This book is literary horse manure.
In a rare twist, I was drawn into this book by the first three chapters available for download on the author's website. I legitimately thought it would be a hilariously dark read, but oh my God how wrong I was. This is, without question, one of (if not THE) worst books I have ever read in my life. Absolutely horrible. And I'm not saying this because I was offended by it; I'm a huge fan of dark comedy/profane humor. Case in point, I'm a devout fan of South Park; those guys know how to do it right. Matthew S. Hiley is a beacon for how to do it wrong.
Greenleaf Book Group Press? Sounds legit, turns out it's a small outfit where any turd can pay to have their words printed, bound and shipped. But I digress...
His dedication page says it all: "...Lastly, if you are a pretentious turd who feigns outrage at the drop of a hat, please take this book and plant it firmly in your anus. I wrote this book about you, not for you, so kindly be on your way..."
This is foreshadowing for the absurd level of poorly-written prose that follows.
I wanted to like it, but there's nothing to like when it's all said and done. The character are unlikeable at the start, including the protagonist, and, in a fatal blow to the story, fails to deliver any kind of character arc. Hiley tells rather than shows any type of development, whether character, dramatic or plot, and the book, simply put, reads like one of two things: either something a sociopath undergoing anger management therapy would write as a means of catharsis or else the effort of a 14-year-old angry at his parents for grounding him.
The men in the story call each other "bro." Including the sparsely present police detective investigating numerous missing people largely at the hands of the protagonist. Not anywhere close to actual realistic dialogue.
There's little to no concrete illustration of why Devero goes off the deep end, just simply bare-bones profane commentary. And the notion that a lamely biased little league coach playing favorites with positions would trigger a homicidal spree isn't anywhere near developed to plausible level.
There are no consequences for Devero's actions; the cops treat him like a bro and let him go. I could care less about the presence of drugs and profanity -- I have to admit the small sections of texting chains were funny at first, but soon wore thin after repetition -- but the complete implausibility of the story and plot development, not to mention flat-as-pancake typecast characters turn this book into a complete waste of time.
Dark comedy does not provide an excuse for horrifically poor writing and storytelling. It doesn't allow the writer to get away with a soupy-thin narrative loaded with profanity and characters that are absolutely unlikeable; not anti-heroes, mind you, but characters you WANT to see die miserable deaths such is the level of their despicable attribute.
The story is penned with a seemingly rage-filled animosity but fails to articulate the points summarized on the book cover. No build-up. No suspense. Just gore, hokey sex scenes and abusive characters without any kind of plausible justification of their behavior. They're jerks because Hiley's narrative suggests they're tired of putting up with everyone else's nonsense and, in his world view, that's enough of a reason to go off on a drug-fueled murderous rampage.
Wow. That's deep, Mr. Hiley.
This book is philosophically anorexic.
It is laughable that the sex scenes are dramatically underwritten while the gore scenes are comparatively explicit. It's obvious that Hiley is shy about erotic illustration but has no qualms about detailing a sociopath hacking up a corpse with a chainsaw. Too funny... and cowardly. The sex scenes are penned in a fashion that suggestions, again, a teenage boy writing a dirty story under the sheets of his bed by flashlight.
Reading the descriptions of the ball games, one would forget this is supposed to be about little league. Devero takes over coaching his son's team after killing the coach and BAM, just like that, the team is decimating their competition. If this were a movie, it would be void of a montage showing their rise, and what's a sports movie without a montage? A crappy movie, that's what.
This story premise has potential, but Hiley failed to develop it in any shape or form to deliver on what it promises. I am enraged that I spent $16 on a new copy only to have wasted my time and money on such a horribly written piece of garbage prose.
I said as much on his Facebook page for the book as well as his author page, and, big surprise, comments are gone and I'm blocked. Bush league, Mr. Hiley. You want to play creative writer, you better learn how to take criticism. I feel as though I've been robbed, after reading this turd of a tome, which I would love to flush away.
As a sidenote, I also purchased his book "The Candidates" at the same time; I had faith that I was discovering a new humorist that I would truly enjoy. But within the opening chapters, lo and behold, the presidential candidates (it's an election spoof) are calling each other "bro" and "homie."
It's like this guy is a Maxim freelancer attempting to pass himself off as an author and he is failing miserably.
Hiley needs to take a creative writing class (or two, or six or 12...) before endeavoring upon another book. God knows I won't be reading anything with his name on it ever again.