Chris
IP Address: 69.420.666.007
The Internet
Dear Goodreads,
Whasssup Dirty Dawgs! It’s been a while since I’ve been around, and I just wanted to say yo. Not much going on over here, I’ve just been reading and shit, you know the drill. So, since I’ve got nothing else to rap about, I might as well tell you about the last book that I read, seeing as that might pique your interest, you know, since you’re on goodreads and all…
I wish I had something positive to say about Dispatch, the first novel-length story I’ve read by the much-heralded Bentley Little, after all, I did neglect actual responsibilities in life to make time to read this drivel, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to find a new author that I like whose body of work will entertain me for years to come. Last year I read a book of Little’s short stories (The Collection) and wasn’t very impressed, but figured that maybe the guy just needed a little more time developing the story to produce an engaging work, so when I came across this used copy I figured I’d give him a second chance. And isn’t that what it’s all about; forgiveness and understanding? So I’m told; hell, I just got my driver’s license re-instated last week after 6 long years, in light of a varied record of alcohol-related arrests beginning at 15 and culminating with drunk driving and aggravated battery of an officer. So, shit, this is like my 14th chance, the least I can do is give Bentley Little a 2nd chance to sway me into declaring him a worthwhile storyteller, right? That’s called Paying It Forward folks, that’s how civic-minded people like myself operate.
Alas, there will be no recommendations from me encouraging you to waste your time in a similar manner; you’d be far better off spending your time inventing a language consisting strictly of tongue-rolls, hisses, and coos with which to communicate with your cats more effectively. This isn’t hyperbole; Dispatch is pretty piss-poor despite the “Guaranteed Great Read” offer from Signet advertised on the cover. Let’s face it, that’s a pretty low ploy to shill your wares, with the time spent mailing it back and the associated costs of doing so complete with a S.A.S.E. for them to refund your money (and then potential check-cashing fees) you’re not even close to breaking even. Of course, these guys know a lot more about marketing then I do, so I am going to steal that idea for my own diabolical ends when I feel so inclined.
As for the story at hand, it’s got its fair share of drawbacks. The protagonist, allegedly the character we’re supposed to shown concern for, Jason Hanford, is no more than a flimsy archetype; the generic, nondescript, faceless gen-x slacker made a social pariah by a hostile, drunken father and a bitchy, uncaring mother. Not only has this sort of character long-ceased amazing me, but I couldn’t pick him out of a line up, I couldn’t get any sort of visual idea of what he looked like. Perhaps Little didn’t provide a description of Jason to broaden future casting options when Lion’s Gate decides to make it into a blockbuster film, seeing as I sadly noticed some studio actually made a film adaptation of his unimpressive short story “The Washingtonians”. Anyway, it’s apparent that unless something significant happens, Jason is obviously destined to be ushered into the routine of a dead-end life, drearily plodding along the road to nowhere, and guess what, something does come along to spare him this lowly fate.
As a child, Jason had a Japanese penpal named Kyoko, and in his letters to her he decided to fib a little in regards to his life; his parents were successful, respected, and caring, and he himself was a fantastic athlete and the most popular boy in school. His ongoing bullshit eventually led to declarations of love from Kyoko and a naughty photograph of the girl, instilling Jason with the belief that his written words had power. However, Kyoko’s father eventually discovered the seedier side of their correspondence and made sure that shit came to a stop. It would be a while before Jason resumed crafting missives for his unscrupulous gains, which were generally harmless complaint letters to local businesses which were rewarded with free meals and tickets to movies and amusement parks. Eventually, he gets involved in a local rezoning debate, and when he somehow manages to turn public favor against the proposed gentrification, this confirms that he’s got a real gift, and the world is his to shape as he sees fit. While this sounds pretty solid, don’t be fooled; his unnerving talent serves as little more than transparent wish fulfillment on the author’s behalf; if Little was a smidgen as competent as his character, I would have liked the book. The writing itself is pretty crappy, both the book and Jason’s letters within, and that makes it somewhat hard to believe that his correspondence is taken seriously outside of an junior high debate.
While I speculated that Little might need more time to develop his story and characters based on his short story work, I certainly don’t think he utilized the benefit of 300 additional pages very well. Jason’s uncanny ability doesn’t need much elaboration and Little spends way too much time and writing on unnecessary examples of this power in action. The fact that his family is a bunch of assholes could have also been handled in half the time he took reiterating it. So with a dime-a-dozen character you can find in any story written by a 20something author and 120 pages detailing his woeful formative years, it’s time for Bentley Little to get into the thick of the story; blindly ripping motherfuckers off. Even though the story up to this point has been some half-assed paint-by-numbers shit, Little now moves into the shameless territory of borrowing generously from previous work and repackaging it as his own output.
Once Jason begins using his power to their fullest, Dispatch is basically a watered-down version Stephen King’s short story “Everything’s Eventual”, and the character isn’t really a whole hell of a lot different. This was somewhat bothersome, but Stephen King reuses enough of his own ideas that cats stealing his shit doesn’t offend me too much (at least not on principle). But that’s not the ultimate insult. Jason eventually joins the ranks of a nameless Company whose ultimate purpose is unknown, and now plies his craft at their behest along with countless other Letter Writers. Beginning with his first visit to the company, every element of his curious employment is completely stolen from the TV show “The Prisoner” (aka the best fucking thing ever aired). A few instances: after being drugged he wakes up in an exact replica of his room, the company is directed by an unknown, unseen, omniscient presence (Number 1, herein called The Ultimate), his neighborhood may or may not actually have people living in the homes, he has no idea if his co-workers have allegiances to himself of to the Company, and his first conversation with his boss steals lines directly from the Prisoner episode “Arrival”. Upon reading that part, I told my girlfriend that this was a total rip-off and she said it’s probably coincidence. Thirty three pages later my suspicious were confirmed when Jason is told by his pal Stan “You’ve got two choices: accept the status quo and live out your life as a letter-wrting drone or put on your Patrick McGoohan Number Six face and try to find out what the hell is behind all this.”
Dispatch is little more than what I’d imagine if Stephen King had written an episode of “The Prisoner”. But with a really bad ending, and I mean REALLY fucking bad.
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health, and I’ll talk to you later. And it probably wouldn’t kill y’all to drop me a line either once in a while. Bastards.
Kind Regards,
Chris
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