to help unravel its mysteries and save what’s left of their hides.

For the first two issues, we’re kept in the dark about most of those mysteries, making for an entirely intriguing and suspenseful read. Once the cat is let out of the bag (metaphorically speaking, of course – you don’t think the monster would be a cat, would you?), the narrative downshifts a little, but leaves other threads dangling to be wrapped up in the finale. As strong as this story is, Smith’s art really sells it. Minimalist and stark, drawn with lots of shadows, his work is pitch-perfect, emboldened by an unusual color scheme that is limited purposely to black and blue, except for the occasional scene involving blood, in which the red ink is rightly spilled.

My love for Wilson continues unabated. His foreword explains both why he agreed to tackle a project he really didn’t have the time for and why he so detests the Michael Mann version of his novel. Here’s hoping we’ll see more of Wilson’s work properly adapted to film and comics in the future. –Rod Lott

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I knew this would happen.

As soon as Ryun Patterson jokingly mentioned looking for nude Charo photos in a recent installment of his FRIDAY AFTERNOON REGASM, I knew it would only result in it showing up on our monthly roundup of search terms that bring surfers, lurkers and perverts to our site. But I didn’t expect 157 of those surfers, lurkers and perverts to have such a thing for Medicare-eligible coochie-coochie.

Oh, well – at least a couple of you (literally, a couple, if you scroll to the bottom) remain interested in books. And two for “fun breasts,” as if there are breasts that aren’t. Without further ado, the full results for July…

199 uschi digard
140 charo nude
104 evangeline lilly nude
63 bookgasm
57 jessica biel nude
53 evangeline lilly naked
24 jessica biel naked
24 mimi rogers
20 sexy movies
19 michael c hall
18 james frey
17 mimi rogers breasts
17 charo naked
15 kristin chenoweth nude
14 scary movies
10 devil’s rejects
9 dean koontz frankenstein book three
9 mimi rogers nude
4 kristin chenoweth naked
4 nude jessica biel
3 horror books
3 godzilla
2 jimmock
2 fun breasts
2 the dark tower
2 don’t open this book

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Our end-o’-week roundup of what you missed while working for The Man!

Welcome to the special Sunday-afternoon hangover edition of your FRIDAY AFTERNOON REGASM. I have to admit, with our editor Rod vacationing in Hotlanta, I was a little bit leery about skipping the normal Friday afternoon thing. Could I still be hilarious on a Sunday? Would the Sabbath have an effect on my savoir faire Thankfully the answers are, respectively, yes and no. My funnybone is intact and my savoir faire is everywhere*. Now there was a literal crapload of content last week, so we’d best get crackin’.

MONDAY >> 7.24.06
Last week began on a newsy note: The NEWSGASM reporting team had a bunch of bits and bites for us, including cool new DC Comics stamps, the U.S. release of NIGHT WATCH (finally), a short story collection for JONATHAN STRANGE fans, and some intriguing announcements from the Hard Case Crime folks, whom we love.

Mark Rose ushered in last week’s excellent crop of book reviews with a look at DEAD WRONG by J.A. Jance. (With a title like that, do you really have to write “A Novel of Suspense” at the bottom of the cover? Really?) This is apparently the 12th book in a series that is extremely popular despite my never having heard of it. Rose found everything all too color-by-numbers, however, and although he dismisses this criticism as “nitpicky,” I wouldn’t cast his aspersions aside that easily.

Rebecca Brock stepped into the fray as well Monday, calling the plot of THE BETRAYED by David Hosp “simplistic and hopelessly muddled.” Now, I’ve been called that before, and it’s not a good thing. It seems that the book lacks a spark, and it prompted a variety of unfavorable noises from Ms. Brock. That’s not good, people.

In Monday’s fourth (count ‘em, fourth!) piece of juicy content, Bruce Grossman let us in on a little secret: The book 54 by the Italian pseudonymous authorial collective (pretentious enough for you?) known as Wu Ming is a piece of crap. Now I know why I don’t like Mondays: That’s where all the crappy books are.

TUESDAY >> 7.25.06
Mark Rose gave it up for one of the masters of suspense Tuesday, praising Henry Slesar and his novel MURDER AT HEARTBREAK HOSPITAL, despite nagging-plot-hole hindsight. There are literally thousands of Henry Slesars out there in America right now: experts in their craft who are literally unknown by the rest of the world. Let’s raise our mimosae and toast the unknown authors of America!

Despite his jet-setting intercontinental responsibilities, Rod Lott got a word in edgewise Tuesday and rampaged over the rest of the week, starting with a look at FINDING ATLANTIS: A TRUE STORY OF GENIUS, MADNESS, AND AN EXTRAORDINARY QUEST FOR A LOST WORLD by David King. This book looks awesome, chronicling the life of a professor who ate, slept and peed Atlantis. If you’re going to be obsessed with something, pick something cool to be obsessed with.

In keeping with the BOOKGASM philosophy that we must pimp Paul Malmont’s THE CHINATOWN DEATH CLOUD PERIL at least once a week, Bruce Grossman’s BULLETS, BROADS, BLACKMAIL & BOMBS went back to the source with a look at a quartet of books by Walter Gibson and Lester Dent. As I’ve said before, I’ve read every one of the Bantam Doc Savage reissues at least once, along with all of the Avenger series and a decent amount of The Shadow paperbacks, and I’ve always been surprised that while James Bama nailed every single Doc Savage cover that he did, The Shadow gets no such consideration. Consider, for example, the covers of THE SPOOK LEGION (Doc Savage) and HIDDEN DEATH (The Shadow). Digressions aside, Grossman liked both of those books, along with THE CZAR OF FEAR and THE DEATH GIVER. Just one more note on these guys: While Doc Savage and The Shadow comics have varied widely in quality, Howard Chaykin’s Shadow miniseries and the 19-issue (non-Chaykin) ongoing series that followed is the best of the bunch. I’ve got the whole set, if anyone cares to come over and read them.

