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Every Shallow Cut
He's nameless, faceless, and has nothing left to lose—and now he has a gun.
Alone except for his beloved bulldog, Churchill, a despondent man who's failed at his career, his marriage, and his own simple hopes makes his way across the fierce American landscape and the spectacle of his own bitter past. As he heads home to his distant brother, he witnesses various tragedies and crimes which bring out the killer in him.
Tom Piccirilli brings us a suspense story for our current struggling times, taken directly from a broken heart. It is full of realism, grit, and a depth of the dark streets that give voice to the fears most of us can barely imagine. The terror of loss, the overwhelming dread of failure, the desperate push towards crime, the horror of missed-out, mediocre dreams. And the all-too-average explosive rage.
175 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2010
4 people are currently reading
513 people want to read
About the author
Tom Piccirilli
186 books386 followersThomas Piccirilli (May 27, 1965 – July 11, 2015) was an American novelist and short story writer.
Piccirilli sold over 150 stories in the mystery, thriller, horror, erotica, and science fiction fields. He was a two-time winner of the International Thriller Writers Award for "Best Paperback Original" (2008, 2010). He was a four-time winner of the Bram Stoker Award. He was also a finalist for the 2009 Edgar Allan Poe Award given by the Mystery Writers of America, a final nominee for the Fantasy Award, and the winner of the first Bram Stoker Award given in the category of "Best Poetry Collection".
Piccirilli sold over 150 stories in the mystery, thriller, horror, erotica, and science fiction fields. He was a two-time winner of the International Thriller Writers Award for "Best Paperback Original" (2008, 2010). He was a four-time winner of the Bram Stoker Award. He was also a finalist for the 2009 Edgar Allan Poe Award given by the Mystery Writers of America, a final nominee for the Fantasy Award, and the winner of the first Bram Stoker Award given in the category of "Best Poetry Collection".
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 101 reviews
April 13, 2020
a man and a bulldog on a road trip through hell and memories with nothing left to lose...
such a tiny book to be so sad and yet so funny. and the humor and the pathos both largely come from a situation the author himself must be all too familiar with:a writer - who has had some success, but not the kind that matters - the commercial success:
Readers wanted more mainstream material. They didn't want sentences that sounded like poetry. No one read poetry. No one liked poetry. This wasn't the fucking Renaissance.
because, yes, tom piccirilli writes heartbreakingly lyrical sentences, in all three of the books i have read by him, and yet he is largely unknown; a publisher-hopper with a cult following but no real name-recognition. and that is a shame.
you can sense the bitterness, which is undercut by humor, in his author-character:
"Anyway, they balked because they felt it wasn't commercial enough."
"Do we even know what the fuck that means?"
"It means not enough middle-age women or tween girls are going to like it."
"Is that the only audience left?"
"The only one that counts."
ohhh, it is sad and true, both.
his character is at the end of his rope. he has been left by his woman, evicted, and has pawned off all that he owns, including his
literary awards,which have been tagged "paperweights" or "bookends"
he has seen the remaindered copies of his books stacked at the thrift store and being sold, or not, for a quarter each.
this is the heartbreaking state of literature.
and i hate to be the person who transcribes the paragraph from which the title is taken because it's a bit gauche, but hey - thanksgiving wine makes a girl do gauche things, and i think it is quite lovely.
There's a poignancy to it that's lacking in most of your other novels. You're writing from the marrow. I can feel every shallow cut you've ever suffered in it, all of them still bleeding, tearing wider and becoming deeper. You can die from a paper cut if it becomes infected. That's what I feel in your words now.
there is a feverish desperation in the struggle to overcome the shit life flings:
wasn't there anyone anywhere who would just let you go on your way without making you try to explain yourself? How could you articulate what you didn't understand yourself?
and that's what this book is: a rising up over hardships, a quest for self in all the emptiness, a howl of stubborn existence.
