I was going to start this review by comparing Clevenger's writing to that of Chuck Palahniuk and Will Christopher Baer. He's got the pace and acerbic plot-mind of one and the visceral, dizzying prose of the other. Then I flipped to the acknowledgements, and there, on the second paragraph, Clevenger thanks them both. "Well, no wonder," I thought. Fans of either (or both) Palahniuk and Baer are bound to love "Dermaphoria."
Clevenger starts with a classic (and almost trite) premise: a man wakes up in a hospital, and the only thing he knows is one name -- Desiree. The man (Eric Ashworth) -- sought after by info-hungry cops, antsy attorneys, and dispassionate mobsters -- attempts to piece together his life, bit by bit, around that one name, using both old-fashioned persistence and a new street drug. The substance, called Skin, synthesizes the sense of touch, using it to extract reality-rich remembrances from an ever-expanding history ("Having more memory is just a way of distorting a greater amount of the past," says one character). The only problem? Skin comes with some pretty serious side effects. And, furthermore, who's to say that the results are 100% accurate?
One part mystery, one part noir, and every bit of it a puzzle of firey, arresting prose, "Dermaphoria" is a great book. Ashworth's disorientation is made all the more palpable by Clevenger's crackling writing. Some might find the descriptions over-written, but I'd say he hasn't written enough. This 214 page novel is a quick read, ending faster than it takes a firefly to blink. Clevenger's descriptions are hefty and mobile, apt and stunning, and everything is slathered with import (even the names themselves, Ashworth and Desiree and others, are totems for a larger point). This book is about more than just drug overdoses and regrets, and like his contemporaries (even more so than Palahniuk, I'd say), Clevenger refuses to dilute his tale with bromides or easy outs.
However, even if you don't have the inclination to dig beneath the topsoil of Clevenger's mesmerizing world, you can still enjoy the lusciously dirty surface. It's a tale that is rewarding on multiple levels, superficial or subliminal, and although the ending is chaotic and heart-breaking (Clevenger's male protagonists never seem to catch a break), it also proves there's a real heart there to be broken. Dark, smart, gritty, and spare, "Dermaphoria" gets under the skin and stays there. You should read it, and then read it again.
In case you forgot anything.