WEDNESDAY >> 7.26.06
Speaking of comics, Rod Lott was all over the seventh FABLES collection, ARABIAN NIGHTS (AND DAYS). I love the general premise of FABLES, proving once again that good writing and good ideas are still hanging around in comics despite the industry’s ongoing efforts to the contrary.

Lott was less effusive in his review of PUZZLEMAN by Christopher Alan Broadstone. It seems that describing a scent as “cum-fishy” is a bit over the line. Memo to Broadstone: Yes it is, and please don’t say it again. I get it, but you missed the boat on the whole splatterpunk thing. I got over that in junior high.

THURSDAY >> 7.27.06
Interesting factoid: My wife, who is a foreigner (that is, not American) and thereby strange, hates worms. She’s as afraid of worms as I am of the “literary fiction” shelf. Thus, I must buy THE CONQUEROR WORMS by Brian Keene and read it aloud at every opportunity. As Rod Lott wrote in his review, it might not be the pinnacle of horror fiction, but what other worm invasion book is better? Anyone?

There will never be a trade paperback for WESTERN TALES OF TERROR, and that’s just one of the reasons why we think they’re so fucking awesome. This comic never sacrificed its ideals for commercial profit, thereby ensuring its demise. Savor the indie goodness while you can, because I doubt they printed a ton of them.

FRIDAY >> 7.28.06
We don’t run many really negative reviews here on BOOKGASM, mostly because we’re really choosy about what we review. Anyone who’s ever written one can tell you that bad reviews are the slam dunk of the critical world, but we’d rather only read books that we like. It’s a surprise, then, that we were had by so many books last week that we didn’t like. But why should Friday’s review be any diferent? Rod Lott was genuinely dismayed by the lack of quality contained in HORROR: THE BEST OF THE YEAR 2006 EDITION. With the exception of stories by Joe Hill and Clive Barker, Lott found the stories within to range from just okay to terrible. That’s too bad, because horror needs all the help it can get, and these big anthologies are important gateways for readers.

That’s it, folks. I have a ton of chores posted on my refrigerator for me to do today, and “I’m writing the weekly roundup” is not considered a valid excuse from chores in my house. See you later. –Ryun Patterson

*Too much setup for an obscure joke? Probably.

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After unfortunate delays, the anthology HORROR: THE BEST OF THE YEAR 2006 EDITION is finally available. Even with curbed expectations, I had to ask upon completion, “That was the best you could find?”

With two notable exceptions, the stories here most cover a narrow range from marginal to dreadful. And not dreadful in the “ooh, that was spooky” way, but “ugh, that was terrible.” Right off the bat, let’s just let Joe Hill and Clive Barker off the hook. No need to sweat it out over the commercial break, fellas, because you two are safe.

Hill – who I didn’t know until recently is the son of Stephen King – writes about “The Cape,” a well-worn blanket which inexplicably gives a boy the power of flight. He never becomes a superhero, but certainly struggles; it plays like the flipside to UNBREAKABLE, with a most disturbing ending. It comes from his short-story collection 20TH CENTURY GHOSTS, which has been garnering raves and now I can see why. Meanwhile, Barker’s “Haeckel’s Tale” shocked me yet again – we covered it last fall as part of the DARK DELICACIES anthology – so its inclusion is certainly merited.

Then there’s another level of stories that are merely okay. Into this category fall the likes of Joe R. Lansdale, Simon Owens and Nicholas Royle, who write about murder, grief and hauntings, respectively. Richard Bowes’ “There’s a Hole in the City” is a moving but clunky examination of New York life in the days after 9/11 … but is it horror? I don’t think so.

And then there are the tales that seem like they stemmed from a fiction writing class, on the day the professor assigned them to try something experimental and eschew plot and lucidity in favor of wowing the reader with pretentious sentences. Too many of the book’s 17 contributors stumble into this group, so there’s no need to name names. A few make so little sense, the only thing scary about them is that they were ever considered horror in the first place.

Needless to say at this point, I’m disappointed in John Betancourt and Sean Wallace’s inaugural edition. I read a ton of short horror fiction last year, and even most of the bad ones were better than a majority in this collection. It’s not that I want to see a volume of stories I’ve already read; far from it, I’d love to be exposed to new writers with whom I’m unfamiliar. But this edition dares me to pursue their works further. I still look forward to next January’s 2007 EDITION, in hopes the editors will get back to the scares and avoid the snores. –Rod Lott

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OTHER BOOKGASM REVIEWS OF THESE AUTHORS:
• THE ULTIMATE FRANKENSTEIN edited by Byron Preiss and John Gregory Betancourt

Hoarse & Buggy Productions’ WESTERN TALES OF TERROR title didn’t go over big in the comics marketplace, folding last year after just five issues. This should surprise no one considering the immediate commercial strikes against it, as it was a comic that was:
1) a Western;
2) horror;
3) an anthology;
4) an indie; and
5) in black and white.

Which is a real shame, because it prevented people from seeing how damned good it was. For anyone who harbors fond memories of DC’s WEIRD WESTERN TALES (or even EC’s trailblazing TALES FROM THE CRYPT), it comes highly recommended. It even has its own host, Dead Cowboy Pete – the Dry Gulch version of the Cryptkeeper – who introduces each issue and piece with grave warnings like, “This time we got some stories that’ll curl your arm hair and straighten your public hair. So sit back, relax, and put on your pissin’ pants, so’s you don’t ruin your church clothes. God hates a person what smells like piss.”

WESTERN TALES OF TERROR’s debut issue kicks off with your standard showdown story given a supernatural twist. There are also grim morality (or should that be mortality?) tales involving quicksand and an army deserter, before the title’s first series character is introduced: Hector Plasm. A creation of Benito Cereno and Nate Bellegarde, Plasm is a manga-haired gunfighter and swordsman who protects people from baddies of every dimension. Steve Niles – arguably the biggest name of the bunch – tells the revenge-minded “Reckon This” with his trademark black humor. And almost the entire latter half is consumed by the first of the three-part “Phineas’ Gold,” in which a deformed bank teller with a “pig hand” (think Chris Elliott in SCARY MOVIE 2) is on the run with a gang of robbers who filched his bank thanks to his inside knowledge. It’s a great setup for the chapters to come.