I didn't want to fight a cop. I didn't want to fight anybody. I wanted to be left alone, but I couldn't even walk down a street in the south Bronx with an illegal gun packed in my bag without some bastard with his whole shitting life in front of him and the power of right and might on his side bothering me.
so this holiday season, i am going to be thankful for my health, and i will share this link with you to help tom piccirilli, who does not now have his health, and also be thankful for my taste in books, that i can help the struggling authors; the ones who might not get the same kind of publicity as the ones the tweenies are glomming onto. because there are so many secret gems which unfortunately are often the ones that get remaindered because they lack mainstream appeal. i have no problem with the mainstream, but frequently the tributaries are more scenic.
buy this book direct from czp, and help piccirilli pay some medical bills:
http://chizinepub.com/
or use one of these links:
http://www.indiegogo.com/TomPiccirilli
http://www.darkregions.com/books/the-...
help a brother out.
and read some of his books.
they are worth it.
come to my blog!
such a tiny book to be so sad and yet so funny. and the humor and the pathos both largely come from a situation the author himself must be all too familiar with:a writer - who has had some success, but not the kind that matters - the commercial success:
Readers wanted more mainstream material. They didn't want sentences that sounded like poetry. No one read poetry. No one liked poetry. This wasn't the fucking Renaissance.
because, yes, tom piccirilli writes heartbreakingly lyrical sentences, in all three of the books i have read by him, and yet he is largely unknown; a publisher-hopper with a cult following but no real name-recognition. and that is a shame.
you can sense the bitterness, which is undercut by humor, in his author-character:
"Anyway, they balked because they felt it wasn't commercial enough."
"Do we even know what the fuck that means?"
"It means not enough middle-age women or tween girls are going to like it."
"Is that the only audience left?"
"The only one that counts."
ohhh, it is sad and true, both.
his character is at the end of his rope. he has been left by his woman, evicted, and has pawned off all that he owns, including his
literary awards,which have been tagged "paperweights" or "bookends"
he has seen the remaindered copies of his books stacked at the thrift store and being sold, or not, for a quarter each.
this is the heartbreaking state of literature.
and i hate to be the person who transcribes the paragraph from which the title is taken because it's a bit gauche, but hey - thanksgiving wine makes a girl do gauche things, and i think it is quite lovely.
There's a poignancy to it that's lacking in most of your other novels. You're writing from the marrow. I can feel every shallow cut you've ever suffered in it, all of them still bleeding, tearing wider and becoming deeper. You can die from a paper cut if it becomes infected. That's what I feel in your words now.
there is a feverish desperation in the struggle to overcome the shit life flings:
wasn't there anyone anywhere who would just let you go on your way without making you try to explain yourself? How could you articulate what you didn't understand yourself?
and that's what this book is: a rising up over hardships, a quest for self in all the emptiness, a howl of stubborn existence.
I didn't want to fight a cop. I didn't want to fight anybody. I wanted to be left alone, but I couldn't even walk down a street in the south Bronx with an illegal gun packed in my bag without some bastard with his whole shitting life in front of him and the power of right and might on his side bothering me.
so this holiday season, i am going to be thankful for my health, and i will share this link with you to help tom piccirilli, who does not now have his health, and also be thankful for my taste in books, that i can help the struggling authors; the ones who might not get the same kind of publicity as the ones the tweenies are glomming onto. because there are so many secret gems which unfortunately are often the ones that get remaindered because they lack mainstream appeal. i have no problem with the mainstream, but frequently the tributaries are more scenic.
buy this book direct from czp, and help piccirilli pay some medical bills:
http://chizinepub.com/
or use one of these links:
http://www.indiegogo.com/TomPiccirilli
http://www.darkregions.com/books/the-...
help a brother out.
and read some of his books.
they are worth it.
come to my blog!
January 12, 2016
"I was three days into my life as a homeless loser drifter when they broke my nose and dropped me on the street in front of a nameless pawn shop. I hit like two hundred pounds of failed dreams."This sad and heartbreaking book is essential psychological noir stripped of any flair or excess. Anyone interested in writing a portrait of despair and anguish and exploring a character at their lowest point should give this a look. It follows a mid-level writer who is critically-praised but could never find commercial success, and after dwindling sales, the collapsing economy, and the loss of his wife and belongings, is on the verge of (or in the middle of) a nervous breakdown and decides to take a roadtrip to visit his brother in Long Island. And to make matters worse, some dumbass actually sells him a firearm at the beginning.
