Snitch Factory

by Peter Plate

Amid a background of bank robberies and fatal gunshot wounds, the real drama here is bureaucratic and human. In her response to the adversity all around her, Peter Plate’s Charlene Hassler, a social worker at the huge, anthill-like Department of Social Services complex on San Francisco’s Otis Street, is a literary tour de force. Straight out of Dante’s Inferno, Plate’s DSS is an eternal holding pen of unfulfilled needs and desires. Charlene is under investigation, and snitches are everywhere. A co-worker is murdered. Charlene’s boss and former mentor spends amorous afternoons with her arch-enemy. The custodian burglarizes her desk, then shoots her in the knee after he imagines she’s ratted on him. As the anger and chaos at DSS reach epic proportions, we witness the strange heroism of Charlene’s coworkers when they foil a hold-up; her boss’s real vulnerability after a suicide attempt; and Charlene herself triumphantly winning her personal battle for romance in this true human comedy.

184 pages, Paperback

First published October 31, 1996

About the author

Named a Literary Laureate of San Francisco in 2004, PETER PLATE taught himself to write fiction during eight years spent squatting in abandoned buildings. He is the author of many novels, beginning with Black Wheel of Anger (1990) and continuing through his seven neo-noir "psychic histories" of San Francisco, where he still lives and writes today.

Reviews

[Ocean · Rating 2 out of 5]

Couldn't finish this. I was stoked on the premise of this novel (gritty san franciscan social worker working in the mysterious labrynthine bureucracy of the notorious human services building on otis street), but a lot of it seemed like an exercise in showing off how big the author's vocabulary is, where people just spout of near-incomprehensible strings of pretentious adjectives.
and, oh my god, this is classic "dude tries to write in a female voice by sexualizing her." guess what? women do not constantly remark on their own breasts, unless there's something wrong with them, or unless they're 12 or have recently transitioned and having breasts is a novel thing. the way the female narrator talked about her body was so gross to me. like, this is what creepy dudes think we think about all day long? women who've never given birth (like this character) don't "feel a tightening like a cesarean incision" when our stomach hurts, our stomachs just fucken' hurt, ok?
i stopped reading around the time i read the line, "the tension between us felt like a labia ring that was one notch too tight." GOOD GOD. i gave it 2 stars because there were some scenes that were really strong but ultimately i just hated the writing.

[Paul · Rating 4 out of 5]

I hung out with Peter Plate in SF at some show in a wharehouse on the docs. The crowd was tiny and he was mercilessly heckling the arty-three piece (think big moustaches) remembering a time when such schlock would just be driven off stage. The book is a pretty raw account of a social-worker trying to help people out of poverty while negotiating her own. I need to read more peter plate.

[Maxim Chernykh · Rating 2 out of 5]

Труды и дни сотрудницы социальной службы.

Так и запишем, Питер Плэйт — певец Сан-Франциско, конкретно, района Mission District.
В Snitch Factory он изображает как бы течение сырой жизни, его глаз то тут, то там выхватывает симпатичные детали, но всё это так и валяется россыпью на страницах, не обретая цельность. Плэйт неплохо знаком с Mission District, о чем не устает напоминать самым непосредственным образом — проходы героини по району сопровождаются перечислением локальных магазинчиков, кафешек и мелкого бизнеса, встретившихся ей по пути. Переход количества в качество не состоялся.

Geriatric dope fiends were shuffling about in their bedroom slippers, looking like they’d emerged from the Hallmark greeting card series for the undead. The palm trees on the sidewalk were rustling with Norwegian rats. Across the way, a quartet of Salvadoreño evangelicos were preaching at the corner. One of them was playing an accordion, two more were singing in harmony, and the fourth was handing out badly printed leaflets that smudged ink on your fingers if you were stupid enough to take one.

reason to read: American life, random choice

[Jessica · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book is an excellent example of why you shouldn’t write about the experiences of others. Completely unauthentic woman’s voice

[Ryan Mishap · Rating 2 out of 5]

Saw the author read in Eugene around fifteen years ago? and bought his novel. Hey, anarchist fiction writers don't show up very much. Too bad the book wasn't that great and the guy was pretentious. Maybe he was having a bad day.