Issue #2 continues “Phineas’ Gold” – written by Joshua Hale Fialkov and Porter McDonald, with ace art from Scott A. Keating – with the gang encountering zombie injuns in a cave, and there’s another amusing Hector Plasm tale. You also get a saloon piano player who witnesses a gruesome slaughter, a gallows builder and a gold thief who has the unfortunate luck to run across a comely ghost and her giant ant-lions. And if you’ve been wondering why no stories have been centered around a whore-filled bordello yet, worry no more.

Issue #3 begins with “Ghosts of the Past,” which is more about mood and tone than horror and humor, and there’s nothing wrong with that every once in a while. But then it’s back to the usual mix of kidnappers, Bigfoot, vampire cowboys, monster hunters and barroom bloodshed, before “Phineas’ Gold” wraps up in an ever-appropriate double twist ending.

A new two-parter begins in WESTERN TALES OF TERROR #4: “The Mineshaft,” from Fialkov (also the series’ editor-in-chief, it should be noted) and artist Mark Dos Santos. It’s about a mining expedition for buried treasure that turns out to be guarded by a giant dragon. The shorter stories concern Native American ghosts out for revenge and a whore on her “job interview,” giving a trial run to a grotesque, rib-slurpin’ fat man. Special notice must be given to Stuart Moore and Jason Copland’s “Other Folks’ Trouble,” the finest piece out of the entire title’s run. Like an Old West take on the film GO, it follows six different townspeople – including the sheriff, the priest, the bartender and the hooker – as they bicker at one another over the course of one morning. Their stories intersect in strange and hilarious ways, and naturally things don’t end nicely, but you’ll have a ball even when the blood starts flowing.

Finally, the series closes with issue #5, with “The Mineshaft” wrapped up as the anti-hero battles the dragon and the Chinamen who serve as her guards. The other pieces involve a Confederate widow who doles out curses, frontier cannibalism, magic, wolfmen, gunfights and a poker game where the stakes are death. Niles also returns with “Gold Miners’ Slaughter,” a standard zombie tale amped up by Scott Mills’ unusual, quasi-Fisher Price style of drawing.

Whether taken separately or as a whole, WESTERN TALES OF TERROR’s five issues showcase a variety of art and solid storytelling from an array of indie talent. It’s all for fun, and fun’s all you get, so it’s a shame it couldn’t continue. I’ll admit I could have that fun much earlier during the title’s actual run, but I’m a wait-for-the-trade kinda guy. Unfortunately, H&B states there will never be a trade release; fortunately, they’ve made all five issues available at a nice discount, so I bit. Hard. Drew blood, too. –Rod Lott

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After a couple of well-received zombie novels, Brian Keene turns to an apocalypse of a different kind with THE CONQUEROR WORMS. It’s been raining non-stop for more than a month in the small town of Punkin’ Center, W. Va., where elderly widower Teddy Garnett lives a lonely life and raises cattle. One morning, he sees the early bird getting attacked by a worm, and then his carport is invaded by countless numbers of the slimy, slithering things. Then he sees far bigger holes burrowed by far bigger worms, big enough to eat people and collapse houses.

Meanwhile, over in Baltimore, the city has flooded to catastrophic proportions, forcing the lucky ones left to loot for their continued existence. We follow an intrepid band of survivors, a Rainbow Coalition mishmash that includes kids, gang members and an old coot by the name of Salty. When they’re not fucking or fighting one another, they find themselves up against an underwater menace that Salty swears is “a Kraken” and another claims is H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu. Eventually, this group crosses paths with Teddy and his townspeople, just in time for the us-vs.-it showdown.

In books like TERMINAL, Keene knows how to keep you turning those paperback pages. But THE CONQUEROR WORMS sounds more like an idea for a 1950s Saturday-morning matinee than a horror novel. That’s the biggest problem with the book: Worms aren’t scary. Even giant ones. The very concept carries a hint of self-parody, but Keene’s treatment is serious. His weakest point remains dialogue – I cringed at every “bro,” “dawg” and misguided, homespun analogy – but even with its faults, it remains intermittently entertaining. So while it’s not up there with his strongest works, it’s not to be automatically ignored. I stuck with it because there’s a certain novelty to a worm-invasion novel (seriously, how many of those have you read?) even if the entirety isn’t exactly satisfying. –Rod Lott

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OTHER BOOKGASM REVIEWS OF THIS AUTHOR:
• TERMINAL by Brian Keene

The PUZZLEMAN of Christopher Alan Broadstone’s debut novel is a hideously disfigured stranger, so named because his body parts don’t quite match up to one another. For instance, his eyes are different colors, one of his hands is a woman’s and his head is described as having the shape of a half-deflated basketball with one side kicked in. In short, Puzzleman – also going by the less snappy name of Conundrum – is not the sort of chap you want invading your dreams and scooping out your uterus.

So pity poor Amanda, a divorced sculptor still reeling from the SIDS death of her only child. She initially encounters the Puzzleman after buying a lone earring from a street vendor because the piece of jewelry is so unique: a globe millions of intercrossed wires that never looks the same twice and sometimes sparks. It also makes her sick – establishing vomit as a recurring theme – and leads her to strange episodes of drunken delusions.

Meanwhile, her ex-husband Erik lives in squalor in an underground tunnel, his legs freshly cut off. His only salvation is the occasional injection of heroin supplied by his old college history professor, the nearly retired John Rainbow. Through a bizarre set of circumstances, Amanda and Erik reunite and get thrown into Condundrum’s “pipeworld,” into which one enters via a giant sphincter. And so do the professor and his long-lost German love, who made love in a vat of grapes the day they met decades ago.

The moral of the story? Avoid street vendors; shop at Amazon.

Despite the book going overboard in the abhorrent-odor description department (with “cum-fishy” and “vaginal caviar” being among the most, um, imaginative repeat offenders) and having an over-reliance on internal monologues, I was with PUZZLEMAN for most of its ooey-gooey ride to the depths of hell. Through a vivid imagination, Broadstone has the ability to elicit uncomfortable reactions, and I wanted to see how all the story’s pieces fit together (if you’ll forgive the most obvious pun).

