Vincenzo Bilof's Blog

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The environment that surrounds a child plays a major role in their development, and author Matthew Revert explores the moment of crisis between two men that serves as both an origin story and moment of (possible) catharsis; Human Trees is an exploration of balance, Yin and Yang, and brotherhood. Revert, with Faulkner-esque sentence structures, explores the shared nightmare that became a wall between two men, as they meet, grudgingly, at a hospital to await news of their parents’ fate.

I admire Revert’s ability to meld a seemingly nightmarish scenario for two men into one shared experience. Neither of the brothers wishes to be in the company of the other, and Revert focuses on the mundane to illustrate their unease, a sense of discomfort that permeates the novella until the brothers make an attempt to reconcile their presence in the hospital and with their role in a tragic accident that divided them.

The tension is developed through an analysis of objects and their use / relationship to the brothers; together, the brothers endure the social disquiet that accompanies two people who do not wish to be around each other. Revert is able to allow readers opportunities to connect to the narrative with the symbols and objects that seemingly jolt the brothers out of their agony—waiting in a hospital for a very, very long time while being around each other—as social constructs are deconstructed.

Lynchian undertones allow the narrative experience to feel surreal, with strange imagery and moments that do not seemingly fit into a normalized perception of reality. But the reality for our two characters is this internal conflict they have had with tragedy that becomes externalized through the minutia of the moment. The brothers are opposing forces, yet they are seemingly rooted to the hospital, just as their roots are buried deep within the soil of a tragic past.

Revert composed an excellent literary piece, and exploring too much of its depth in a review will spoil its impact and the experience. The prose is often poetic and complex, and it may take a moment for a reader to settle in, just as it is difficult for the two brothers to settle in to a situation that forces them to understand the psychology behind their relationship and how they can grow. This metaphorical exploration of the self is an interesting work of transgressive fiction, with evocative imagery and intelligent narrative scope. Recommended if you want an want an introspective, surreal, intellectual work of art.

 

 

 

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Chris Kelso, known for crafting books that are often meta-cognitive explorations of a Dystopian nightmare, has assembled a more linear, plot-driven piece with Unger House Radicals, though the “plot” and “linearity” are used loosely here, with consideration to Kelso’s works. Kelso uses a collective of unique personalities against the backdrop of an artistic, world-changing revolution that involves violence and art. While these themes are often utilized in Kelso’s work, a subtle analysis of love and obsession deliver an interesting work that still fits perfectly into the author’s oeuvre.

While I have always enjoyed Kelso’s ability to present work that highlights creative freedom in a universe of tyranny and censorship, Unger House Radicals presents a more palatable theme exploration for those who have yet to experience Kelso’s work. As the plot unfolds with the concept that an “artistic” portrayal of violence will spark a revolution of thought, it is Kelso’s exploration of the role that identity plays in relationships and obsession that makes Unger House Radicals work. It is the greater interest point that allows for a more accessible read.

I have always appreciated Kelso’s seemingly manic deconstruction of art and plot, but in Unger House Radicals, it is the freedom to love and know one’s self that triggers a sequence of world-shifting events. Some readers may find it jarring that the move from a seemingly unified narrative voice to other characters, who seemingly have almost nothing to do with the actual plot, takes center stage. A part of me wishes, for Kelso’s sake, that he stuck with the linearity he established in the first half of the novella, so that he might have a more complete piece that could serve as an introduction to his work; while I might understand and enjoy the narrative shift, it almost seems like a reversion for Kelso. The majority of the personalities continue to explore the major themes, and I truly felt like I wanted more, as if the book ended well before it needed to. There is one personality that was nothing more than a backstory to a character that did nothing to enhance any of the themes, as if it was an unfinished idea… and maybe that was the point. I think Unger House Radicals represented an opportunity, and Kelso allowed the art to dictate the construction of the novella; not a bad thing for a reader like myself, but for folks who aren’t interested in anything that might be perceived as pretentious, they will get lost and feel a bit cheated.

The love story in Unger House Radicals is pulled off with masterful writing, as Kelso is able to tackle, and develop, powerful, complex themes with an economy of words, leaving the reader to absorb the evolution, or perhaps, devolution, of characters/identities. As a fan of pretentious books, Kelso, comparatively, pulls off what so many writers only aspire to do without many of the frills. A very “straight story” is presented, and I think the fragmentation that occurs in the narrative structure mirrors the fragmentation of personalities. If you’re a fan of authors like Blake Butler and / or William S. Burroughs, here is the better contemporary writer who can deliver the art without punishing the reader with ideas. Not suggesting that Kelso is better than Burroughs, but rather, Unger House Radicals presents a more updated variation of theme that can be enjoyed in one sitting, with ideas that are not shoved down a reader’s throat; Unger House Radicals can be appreciated on many levels, and if you’re looking for something both interesting and original, here is a good place to start.

