Gone To Be Snakes Now

by Neal Bell, Joseph Lombardero (Illustrator)

Genres: Pulp, Science Fiction

158 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1974

About the author

Neal Bell is an American playwright and screenwriter. Bell has written such plays as the thriller Two Small Bodies, as well as co-writing the screenplay for the Two Small Bodies film adaptation.

Bell has written other plays such as On the Bum, Somewhere in the Pacific, Monster, Operation Midnight Climax, Therese Raquin and Spatter Pattern (Or, How I Got Away With It).

Reviews

[TAP · Rating 4 out of 5]

…the wonders of late earthling life, lost and regained: crude oil, racism, President Nixon, cars, copper mines, madness by state decree, hamburgers, communism, draft cards, starvation, ball-point pens, movies, the torture of communists by Our Allies, soybeans, credit cards, space walks, unlisted Swiss bank accounts, lynchings, plague, earphones, bugs, the torture of allies by Our Communists, graft in high places, panty hose, DDT, bugs, imperialism, computers, records, motorcycles, bands, bulldozers, dams.

You can’t tell me this isn’t satirical. Gone To Be Snakes Now is an absurdist, often nonsensical, satire on death—which, in itself, is an exegesis of existence. We are absurd. Let it be so.

Walter lives at Exxon, nestled in a valley in a nuclear desert, among the other gas station towns. Unknown beings carried humanity to a new planet and recreated the world in the image manufactured by humans. These beings originally thought cars were the intelligent life forms of Earth—hence the gas station towns. (A commentary on humanity’s worshipful consumerism, perhaps?) A friend’s death day approaches, and Walter makes a decision that could alter his life on New Earth. Will Walter’s experiences free him from the bubble of ignorance?

We have a full cast of characters, from the messianic pervert intellectual that collects books and youths to the racist oracle that loves chickens. Few saviors, many malefactors.

Gone To Be Snakes Now is ribald as all hell. Everyone is horny and shameless—as we should be. With everything we have done, sex is the least of our faults.

A thousand subtle commentaries on capitalism and socialism, moral ambiguity, and the solely human ecstasy of violence. A comedy of tragedy. A lesson for an ignorant pubescent boy on the verge of being fucked by life.

Posthuman narratives are some of my favorite. Take a gander at this weird little gem.

Books are mirrors. Look how ridiculous we are.

[Hunter · Rating 3 out of 5]

"But nothing compared to what he saw now- a woman, bare breasted, whose body turned at the waist into a snake, was rocking back and forth on her tail, surrounded by hundreds of serpents.
"'My name is Madame Curie,' she said, 'but call me Eva...'"

I found this pulpy science fiction novel at a used book store. It is mostly incomprehensible but it is heavily obsessed with sex. There are about a half-dozen science fiction tropes that weave through the narrative, few of them fully developed and none achieving any kind of a pay off. Nonetheless, the sheer insanity of some of the ideas and characters make it an entertaining diversion.

[Dennis · Rating 2 out of 5]

i don't just get this

[Michael Stearns · Rating 1 out of 5]

Literally, without exaggeration, the worst book I have ever read.

[Egghead · Rating 2 out of 5]

Utter balderdash
bodily fluid obsessed...
Just like real life

[Ts'aldoqq'an · Rating 3 out of 5]

Somewhere on the edge between genius and insanity but leaning decidedly towards the latter. A truly odd book.