There's something so honest about everything in this book that it was a little uncomfortable to read it. Piccirilli managed to pull out more emotion in me in a few paragraphs of this noirella than some writers do in 600 page novels. Every page of Every Shallow Cut is filled with what everyone loves about David Goodis's writing when he was firing on all pistons. I believe that anyone that has a passion in the creative world will be able to relate with this main character whether you want to or not. Benoit Lelievre, my Goodreads buddy and succinct writer in his own right, said it best on his blog review for Every Shallow Cut: "You can't turn your back on its protagonist because you're the only thing he has left, the reader of his tormented masterpiece and you can't really bond with him either as he's stuck in a place you don't want to be."
That's one of my favorite quotes ever from a book review and such a great summary of what real noir is.
And this book is even more heartbreaking once you realize how meta and biographical it might be; when you think of the fact that Piccirilli himself was a prolific, award-winning writer that passed away before finding real commercial success. When you think of him writing this out of his own frustration and during particularly dark times, it takes on even more meaning. Instead of dedicating the book to a friend or loved one, here's Piccirilli's dedication:
"For everyone with an unfulfilled hope, a mediocre dream, a half-forgotten love, a vague regret, a thorn of disappointment, an average fantasy, a fear of failure, a ghost that walks the midnight corridors, Every Shallow Cut is for you—"Read this if you're looking for amazing writing and an affecting story. Don't read this if you're not ready for some dark, heavy material, although your missing out on really great work. And if you're looking for a happy ending, you won't find it here.
November 24, 2012
The main protagonist is a writer who has lost it all in a time where it's make or break for people, he is literally broke right down to a royalty cheque for $12.37. This is about a very human struggle and a man's burden that he did not do it right with his family, his profession and his home all gone to the dogs, one consolation is that at least he still has his dog and a car, and now is in possession of a deadly weapon.
What is he going to do? Where will the road end?
That's the pondering questions. This story would appeal to many writers and readers, a dilemma so true nowadays Men failing, at despair's door take a shotgun to his family then himself. I just hope for salvation for this protagonist as you really feel for him in this good tight story from Piccirilli, who does not get enough recognition as he should for writing some real solid stories incorporating human struggles and evils.
Luck was not on his side, he smiled pleasantly at everyone. He smiled pleasantly at the bank guy who stuck the foreclosure sign on his front door, when Church his dog was a puppy and the vet told him to have it put down. He smiled pleasantly at his editor when the publisher remaindered two thousand copies of his last novel and he found them stacked in the thrift store with pink stickers, going for a quarter each, and still not selling. He is down to one royalty cheque for $12.37 the last money he would ever see from his writing. His last novel sold even worse than the one before it, which sold worse than the one before that, going back more than a decade to the first book, which hadn't done all that well either.
How many authors have found themselves in the same situation as the protagonist in this story?
The publication world is changing, evolving, the ebook generation is possibly out selling the hardcover editions. Bookselling is becoming harder as large stores have shut up shop(Borders), small book shops no longer managing to make a profit as general supermarket stores offer cheaper prices on books. The ebook format could be blamed as a contributor to the problem or could be a life saver for the writers and publishers.
This image is from I am Legend, the movie with Will Smith starring in it,and strikes similarities with the protagonist of this story as in owning a gun and his dog.
Review also here
What is he going to do? Where will the road end?
That's the pondering questions. This story would appeal to many writers and readers, a dilemma so true nowadays Men failing, at despair's door take a shotgun to his family then himself. I just hope for salvation for this protagonist as you really feel for him in this good tight story from Piccirilli, who does not get enough recognition as he should for writing some real solid stories incorporating human struggles and evils.