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Source: Book Review – The Violators by Vincenzo Bilof

Source: Beyond the Great, Bloody, Bruised, and Silent Veil of This World

Source: Visions of a Tremulous Man by Vincenzo Bilof

Shotgun Logic

Paperback: 212 pages
Publisher: Weirdo Magnet
Publication Date: September 28, 2015

Visions of a Tremulous Man Synopsis:

Walter has found salvation in God, but he returns home from years in prison to a familiar damnation he cannot escape; his wife, Margaret, and her brother, Mr. Vegas, molded Walter into a relentless sexual predator to help fulfill their fantasies of debauchery and terror. Now, a tantalizing young girl walks by Walter’s house every day, and he struggles with a parole officer who is obsessed with the crimes Walter was never charged with. Together, these tragic figures must confront the secrets of a bloodsoaked history to save their souls from the corruption that has tainted Walter’s family-and all those who are drawn into the darkness.

From Detroit, Michigan, Vincenzo Bilof has been called “The Metallica of Poetry” and “The Shakespeare of Gore”. He likes to think Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and…

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[image error]Imagine if Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett wrote about talking chickens and anthropomorphic eggs in muumuus and you’ll have a pretty good idea what kind of story we’re dealing with here.

Source: Embry: Hard-Boiled—A Weird Little Egg Cooked Just Right

[image error]Working with the public in an entry-level job can be demoralizing; whether you work in retail or fast food, the dregs of humanity and the individual’s desire to lord their power over the laborer send shivers down the spines of those who know. Some people make a career out of it and go into management, while others find a way to move into another career or end up suffering through it for a very long time. The Nightly Disease is Max Booth III’s novel of an existential crises suffered by a young man who works in a hotel—Isaac—and we find reason to laugh at the horror of the character’s all-too-familiar struggles, and we are thankful it’s him rather than us. If you work in any customer service industry, Isaac is the anarchic, lovable character who is never heroic but is every bit of hardass we want to be on the job. If you’ve thought about doing it, Isaac has, too, and he is probably acting on it…

Storytellers usually craft characters we can empathize with, and in the case of Isaac, we are going to ask a lot of the same questions that people ask of anyone who hates their job: why don’t you get another job? Why don’t you get an education, pursue a career? Booth gives us the snapshot of a character who inherits the damning position, and we’re able to experience the debilitating conditions that imprison people in menial jobs that they hate. We ask these questions of people all the time, but more importantly, why are they here, and how did they get to this point? This is where the narrative shines brightest; Isaac is “committed” in the way that a mental patient is committed to a clinic, and the emotional/mental cost allows for Booth’s touch of surrealism to creep into the narrative in believable fashion. If we can believe how awful people are willing to act toward another human being in public, it’s not a stretch for talking owls to appear. I realize how unbelievable that seems, but in the context of the narrative, Booth’s ability to add surrealism underscores the plot’s chain of events.

Present is Booth’s flair for dialogue and situational tragic-comedy in the vein of Cohen Brothers slapstick. This book did manage to get a few guffaws out of me, and Isaac’s cognizance of his plight ensured that I never pitied the character or found him pathetic, despite moments of wallowing and despair; if I found the character helpless and pitiful without any qualities that would engender further exploration of Booth’s world, I would have put this one down quickly. As with the majority of Booth’s work, his ability to weave self-loathing into a fantastical situation elevates the comedic elements and allows the dialogue to shine. Booth, and by extension, Isaac, is a juggler of chaos, and even more objects are tossed into the air near the novel’s conclusion, as Isaac’s gradual unraveling teaches our protagonist a bleak and realistic life lesson.

A dark comedy that hits all the right emotional notes at the right time. Whenever I attempt to review a novel, I always review in the context of its genre with consideration to overall personal entertainment; Booth’s approach is unique, which is why I pick up each new novel with one big question: how is he going to do it this time? By IT, I mean get me to laugh, wince, and connect. Another engaging Boothian read.

 

Literary Inception[image error]

Doubinsky’s latest foray into a Dystopian mythos reads as if the audience is supposed to observing the pedals of a flower without picking those pedals—and each flower pedal has the name of a chapter and it must not be plucked. Suan Ming unfolds like an epic poem, with a narrative backdrop that is quietly philosophical with a Phillip K. Dick narrative sequence.

A military professional is called upon from the safe confines of his domestic life to undertake a mysterious mission. Our protagonist is sometimes reluctant, sometimes thankful, for the opportunity, and it is this reconciliation of the past and present that pushes the plot forward.

Doubinsky is not going to escape comparisons to Phillip K. Dick; both authors have work that straddles the line between high-concept philosophy with easily-digestible science fiction stories. Dick and Soubinsky never seem to completely LEAVE our world, ensuring that themes are contextually relevant and characters are believable and intimately relatable. Suan Ming achieves an interesting balance of poetics—careful repetition and subtle narrative shifts—with narrative cohesion that meshes domestic life with military loyalties (the mortal awareness of family vs. the invincibility of youth). There must be a sort of reconciliation or co-existence between the military career and domestic goals, which in turn becomes a reconciliation of those things we want from our past and the things we believe we need in the present.

