Odditorium

by Hob Broun

A pro softball player, an alcoholic husband, a drug deal out of town, and buried treasure--the postmodern and vibrantly pulpy debut novel from Hob Broun
The heroine of Odditorium is Tildy Soileau, a professional softball player stuck in a down-and-out marriage in South Florida. Leaving her husband to his own boozy inertia, she jumps at the chance to travel to New York with Jimmy Christo, only recently released from a mental institution, and make some much-needed cash on a drug deal.
Adventure is just as much a motivating force, though, and Tildy quickly gets involved with a charismatic drug dealer; meanwhile, in carrying out business, Jimmy is dangerously sidetracked in Tangier. By the time the two are back in Florida, a financial boon greets them, but here, too, trouble is in the wings. Formally daring and full of jolts of the unexpected, Odditorium is an addictive romp through shady realms.

Genres: Fiction

302 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1983

About the author

Hob Broun (born Heywood Orren Broun; 1950 in Manhattan, New York, U.S. - December 16, 1987, Portland, Oregon, U.S.) was an author who lived in Portland, Oregon. Following the publication of his first novel, Odditorium, Broun required a spinal surgery to remove a tumor that ultimately saved his life but resulted in his paralysis. Subsequently, he wrote two books by blowing air through a tube that activated the specially outfitted keyboard of a computer. Using this technology, he completed a second novel, Inner Tube, and wrote the short stories contained in a posthumously published collection entitled Cardinal Numbers. He was working on a third novel when he died of asphyxiation after his respirator broke down in his home. He was thirty-seven years old.
Broun was born in Manhattan and graduated from the Dalton School. He attended Reed College in Portland. He was the son of Heywood Hale Broun, the writer and broadcaster, and the grandson of Heywood Broun, the newspaper columnist.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

If not his extremely tragic fate I believe Hob Broun would have been quite renowned by now. I enjoyed this book tremendously.
Odditorium is a rock and roll of a novel – both “Get your kicks on Route sixty-six” and “I said the joint was rocking, going round and round” just rolled into one…

There are a million ways to end up in the bughouse. Nobody’s exempt… Yeah, it’s the closest thing you’ll ever see to a classless society in there. Everyone gets fucked just the same. They don’t care who you are.

The book is rich in words, generous in rare ideas and flowery in style. If one were to call it post noir one wouldn’t be much wrong… Actually the novel is a very singular piece of postmodern… It’s dizzily quirky and kaleidoscopic…

“You married, honey?”
“Yes. I just don’t wear the ring.”
“I know, I know. Why discourage them? Right after the tits it’s your hands they look over. And a girl your age – well, my advice would be to get out of it as soon as you can. It’s slow death, honey, the slowest there is. Marriage’ll eat away at your insides till there’s nothing left but the water and the fat and you’re no damn use to anybody.”

The taller is the tale the higher we fly.

[Tex · Rating 5 out of 5]

This thing is so close to five stars that I just had to give it. There is almost nothing like this book out there outside of some of the ravings of Hunter S. Thompson. But, there is a plot and extremely carefully drawn characters. It's just that these characters are relentlessly active--continually on the move for the latest high, the latest con, the latest spark of adventure.
The setting is somewhere around the end of the Vietnam War, mostly in some wet part of Florida--west coast--and circles around Tildy, who has been a stripper and a professional softball player of high talent. The moons that circle her are her husband Karl and a professional con man called Christo.
I wish that the title had been something else so that it doesn't seem like the oddness is intentional because the oddness is intrinsic to the characters.

[🐴 🍖]

the odditorium, per the epigraph, was an exhibition put together by robert ripley for the world's fair, and like niagara falls or myrtle beach or wherever else you can find one of his museums this one's a tawdry day-glo good time replete w/ beer, cannabis, fistfights, smuggling, black widow spiders, buried treasure, etc etc. claiming that it "destabilizes story" i think is being a teensy bit overgenerous -- plot elements just don't come together despite an attempt to tie it all up with a bow at the climax -- but dang if this isn't some vivid prose. sorta at the midpoint b/w robert stone and bill cotter, and if either of them get your motor running you'll probably be into the curdled counter-culture at hand here

[Ken Meyers · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tough one to rate for me. It is almost like the book was written by two authors. Half was enjoyable, half was incoherent….I never could figure out Milo!

It seems that Braun was trying to write in the style of Carl Hiassen - but falls short. Trust me, read Hiassen instead.

[Ronald Morton · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is Hob Broun:



To be honest, based on his author photo, and the book being titled Odditorium I had expected this to be a bit more off-kilter. And don’t get me wrong, it is a bit oddball, but it’s oddball in much the same way that Carl Hiaasen is oddball – in fact, it reads a bit like if Carl Hiaasen was a literary-ex-hippie-burnout (and I actually mean that as compliment) – so you can expect zany madcap antics throughout, but the book is still, at its heart, a straightforward novel about sad sack characters doing the best/worst they can to get by.

So, what are your clues that you’re reading an ex-hippie-burnout novel?

1. Drugs. Duh.
2. Casual Sex. Also duh.
3. At least one character that’s burned himself out on LSD.
4. Probably more drugs.
5. References to the Illuminati (I blame Robert Shea & Robert Anton Wilson)
6. Drug dealing. Lots of drug dealing.
7. Cynicism, disillusionment, and a fascination with seedy characters doing seedy things.
8. Oh, and The Grateful Dead.

Technically The Grateful Dead don’t show up here, but the book opens with a Captain Beefheart quote, so we’ll call that close enough.

This is a dark, funny, book. It’s funny in a situational comedy kind of way, in a witty banter kind of way, and in a kind of over the top hyperbolic kind of way. And it’s dark: it gets really dark at times, though those times are rare and fleeting (and all the more jarring for their rarity) – these characters have been through the shit, and they've taken their wounds, and they've hardened their skin, and they’re getting on the best they can, but at times the cracks show and the vulnerability peeks out and it’s damn near enough to break your heart. And Hob could create some great characters; even the ones you’re not going to like are going to fascinate you, and the ones you like will have you rooting for them throughout.

Darkness aside, this is a fun read. It’s well written, well plotted, funny, shows great insight into the more broken side of human nature, and manages to tell a great story while it’s at it. Hob Broun died at the age of 37 having only written two novels (this was his first) and a collection of short stories – that’s a goddamn shame, we need more writers with his voice, his humor, and his compassion for the underside of society.