Luck was not on his side, he smiled pleasantly at everyone. He smiled pleasantly at the bank guy who stuck the foreclosure sign on his front door, when Church his dog was a puppy and the vet told him to have it put down. He smiled pleasantly at his editor when the publisher remaindered two thousand copies of his last novel and he found them stacked in the thrift store with pink stickers, going for a quarter each, and still not selling. He is down to one royalty cheque for $12.37 the last money he would ever see from his writing. His last novel sold even worse than the one before it, which sold worse than the one before that, going back more than a decade to the first book, which hadn't done all that well either.
How many authors have found themselves in the same situation as the protagonist in this story?
The publication world is changing, evolving, the ebook generation is possibly out selling the hardcover editions. Bookselling is becoming harder as large stores have shut up shop(Borders), small book shops no longer managing to make a profit as general supermarket stores offer cheaper prices on books. The ebook format could be blamed as a contributor to the problem or could be a life saver for the writers and publishers.
This image is from I am Legend, the movie with Will Smith starring in it,and strikes similarities with the protagonist of this story as in owning a gun and his dog.
Review also here
August 7, 2015
"Readers wanted more mainstream material. They didn't want sentences that sounded like poetry. No one read poetry. No one liked poetry. This wasn't the fucking Renaissance."
Every Shallow Cut starts with a homeless guy getting beaten up by three meth heads, fighting back, stealing their money, buying a gun and taking a road trip. With sentences so bleak, so black, so melancholy, so poetic, so raw and natural that I was immediately infatuated with his protagonist and his journey in to the depths of the long dark tea-time of the soul.
Not only was I deeply impressed with Piccirilli's ability to paint a vividly real portrait of despair but I felt inspired to write for myself for the first time in at least a year. Here is a writer who has been critically praised yet without the sales figures to back it up writing about a writer who has been critically praised yet without the sales figures to be able to own his own house, or literary awards. Yes, that has made me even more keen to pursue a career in writing.
But I want to write movies that nobody wants to see, it's different to writing novels right?
The nameless protagonist is bordering on unhinged and he has a gun, this is stuff tension filled scenes are made of and Piccirilli makes the most of it as he visits ex-girlfriends, relatives, friends and business associates amongst others. The whole time you half expect the poor guy to just blow his brains out on a whim or in response to the wrong placating words. A particularly pleasing effect in my opinion.
Written in the wake of the global financial meltdown of several years ago it is already dated in a small way, but sometimes literature needs to function as a record of a particular place and time and when historians look at our art and want to know what it was like for us at the beginning of the second decade of the 21st Century Every Shallow Cut would be a fertile resource to demonstrate the terror and dread that overcame whole cities of people.
Another superb noir infused novel from Tom Piccirilli to sit on my shelf, and tomorrow I will have to order as many as I can get my grubby little hands on. Hopefully something else as beautifully produced as this Chizine Publications edition; it's so nice to find a paperback imprint that takes real care over the design of the book from the artwork to the size and quality of the paper and even the care taken with the copy editing.
Every Shallow Cut starts with a homeless guy getting beaten up by three meth heads, fighting back, stealing their money, buying a gun and taking a road trip. With sentences so bleak, so black, so melancholy, so poetic, so raw and natural that I was immediately infatuated with his protagonist and his journey in to the depths of the long dark tea-time of the soul.
Not only was I deeply impressed with Piccirilli's ability to paint a vividly real portrait of despair but I felt inspired to write for myself for the first time in at least a year. Here is a writer who has been critically praised yet without the sales figures to back it up writing about a writer who has been critically praised yet without the sales figures to be able to own his own house, or literary awards. Yes, that has made me even more keen to pursue a career in writing.
But I want to write movies that nobody wants to see, it's different to writing novels right?
The nameless protagonist is bordering on unhinged and he has a gun, this is stuff tension filled scenes are made of and Piccirilli makes the most of it as he visits ex-girlfriends, relatives, friends and business associates amongst others. The whole time you half expect the poor guy to just blow his brains out on a whim or in response to the wrong placating words. A particularly pleasing effect in my opinion.