Where it lost me was halfway through, when the entire mystery of Conundrum is explained in a 50-page stretch as the professor consults textbooks, unearthing secrets with roots in cryptology, mythology and Biblical times. And after that, with all the characters stuck in pipeworld, the narrative shifts gears into somewhat of a loop, as they all are menaced in a variety of manners as they seek escape. It’s not that this second half is bad – indeed, those who delight in viscera and gore will find plenty to wade in – but it does not live up to the ambition of all that comes before it.

That said, as a horrific whole, it satisfies. And with Broadstone being a filmmaker, I hope to see it someday as a movie. –Rod Lott

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Hard to believe Bill Willingham’s FABLES has been around long enough to already merit a seventh trade paperback collection, but here it is nonetheless, in the form of FABLES: ARABIAN NIGHTS (AND DAYS).

Four of the six consecutive issues from the acclaimed, award-winning Vertigo series within comprise the ARABIAN NIGHTS story arc, with the New York headquarters of the Fables (those classic storybook characters living, breathing and hiding in our modern-day world) visited by their Arab emissary, the esteemed Sinbad. The strapping young sailor takes a shine to the American Fables’ way of life, which upsets his slave-loving sidekick, who unleashes a djinn to slaughter all his enemies, thus placing him in total power.

Meanwhile, Prince Charming – Fabletown’s reigning mayor – makes a move for Deputy Mayor Beauty, and it’s probably for the best that her husband – Sheriff Beast – doesn’t find out. Yet.

Those who have never read FABLES may think it all sounds childish. It’s not. And here’s a glimpse as to why: The other two issues tell the story of two of Gepetto’s wooden puppet creations, Rodney and June. They fall in love and want to be made human so they can express their love carnally, which doesn’t go over well with Rodney’s peers: “Do you know what meat does? They shove dead animal and plant matter into one hole and shit runny, stinky, disgusting, worm-infested dung out of another! Several times each day!”

Just when it seems that this story stands alone from the regular FABLES characters, it takes a rather unsuspected turn that I hope plays out in future issues. Since the level of quality from issue to issue is about as solid as today’s comics come, I look forward to them all. –Rod Lott

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OTHER BOOKGASM REVIEWS OF THIS SERIES:
• FABLES: HOMELAND

We here at BOOKGASM have nothing but love for the pulps. And on the rare chance a book comes out dealing with the pulp authors and their adventures, even better. That book is Paul Malmont’s THE CHINATOWN DEATH CLOUD PERIL, probably the best book of 2006 for me. Hell, I actually bought a copy in hardcover – something I rarely do. But don’t just take my word for it: Read our editor Rod’s official review and his interview with Malmont.

Onto my usual blabbing: I’ve been meaning to do a column just staring the two of the bigger pulp heroes and after reading PERIL, I felt it was time. I grew up reading various Doc Savage omnibuses, which were popular back in the day, but never got exposed to the Shadow stories until now. I’m kicking myself for that fact. These four books below were written by the original writers Walter Gibson and Lester Dent (and, yes, I know that Maxwell Grant and Kenneth Robeson were house author names).

But if you read PERIL, you may be saying, “Hey, what about those other authors that are prominent in it?” They won’t be covered and here are the short answers why: I read all of H.P. Lovecraft’s work during high school; this is not a sci-fi column, so that counts out Robert Heinlein; and L. Ron Hubbard was just a hack who thought religion was a better way to make money. And was right.

THE SHADOW: HIDDEN DEATH by Maxwell Grant – Long before Batman was solving crimes, there was another enigmatic figure all in black and hidden away: The Shadow, aka Lamont Cranston. From 1932, HIDDEN DEATH starts out with a mysterious note arriving at a police station, telling of a person that is dead, yet revealing only his initials and that he was just the first of many murders to come. The police are baffled and it’s up to Det. Joe Cardona and Prof. Rodger Biscayne to solve. But The Shadow is there lurking and hiding, usually a few steps ahead of the police. The homicides get more frustrating and the notes keep coming.

This is pulp at its best, folks, plain and simple. You have an eccentric genius behind the whole scheme, the whole crime world laying in wait to take out The Shadow and bizarre contraptions to boot – what else could a pulp reader need? Well, sorry: No girls are even mentioned in this book. I really did not know what to expect from HIDDEN DEATH and was just loving every page of this tale. The Shadow really is just Batman without the flashy car or the weird villains. He seems to have a mind up there with Sherlock Holmes. I’m glad I never sold off the few Shadow paperbacks I have that have been collecting dust.

THE SHADOW: THE DEATH GIVER by Maxwell Grant – Another tale about the man who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men. From 1933, THE DEATH GIVER opens with Det. Cardona investigating three mysterious deaths (I guess people used to just drop like flies back in the day) meant as warnings to wealthy businessman in a bizarre blackmail operation, run by a man who calls himself Thade the Death Giver. (I mean, is this guy fronting a black metal band in Norway or something?)

Thade has control over people, acquiring henchmen by blackmail also and showing what happens if you cross him. It’s not a pretty sight being left in a glass coffin, slowly being poisoned over time. The Shadow has his crew of informers doing some of the leg work, and one of them runs into a henchman who thinks he’ll take care of this intruder by using an item Thade gave them to protect themselves. But lo and behold, the item actually is designed to kill the henchmen. Using his master of disguise abilities, The Shadow takes the place of an upcoming target, and also learns of Thades’ master plan to be the biggest example of how much of a death giver he can be.

I won’t ruin it for you, but some smart folks will get this: death by Lawrence Welk stage props. (And I’m not talking about an accordion.) The only minor complaint I have about this book is that the cover shot does not take place at all. Sucking me in with a half-naked women and a guy wearing a gas mask with a blowtorch and then denying me that is cheap, but at least that snazzy/manipulative cover is done by none other then Jim Steranko.

