Monk Addison is a scary man. He has killed a lot of people while wearing fatigue. Then, after being washed out of that life, he had found another life. To call it his fate, or destiny, or 'calling' might anger him— which wouldn’t be a prudent action. So I would refrain from using any such adjective. But it’s a fact that he does something unique.
He is compelled to act on behalf of ghosts of murdered persons so that the perpetrator is stopped from hurting others. He gets their faces tattooed onto his body, and then hunts the killers.
I had started this book with hopes of deriving some guilty pleasures. I mean, ghostly revenge, tattoos... Come on!
How wrong I was! How insanely different this work was!
This book is NOT about choreographed violence. It contains stories and poems about pain, loneliness, retribution, and tiny flashes of redemption.
The tales are grim, relentlessly violent, and full of sadness. Precious lives are lost forever. Broken hearts are left out to shrivel and die. And then comes the thunder of searing rage.
The poems are stories of loneliness and the weird walking hand-in-hand.
The book slowly became my own version of bar— blues buzzing in the background, darkness outside nd within, nurturing little bit of warmth between two palms against the night.
And as the last line was read, I cried.
Can you believe it? A book containing tales about ghosts, psychopaths, violence and sorrow ends, and I'm crying!
Mr. Maberry, Sir, you are a treasure. Please, PLEASE, don't retire Monk Addison anytime soon.
It’s not time yet. Just few more rounds. Please!
Highly recommended.