Written in the wake of the global financial meltdown of several years ago it is already dated in a small way, but sometimes literature needs to function as a record of a particular place and time and when historians look at our art and want to know what it was like for us at the beginning of the second decade of the 21st Century Every Shallow Cut would be a fertile resource to demonstrate the terror and dread that overcame whole cities of people.
Another superb noir infused novel from Tom Piccirilli to sit on my shelf, and tomorrow I will have to order as many as I can get my grubby little hands on. Hopefully something else as beautifully produced as this Chizine Publications edition; it's so nice to find a paperback imprint that takes real care over the design of the book from the artwork to the size and quality of the paper and even the care taken with the copy editing.
October 14, 2016
Man, Piccirilli can write like nobody's business. The book felt action-packed, although not too much action really happens. Instead, it's a psychological-noir descent into the darkest corners of desperation and failure. And at only 165 pages, it didn't drag for one second. The language was beautiful and colorful and painful, the book design itself was a thing of beauty - each chapter beginning with white text on an all black background with the photo of (presumably) our narrator adjacent to it - the LOOK of the book really served the text and story. This is the second Tom Piccirilli book I read this year, and I loved it even more than the first. My only regret is not getting into this author sooner.
March 4, 2011
Tom refers to his mesmerizing new book, Every Shallow Cut, as a "noirella" (a noir novella). It is a shame that more publishers (or more mainstream publishers) don't publish novellas. When done correctly, they pack quite a punch. Tom takes full advantage of the form here, as ESC is meant to be experienced in a one-to-two hour sitting. It's no accident, I think, that the length-of-read is essentially movie-length. We're so used to our entertainment being chunked out to us in that format, part of the appeal is that we're going through that similar temporal motion. Hell, sit with this book with a bag of popcorn and enjoy the downward spiral. Only, like great films that do achieve art, the ideas, themes, and emotions in Every Shallow Cut linger well beyond the two-hours spent.
The unnamed narrator is a struggling mid-list writer whose life, marriage, and career are going down the tubes and fast. He makes a trek from Denver to NYC, and to his estranged brother's house (and agent's office), with only his dog Churchill in tow. At times, the novella reads, almost uncomfortably so, as a type of metafiction, as if Tom is telling us way too much about himself. But then again; that's the point. Whereas most stories about writers come off as preachy, self-absorbed, and myopic, ESC's narrator is all of us. Almost beyond empathy and pathos, he is our collected fears, anxieties, and broken dreams. It's those detailed broken dreams the narrator clings to that simultaneously makes him heroic and pathetic; it makes him us.
Every Shallow Cut is a wow read, folks.
The unnamed narrator is a struggling mid-list writer whose life, marriage, and career are going down the tubes and fast. He makes a trek from Denver to NYC, and to his estranged brother's house (and agent's office), with only his dog Churchill in tow. At times, the novella reads, almost uncomfortably so, as a type of metafiction, as if Tom is telling us way too much about himself. But then again; that's the point. Whereas most stories about writers come off as preachy, self-absorbed, and myopic, ESC's narrator is all of us. Almost beyond empathy and pathos, he is our collected fears, anxieties, and broken dreams. It's those detailed broken dreams the narrator clings to that simultaneously makes him heroic and pathetic; it makes him us.
Every Shallow Cut is a wow read, folks.
October 17, 2018
This is so damn good it simultaneously makes me want to write my ass off and to quit writing. When the history of 21st century noir is written there is no way this novella isn't in the top echelon. Heck with opening a vein, he opened arteries.
November 15, 2014
Of all the ChiZene hardcover books i have this was the hardest one for me to find. It's sad, It's grim, it's funny and way too short. Or maybe not, perhaps it's just right.
This is copy 50 of 55 signed numbered copies.
This is copy 50 of 55 signed numbered copies.
April 14, 2011
What a dark book this is! I had guessed that from the synopsis itself. Yet, Evey Shallow Cut still took me by surprise.
Every Shallow Cut revolves around a man who has failed everything in his life. His books aren't making any money, his wife has left him for another man and no one seems to need him. His dog, Churchill, seems to be the only one who wants to be with him. He has lost everything that's there to lose. As the narrator approaches complete breakdown, he undertakes a journey, with just a gun and his dog to accompany him.