Dickensian themes that revolve around memory and identity are here, and handled with a keen eye toward the entire piece, as if each page is built upon the important of each individual word.

A good science fiction writer can fuse technological advances and political events in a fictitious world with advances in the real world; readers will constantly ask questions about the technology and its purpose as they progress through Suan Ming, but Doubinsky rewards the audience with a plot that unravels itself. An analysis or review of Suan Ming could easily ruin the experience by discussing the parallels and the various philosophical elements in play, but part of Suan Ming’s core is the idea that our current drone/cyber warfare exploits are replaced by a near-invincible, ghost-like projection of the self that would invariably cost far less money that the manufacture of machines. As modern armies rely less on “boots on the ground”, Doubinsky employs the subconscious as the ultimate weapon against a foe that seems obvious.

With masterful narrative structure, Doubinsky achieves with an economy of words what some authors need hundreds of pages to explain. Less is more in Doubinsky’s world, which enables readers to simply enjoy the book or explore its themes on a deeper, interpretative level. A book like Suan Ming is rare; despite the fact that it has the ability to provoke conversation or infuriate readers who want everything handed to them, it never comes across as pretentious or unnecessary, because Doubinsky seemingly believes that readers should be able to connect to his stories—Doubinsky does, in fact, give away everything, and allows you to decide if there is anything more. Instead of going through entire chapters that use several different images to repeat/hammer motifs into the reader, Doubinsky can do it with a handful of words—an artist’s touch. Suan Ming is the flower that can be rotated in any direction, the petals picked apart or left alone. The flower, or the memory of its existence, will remain. Such is true of Suan Ming.  Spiritual depth, excellent characterization, and memorable images mark another literary achievement for science fiction through the lens of Doubinsky’s Dystopian reflections.

 

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Revenge and love are perhaps two of the most significant (or overused) concepts employed by the bard, Shakespeare. One of pop culture’s most prominent directors, Quentin Tarrantino, uses revenge as a motivation for many of the characters he has brought to live in his films. How does an artist craft a compelling revenge tale? Why is it still popular? Arguably, the most important component to these stories is the characters; the audience has to believe that the character’s lust for vengeance is justified, and these characters still have something to lose—which is often where love of family, a friend, or a partner elicits empathy.

As a story in a thematic trilogy that revolves around vengeance, S. Craig Zahler’s A Congregation of Jackals gives us protagonists who are the targets of revenge, and is able to develop an entire mythos around characters who we want to empathize with. We are presented with a group of former outlaws who have become “good” men, although they still have specific quirks and hangups that have developed over their lifetimes because of their violent histories. Zahler drags you into a mystery; we know these former outlaws were terrible in the past, and we keep hoping that this isn’t truth. We hope that misfortune forced these characters into their outlaw careers because we want to cheer for them, and the slow reveal provides the ultra-violent backdrop for an intense story that does not revel in the violence “of the moment”; in other words, the plot itself seems to unfold at a snail’s pace, but as the past meets the present, we are presented with men who have already experienced their catharsis and are awaiting the conclusion to their story. The reader has to come to terms with the idea that we aren’t hoping these character succeed at all, but rather, that they do not ruin the lives of more innocent people, a point Zahler effectively points out several times. It is the only victory that the Tall Boxer Gang strives for.

The past-present overlap is a Greek chorus narrative device that Zahler utilizes to powerful effect; I kept telling myself I know what Zahler is doing, but I allowed myself to become sucked in. I was committed to this story and couldn’t put it down. Time slowed or didn’t exist at all when I read this novel.

Whether or not these characters discover redemption at all is an idea Zahler leaves up for grabs; we aren’t forced to accept that anyone deserves anything in this story, although the Tall Boxer Gang seems almost relieved at the prospect that all criminals eventually pay a price—another well-executed theme.

I have marveled at Zahler’s ability to make true, mature love seem both possible and realistic. The characters believe they understand their partners and love interests intimately and deeply; whether we have the chemistry between gunfighters (outlaws and lawmen), the respect and wisdom that comes from years of marriage, the burgeoning of a fresh romance, or dedication to family, Zahler’s use of dialogue makes it powerfully believable. I could easily say this about all three pieces in the Western revenge trilogy.

This book got a tear out of me. I haven’t felt this emotionally invested in a novel since I was a teenager. Even though I read this novel after Wraiths of a Broken Land (another exceptional story that I will review), I felt like this book’s treatment of classic themes made for a superior read that is destined to remain an all-time favorite of mine. I thought the style Zahler used to deliver this narrative demonstrated a stark intelligence and mastery of storytelling; as part of a thematic trilogy, it couldn’t be more different than the other pieces in its delivery (I think Bone Tomahawk is the other piece of the trilogy, though I’m not sure, and it might be closer in narrative style to that film with the slow-burn approach), which truly made it all the more provocative. This book stands tall on its own, but paired with Wraiths, I felt like I was witnessing the work of a master craftsman who gave his characters life across two beautiful novels. After reading A Congregation of Jackals, the first thing I wanted to was hunt down the author’s email address and thank him.