DOC SAVAGE: THE SPOOK LEGION by Kenneth Robeson – The best way to describe a Doc Savage book: Imagine Reed Richards a little stronger, but without stretching abilities. That’s the mighty Doc Savage and his trusted gang of five (even if it always seems that only two hang around). In 1935’s THE SPOOK LEGION, Doc, Ham and Monk are a bit stumped, as Doc receives a bizarre telegram sent by no one. This leads him to take a plane from Boston and run into a group of men looking for something mysterious. These guys are lead by Telegraph Edmunds, so named due to the fact he can communicate with the slightest of gestures.

That I have to hand to Lester Dent: He always comes up with interesting names. It seems Telegraph has discovered a way to make his gang (or “spooks,” as he calls them) invisible. The gang goes on a crime spree, even framing Doc in the process; in the course of the book, Doc and Monk both go invisible for a good portion of the book. That requires them to be naked, so just think: Most of the men in this story are running around naked while committing crimes. That’s just plain bizarre. I mean, where do the hide the jewels or money? Yes, there are scenes of things floating around – oooh, scary! – but it mainly played to throw off the victims. This is just pure fun and escapism, an above-average adventure to make the time fly by, so break open a Doc Savage book and just enjoy the non-stop ride.

DOC SAVAGE: THE CZAR OF FEAR by Kenneth Robeson – In 1933, Doc Savage was on the run from the law in THE CZAR OF FEAR, one of the first tales that would deal with the subject and it’s a great one. It opens with a trio of people – Alice and Jim Cash and Aunt Nora – on their way to contact Doc for some help. But along the way, they hear a mysterious green bell., which we find out means someone is going to be killed or made insane. With their car out of gas, Jim goes to fetch some, and this is the last they will see of him.

The story then switches to New York City, where some loathsome types think they can pull a fast one over Doc by hiring him as a goon for The Green Bell. Yeah, that’s the enemy’s name: The Green Bell. As hard as they try, they fail, with Doc figuring them for liars. At the same time, Aunt Nora and Alice turn up with a tale of how their town is being ripped apart by this gang, and two of Doc’s crew come across someone trying to listen in. So Doc and company head to New Jersey to figure it all out. Along the way, Doc is accused of murdering Jim, which really sets the tale in motion.

The story goes on with mysterious meetings, super-cool Savage gadgets and murder attempts after murder attempts on Doc. I figured out who The Green Bell really was early on. Trust me, folks, it’s not that hard. Still, it did not take away from all the fun I had reading it. So go scour your bookstores and try and find some Docs or Shadows or just wait for the new cycle of reprints.

Next week, we feel a need … a need for speed. –Bruce Grossman

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MISS EARLIER INSTALLMENTS OF ‘BULLETS, BROADS, BLACKMAIL & BOMBS’? REGASM THESE:
• #13: Hammer and Tongs
• #12: To Helm and Back
• #11: Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover
• #10: Spaghetti Westerns, Pulp-Style
• #9: Me Tarzan, You Remo

Oh, that Olof Rudbeck! Though quite the Renaissance man and the discoverer of the lymphatic system, the 17th-century university professor is today (if at all) remembered and summarily dismissed as a crackpot. And for somewhat valid reasons, as he spent three decades and some 2,500 written pages searching for and chronicling the mythic lost city of Atlantis. David King outlines Rudbeck’s every move of this most dubious undertaking in the entertaining account FINDING ATLANTIS: A TRUE STORY OF GENIUS, MADNESS, AND AN EXTRAORDINARY QUEST FOR A LOST WORLD.

For a while, Rudbeck was the toast of Sweden’s academia world, running both an autopsy theater-style classroom and a spacious botanical garden. But when the country’s economy took a downturn and salaries went unpaid, Rudbeck pursued a most unusual desire to find the sites of the stories of his beloved mythology, firmly believing them to be true. Where did Jason and the Argonauts find the golden fleece? Where was Hades located? He sought to find these answers through actual travel and valid theoretical testing, which led him to his eventual obsession with Atlantis, the once-mighty city that fell into the sea.

But in doing so, his reputation took a direct hit, and he encounters resistance, claims of heresy and even court battles from various fronts. This is where the book hits a slow point, taking interest in too much political manuvering at the expense of losing the somewhat loopy narrative. Luckily King picks back up for the last third, detailing the troubles of getting Rudbeck’s mammoth ATLANTICA published (and then sold). Creative non-fiction like FINDING ATLANTIS should tell a compelling story while also doling out serving spoon-sized dollops of information; King does both, although it may be too well-researched at times. With a subject this eccentric and a story unknown to most of us, King’s book is a good bet for those seeking history that plays out with some mystery. –Rod Lott

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Sometimes it’s very comforting to read a book written by someone who knows he knows what he’s doing. Henry Slesar was that writer. Born in 1927, Slesar earned a place in our lexicon by coining the term “coffee break.” But he did a lot more than that. Slesar wrote literally hundreds of short stories (two of which won Edgars) and tons of television and movie scripts, including many episodes of ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS and the soap opera THE EDGE OF NIGHT (which earned him an Emmy).

Capitalizing on his own experience in his 1993 mystery, MURDER AT HEARTBREAK HOSPITAL, Slesar locates the action on the set of the popular (and fictional) TV soap HEARTBREAK HOSPITAL. The cast, as usual, fights like cats and dogs, but they all seem to hate the resident bitch Sunday Tyler. Every soap has to have a bitch character that the fans love to hate, and Tyler is that character. Unfortunately, she’s also that way in real life. In fact, the only person who seems to like her is William Troy, an NYPD officer assigned to the TV/movie unit whose job is to work the on-location shootings.

And so Troy seems to be the most affected when Tyler is found brutally murdered in her apartment. Every cast member has a motive, and almost everyone has a pretty shaky alibi. Troy’s investigation has to weather innumerable lies and evasions, and suffers a considerable blow when Troy himself comes under investigation for another murder. It’s a soap-opera plotline brought to real life.