Every Shallow Cut is an intense, disturbing read. I could feel the narrator's disappointment and anger almost pouring off the pages of the book. This book created such an impact that at one point, my mood almost seemed to mirror that of the narrator's (which is creepy!).
The book captures the dread of losing everything one has worked for, so well. With every page, the suspense and tension keeps on building. You get the feeling that something's about to happen - something terrible. I kept on anticipating what crazy thing the completely damaged protagonist - who made me feel sorry for him on one hand and scared me on the other - was going to do next.
The protagonist is very easy to sympathize with. I could not like him, but I did feel sorry for him. How could I not feel sorry?! His despair seemed to grow with every page! There's something very scary about the book; I think many of us (including me) fear failure more than anything else. The narrator's trauma reflects the reality of so many.
My major issue with the book was that it got really confusing at times. I couldn't follow or keep up with the narrator's thought processes, which sometimes seemed very disjointed. Maybe it was deliberately done to create an even deeper impact, but truthfully it was a headache to try and understand what was going on at times.
Every Shallow Cut is a very realistic and relevant, especially in todays' times. There are many people who struggle with failures and undergo the same kind of misery. Every Shallow Cut is a very real and hard-hitting account of our deepest and darkest fears.
Every Shallow Cut revolves around a man who has failed everything in his life. His books aren't making any money, his wife has left him for another man and no one seems to need him. His dog, Churchill, seems to be the only one who wants to be with him. He has lost everything that's there to lose. As the narrator approaches complete breakdown, he undertakes a journey, with just a gun and his dog to accompany him.
Every Shallow Cut is an intense, disturbing read. I could feel the narrator's disappointment and anger almost pouring off the pages of the book. This book created such an impact that at one point, my mood almost seemed to mirror that of the narrator's (which is creepy!).
The book captures the dread of losing everything one has worked for, so well. With every page, the suspense and tension keeps on building. You get the feeling that something's about to happen - something terrible. I kept on anticipating what crazy thing the completely damaged protagonist - who made me feel sorry for him on one hand and scared me on the other - was going to do next.
The protagonist is very easy to sympathize with. I could not like him, but I did feel sorry for him. How could I not feel sorry?! His despair seemed to grow with every page! There's something very scary about the book; I think many of us (including me) fear failure more than anything else. The narrator's trauma reflects the reality of so many.
My major issue with the book was that it got really confusing at times. I couldn't follow or keep up with the narrator's thought processes, which sometimes seemed very disjointed. Maybe it was deliberately done to create an even deeper impact, but truthfully it was a headache to try and understand what was going on at times.
Every Shallow Cut is a very realistic and relevant, especially in todays' times. There are many people who struggle with failures and undergo the same kind of misery. Every Shallow Cut is a very real and hard-hitting account of our deepest and darkest fears.
June 9, 2016
I had changed my mind about writing a review, but this site saves the reviews anyway, and this novella deserves more than blank.
I have a few of Piccirilli's books and I have marked more as "wnat to read', but this was the first that I have read. I picked it up because I wanted to read that evening, but didn't really know what I wanted to read. I picked this one up without looking to see what it was about, and within the first paragraph I sensed that this really wasn't my thing. But it was short, and I wanted to sample the author so I went into quick read mode and finished it in a few hours. As I got ready for bed I thought that it was well done,"but perhaps it could have simply been a short story."
The next day as I was doing my usual morning stuff, I was thinking about a scene in which the protagonist was driving in a place which had once been known but which had become unfamiliar to him. For the narrator responded to the unfamiliarity with projections of threat, with a conitnual sense that his actions could be wrong somehow. I began thinking about other details of the protagonists journey, the flood, the weeds, the pervasive dread, his fragmented fantasies of confrontation, the continual evaluation and requests for identification he encounters, why a bull dog?