Slesar writes efficiently and smoothly. There are few embellishments – just straightforward and realistic dialogue, breezy descriptions of setting and characters, and a story that keeps driving toward its finish. It reads like a two-hour long mystery movie of the week, one that keeps your interest while it’s on but after it’s done, you start to think of plot holes and inconsistencies. So it’s not entirely perfect, but this reissue of the book by Academy Chicago should introduce new readers to an author who should not be forgotten. –Mark Rose

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I must be missing something with Wu Ming’s 54, since it has been very popular overseas, but did absolutely nothing for me.

Actually, let me correct myself: It made me annoyed beyond belief. I have two reviews for this book: the one you’re reading and one a little more succinct, which you’ll find at the very end. Wu Ming is a collective psuedonym for five Italian authors; with the name translated, it means “anonymous,” but I would’ve guessed Wu Ming was the Mandarin Chinese equivalent of “five authors in search of an editor.”

I cannot accurately describe the plot since this novel jumps around more than an 8-year-old hopped up on Sugar Pops. Besides the conflicting writing styles and characters being indistinguishable, you also have to deal with what seems like a never-ending pile of storylines starting and stopping, with the most interesting involving the actor Cary Grant. The British government comes to Hollywood to convince probably the most famous movie star at the time to become a spy. Cary’s mission is to go to Yugoslavia and meet with Marshall Tito under the guise of making a film about him. (I would guess the modern-day counterpart would be along the lines of Brad Pitt or George Clooney being asked to sneak into the Middle East to find terrorists.)

Throughout out the few Cary Grant chapters, he comes across a copy of CASINO ROYALE. This gives the collective an opportunity just to bash James Bond altogether. (I find this funny since people still read James Bond, yet in 50 years, no one will be reading this.) Once that plot is introduced, we jump to Italy to a group of Fascists, anti-Fascists and old Communists, who all seem to congregate in one bar. There is also mobster Lucky Luciano, who makes an appearance for no other point except to take up space. Confused? How do you think I felt? Two of the other storylines include a son trying to locate his Communist dad in Yugoslavia and an American television going to Europe. (Hey, maybe next time they can write about a toaster going to Japan.)

This book is a mishmash of ideas, as if all five authors had ideas for different books and decided, “What the hell? We’ll put them all together and see what happens.” Guess what: It does not translate well at all. Another problem with 54 is that some passages come off so stilted with the translation, it’s frustrating. Look, I’ll read a book by the Wu Tang before I read another book by the Wu Ming.

Now for my seven-word review: It stinks and I don’t like it. –Bruce Grossman

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Remember back in the ’80s when LETHAL WEAPON came out and made a gazillion bucks, and all of a sudden, every other movie featured a mismatched couple of cops who bickered and quipped while tracking down the murderous bad guy? Those movies always had the same list of ingredients: 1) a flashy murder to kick off the festivities; 2) a younger, sexy cop who struggled with some personal demons (usually a tragedy in his past that prevented him from ever finding love again); 3) a damsel in distress who ends up in bed with abovementioned good-looking cop by the third act; and 4) a climactic showdown with the killer that ends with a fake-out injury to one of the good guys. Throw in a feel-good epilogue, freeze-frame on the main characters enjoying a hearty laugh, cue up the hard-rockin’ theme song and you got yourselves a movie.

Unfortunately, David Hosp remembered that buddy movie formula, because THE BETRAYED has the feel of a lost LETHAL WEAPON sequel … and that ain’t good, people.

The plot is at once simplistic and hopelessly muddled, paced like a lackluster episode of LAW & ORDER. A reporter is viciously murdered. Her spunky younger sister, law school student Sydney, starts poking around to investigate the murder and of course finds (and follows up on) leads that Riggs and Murtaugh … er, I mean Cassian and Train, the two detectives on the case, have missed. This obviously puts a target on her head, and the hired killer who murdered her sister goes after Sydney, which leads to Cassian dipping into THE BODYGUARD territory to protect her, which leads to a clumsy romantic subplot which leads to blah blah blah, dear God, just let this book end already!

Reading THE BETRAYED was the equivalent of eating a stack of saltines in the middle of the Sahara with a canteen full of dust at your side. Dry does not even begin to describe Hosp’s writing. Yes, he can put the words on the page and write grammatically correct sentences, but there’s no personality, no flair, no distinctive point of view to make it come to any semblance of life. The story just kind of plods along, as if he’s determined to go through his carefully organized outline and hit all of the points he’s plotted. There is precious little “storytelling” going on here.

Which leads me to a mini-rant about the characterization: There is none. Oh sure, there are some broad attempts to shade the characters with some dimension, but they fall flat once Hosp starts concentrating on the police procedural portion of the book. And another thing: Whose story is it? Is it Sydney’s, as she tries to snoop her way to finding her sister’s killer? Is it Cassian’s? It’s impossible to tell because Hosp takes one of the cardinal commandments of fiction writing – “Thou shalt find one point of view and stick with it” – and stomps all over it. He’s all over the map, bopping from one character to another, throwing in backstories for characters who have nothing to do with the plot as a whole, and the result is a mishmash of bad writing that even high school creative writing students would know better than to turn in to the teacher.

John Grisham’s success obviously influenced Hosp to take time out from his own busy legal career to dip his toes into the fiction pool. How he managed to sell this manuscript to a major publisher, however, is less clear to me. The writing is amateurish, the twists are predictable, the characters are thin, the plotting is weak and the ending is so murky that it takes a couple of readings to comprehend that Hosp actually got away with publishing such a piece of tripe. This one gets a boo, a hiss and a big, old “blecch” from me. Avoid it. –Rebecca Brock

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J.A. Jance is a Seattle icon, a bestselling mystery author with a huge following and a name familiar to fans worldwide. She’s managed to produce two (!) very popular series characters, J.P. Beaumont and Joanna Brady; the Beaumont mysteries number up to 17, and now DEAD WRONG is her 12th book featuring Sheriff Joanna Brady of Cochise County, Arizona.

Jance is popular for a reason: She’s a very professional writer. Her stories are interesting, her characters are well-drawn and likable, her dialogue is crisp and very realistic … but there’s something missing – a crucial ingredient that often seems lacking in her work, a rawness, a willingness to experiment and discover new territory, a boldness that you just don’t often find in her latest books. Possibly because she doesn’t need to perform parlor tricks to get readers; her stories are good enough to please the book-buying public. But I can’t help but feel that with all her professionalism, I could get more out of the stories if more were originally put into them.

That nitpickety whine aside, DEAD WRONG is certainly entertaining. Sheriff Brady is pregnant (frankly, I’m tired of the expectant policewoman meme), and this makes it difficult for her to investigate the homicide of a man who has had all his fingers cut off. But she perseveres and through well-depicted police work, manages to connect the current case to a murder that occurred 25 years ago. In the meantime, one of her animal control officers is apparently raped and viciously beaten because the officer was investigating a pit bull dog-fighting ring.

The link between the two cases, years apart (and that’s yet another mystery cliché), is definitely intriguing, but the explanation of how the whole thing occurred seems …. well, implausible, to say the least. And there are so many loose threads left hanging. Whatever happens to the crazy but affable Arizona judge who is intimately involved in the case? Why does one not get a sense of closure on the case of the raped animal control officer?

While the writing is strong and readable as ever, the story seems muddled and perhaps a little hurried, especially toward the end of the 300-plus pages. But would I read Jance again? Absolutely. Would I hope for more next time? Probably. –Mark Rose

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All the news that’s fit to capsulize!

LICK WONDER WOMAN
Last week, the United States Postal Service issued a 20-stamp series commemorating 10 superhero stars of DC Comics. Seen on the 39-cent stamps are Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Aquaman, Plastic Man, Hawkman and Supergirl, as well as a cover reproduction from each character’s comic book. Get ‘em while they last. We bought two sheets – one to keep, one to eBay later in a pinch.

‘ROYALE’ WITH CHEESE
In honor of what would have been James Bond creator Ian Fleming’s 100th birthday next year, a new 007 novel is being written. The Fleming family has promised the book will be written by a “very well known and highly respected” author, but his or her identity is for their eyes only. Before he died in 1964, Fleming penned 14 books featuring the world’s most famous secret agent. Since then, many Bond novels have been written by other authors, including John Gardner and Raymond Benson.

‘NIGHT’ FALLS ON THESE SHORES
Miramax Books is bringing Sergei Lukyanenko’s acclaimed Russian fantasy series to America, starting with last week’s release of NIGHT WATCH, the basis for the worldwide hit film depicting a supernatural battle between good and evil on an epic scale. Trade paperbacks for DAY WATCH hit stores Jan. 10, 2007, with TWILIGHT WATCH to follow not long after.

WOOLRICH GETS ‘HARD’
Though the publisher has yet to reveal its title, Hard Case Crime will be issuing a novel by “Rear Window” short story writer Cornell Woolrich, one which has not seen print in more than 50 years and has never been published under its own name. Also in 2007, Hard Case will publish a New York-based murder novel from THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE screenwriter George Axelrod, as well as sequels to Richard Aleas’ LITTLE GIRL LOST (tenatively titled SONG OF INNOCENCE, according to our interview with Hard Case head honcho Charles Ardai) and Ken Bruen and Jason Starr’s BUST, which we reviewed here.

‘STRANGE’ AUTHOR TO SAY ‘GRACE’
Last year, you couldn’t read a review of Susanna Clarke’s smashing debut JONATHAN STRANGE & MR. NORRELL without reading how it took her 10 years to write the novel. At least you won’t have to wait another 10 years for her second … due in fall 2008. But on Oct. 17 of this year, fans can be sated temporarily with the release of THE LADIES OF GRACE ADIEU AND OTHER STORIES, a collection of 10 short stories – some previously published – which are all set within the STRANGE universe. Seeing as how STRANGE is a real favorite of several of us here at BOOKGASM, we can’t wait.

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Our end-o’-week roundup of what you missed while working for The Man!

Can it really be Friday again? It seems like just a week ago that I was directing varying degrees of sarcasm at the previous week’s content. But there’s always more where that came from, and even though I’m a little sleepy from a big free lunch from my corporate sponsors*, I’m dedicated to our three loyal fans.

MONDAY >> 7.17.06
We’re no strangers to nepotism here at BOOKGASM HQ. Three of my cousins work in the mailroom, Rod Lott’s brothers run the art department and some weird old guy who claims to be Louis Fowler’s uncle is the guy who cleans up all the vomit. So it was really not a shock to see Malena Lott, wife of the aforementioned Rod Lott and author of THE STORK REALITY, review THE BABY MERCHANT, which is about a dude who brokers baby sales. Lott smells no evil in this book, and recommends it to people interested in science, fiction, science fiction, or selling babies. Who’d she have to sleep with to get this review up?

In the "dreams are always sexier than reality" department, Louis Fowler chimed in with his take on PRISONER OF X: 20 YEARS IN THE HOLE AT HUSTLER MAGAZINE! by Allan MacDonell. Louis gave his full appreciation to this one, and although working for HUSTLER might not be as raunchily sexy as everyone thought, something must have kept him there for 20 years, and it probably wasn’t the dental plan. Note: I could have written "oral plan" right there, but I refuse to stoop.

Rod Lott is simply nuts over Scott Smith’s THE RUINS, and although fiction set in Mayan ruins begins and ends for me with CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE: MYSTERY OF THE MAYA, he made a fairly compelling case without spoiling anything. That’s what I really love about this site: Nobody’s going to spoil the ending, saying that Bruce Willis is a ghost, or the chick from that movie is a dude, or that there’s no twist at all in the LADY IN THE WATER.

Mickey Spillane died. I bet he went down shooting.

TUESDAY >> 7.18.06
Finally, a supergroup I can relate to. No, I’m not talking about ’80s band The Power Station, I’m talking about The Defenders. They bicker, sulk and generally are surly, and that’s a big plus for here at BOOKGASM. To prove it, Rod Lott had plenty of praise for ESSENTIAL DEFENDERS: VOL. 1. Personally, I preferred The New Defenders because I dig sexy bald chicks and Moondragon fits the bill.

Bruce Grossman stepped it up and delivered some timely reviews in the wake of Mickey Spillane’s death for this week’s BULLETS, BROADS, BLACKMAIL & BOMBS. In this case, he looked at THE KILLING MAN and BLACK ALLEY, which, despite their flights of illogic, Grossman deemed worthy of the Spillane name. After those, he dove into Sax Rohmer’s THE TRAIL OF FU MANCHU, and came to the same realization I had the last time I tried to read one of those books: They’re pretty crappy.

The hit parade of BOOKGASM interviews continues, and this week Rod Lott talked to Paul Malmont, scribe of current BOOKGASM favorite THE CHINATOWN DEATH CLOUD PERIL. He’s a smart guy, and he wrote a whole book without telling his wife. Wow. I can’t even lay down on the couch all weekend without my wife knowing. Great work.

WEDNESDAY >> 7.19.06
Richard Matheson is still writing. Shame to say it, but that’s too bad. His latest work, WOMAN, is, at least according to Rod Lott, the literary equivalent to an M. Night Shyamalan movie: boring as hell. You wrote I AM LEGEND, for God’s sake! Step it up!

Beginning his review with some startling revelations about his music collection (he’s from Oklahoma, so he deserves some slack), Louis proved his chops in the world of non-fiction with an in-depth look at BODY PIERCING SAVED MY LIFE: INSIDE THE PHENOMENON OF CHRISTIAN ROCK. Now, he admitted that he is fascinated by the God-rock culture, but even still, this sounds like a truly interesting book. But it still fails to answer my big question about Christianity: What wouldn’t Jesus do?

THURSDAY >> 7.20.06
NEWSGASM is great and newsy as ever this week, previewing an awesome looking show on the Sci-Fi Channel, or as I call it, the Greatest Channel Ever, Save MANSQUITO. Plus we eyed Stephen King’s latest novel that isn’t as good as THE STAND, and offered a teasing tidbit about our upcoming contest. Another hint: He doesn’t drink … wine.

Can Rob Zombie put out a piece of media that doesn’t involve Satanic bikers? They just don’t resonate with me. Satanists, sure, I can deal with them; and bikers, well, they unnerve me, but okay. But that combination just totally loses my interest. That aside, Zombie teams with Steve Niles for THE NAIL, a comic book that will sate your gore-lust for the time being. Rod liked it, so Satanic bikers be damned, I might just pick it up.

Mark Rose made a valiant appearance this week with a review of THE LIGHTSTONE, and call me a book-by-its-cover guy, but I could totally tell by its cover that this book isn’t up to par. My knee-jerk reactionism is proven correct by Rose, but he does give the author credit for creating a huge, complex world. That could possibly count for something.

FRIDAY >> 7.20.06
Who didn’t buy that early ’90s Jane’s Addiction album? I think it was written in Mexican, and I have no ear for languages, but everybody in my high school must have had at least one copy. Louis, being a youthful dude, probably doesn’t appreciate this, but I can see where he’s coming from in his review of WHORES: AN ORAL BIOGRAPHY OF PERRY FARRELL AND JANE’S ADDICTION. When people start calling things "oral biographies" and such, what I read is "excuse for lazy writing." Such is the case here, and Louis also made the point that the really hardcore fans who would appreciate the minutae of this book as probably too high, too dead or too crazy to care.

And finally, Bruce Grossman capped off the week with a review of NEVER FEAR by Scott Frost. When Bruce says that the plot is intricate, remember that this is a guy who eats, sleeps, smells and shits pulp fiction, so when he says that a plot is intricate, that’s a good thing. Grossman can’t get enough of the characters and Frost’s prose, so much so, in fact, that he’s running off to pick up a copy of the previous book, RUN THE RISK. A ringing endorsement if ever I read one, because it’s much too old for him to get it for free.

That’s all for now. Tip your waiters and waitresses, and have a good weekend. –Ryun Patterson

* Eat more asparagus! It’s what’s for dinner that looks like a tiny tree!

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Continuing with characters from his first novel (RUN THE RISK), Scott Frost weaves an intricate tale in the follow-up NEVER FEAR.

The thriller deals with a female cop by the name of Alex Delillo, who is still shaken up by the events in the previous book. (These are lightly touched upon in the first few pages, but not having read RUN does not make you feel lost, since you can figure out what transpired and how awful it must have been simply from the details you’re told.) Alex receives just a cover sheet of a fax from what turns out to be a half-brother she never knew about. He turns up dead in a successful suicide attempt, but she doesn’t buy it.

This tragic occurence leads her into a history of her father, whom she also never knew. But he might have been a serial murderer dubbed the River Killer, who slayed three women 17 years ago, so Alex vows to figure out what happened to her brother and if her father was responsible for the killings. Of course, this takes her into a dark world she wishes she left alone. Her search for the truth in a world of corruption slowly turns into a quest with dire consequences, with both witnesses and the investigating cops turning up dead at every turn.

NEVER FEAR is filled with rich characters who each have a part to play, from a retired cop passing his time by collecting sports memorabilia to his former partner, once a promising assistant D.A., now just scraping by working for a low-rent investigator. Then there is a child of one of the murdered women, now bipolar and who might be the key to the investigation. Alex still can’t fathom that it’s all connected to her family, even when she finally unearths a deep secret from her buried past.

Frost tells the story with such descriptive prose, you can see it clearly in your mind. This might be because he has written for TV do-gooders on the shows TWIN PEAKS (his brother is co-creator Mark Frost) and THE X-FILES. As a result, he can keep a reader’s attention and make a great page-turner. If there was a way to have a huge neon sign or a sticker on the book with the huge bright letters “READ ME,” it still would not be enough. Personally, I’m going to search out a copy of RUN THE RISK, even though I’ve now got an idea of what happened. This is probably one of the better modern-day cop thrillers that does not take the easy way out and makes me hope Frost will continue with Alex as his muse. –Bruce Grossman

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