So I began rereading ESC, more slowly this time. To avoid spoilers I will keep the rest of my mental review to myself. One reason I don't write out and share my thoughts on books on this site is that I consider reading to be an active shared act with the writer. Often with the reviews I read I think that the readers evaluation depends on how much they like "that sort of book' whatever that sort may be. In general I prefer a different sort of story. After my first quick reading I thought it was well done. After a second reading and a couple of days of thinking through aspects of the book, I think it is rich, revealing, insightful, exceptionally well done, and I really want to read more by this author.
I have a few of Piccirilli's books and I have marked more as "wnat to read', but this was the first that I have read. I picked it up because I wanted to read that evening, but didn't really know what I wanted to read. I picked this one up without looking to see what it was about, and within the first paragraph I sensed that this really wasn't my thing. But it was short, and I wanted to sample the author so I went into quick read mode and finished it in a few hours. As I got ready for bed I thought that it was well done,"but perhaps it could have simply been a short story."
The next day as I was doing my usual morning stuff, I was thinking about a scene in which the protagonist was driving in a place which had once been known but which had become unfamiliar to him. For the narrator responded to the unfamiliarity with projections of threat, with a conitnual sense that his actions could be wrong somehow. I began thinking about other details of the protagonists journey, the flood, the weeds, the pervasive dread, his fragmented fantasies of confrontation, the continual evaluation and requests for identification he encounters, why a bull dog?
So I began rereading ESC, more slowly this time. To avoid spoilers I will keep the rest of my mental review to myself. One reason I don't write out and share my thoughts on books on this site is that I consider reading to be an active shared act with the writer. Often with the reviews I read I think that the readers evaluation depends on how much they like "that sort of book' whatever that sort may be. In general I prefer a different sort of story. After my first quick reading I thought it was well done. After a second reading and a couple of days of thinking through aspects of the book, I think it is rich, revealing, insightful, exceptionally well done, and I really want to read more by this author.
January 11, 2015
A dark and desperate glimpse into a man's life as goes down the toilet. Besides his bulldog, nothing remains. A road trip to the past reveals no hope there. This felt like real despair.
June 2, 2011
http://www.hipsterbookclub.com/review...
Tom Piccirilli’s gritty noir novella, Every Shallow Cut, slices to the bone with its portrayal of a down-on-his-luck man descending into madness. The book’s short length, lightning-fast plot, and unreliable narration combine for a white-knuckle experience as the protagonist loses his grip on life and reflects on the agony of disappointment.
Every Shallow Cut tells the story of an unnamed writer who barely recognizes himself as he plunges into insanity; downward spiral doesn’t begin to describe his descent. Here is a man who has lost everything: his income, house, wife, and dignity. His only remaining friend is his fiercely loyal English bulldog, Churchill, who often acts as an extension of the narrator’s psyche.
The novella begins abruptly, unapologetically dropping readers right into the middle of the man’s troubled life, as a gang of teenagers jumps him for what little he has left. “I was three days into my life as a homeless loser drifter when they broke my nose and dropped me on the street in front of a nameless pawn shop. I hit like two hundred pounds of failed dreams.” Before long, something in the narrator snaps. He reclaims control of his life by striking out with a brutal violence that can only be enacted by someone who literally has nothing left to lose.
Or does he? The mind of a madman cannot be trusted, at least not completely. Piccirilli plays with the unreliability of the narrator and asks readers to interpret his actions as reality or the delusions of a broken man. A purposefully vague ending allows the reader to absorb the story rather than focus on the conclusion. Like a film that leaves the viewer wondering what really happened as the end credits roll, Every Shallow Cut leaves readers in contemplation after the last page is turned. It’s an unsettling feeling.
Like a film, the book is best experienced in one sitting, and it can be read in the time it takes to watch a typical movie. There is little unnecessary exposition. Short chapters jump from one scene to the next without lengthy transitions, emphasizing the narrator’s rapid emotional deterioration and the feel of impending devastation. In the novella format, Piccirilli’s every word must aim for highest impact. He economically and poignantly conveys the narrator’s dire situation: “Churchill let loose with a howl. He missed his spot on the end of the futon. I missed my spot lying next to my wife on our king-size bed. I missed my house. The bank owned it now. I’d thought I’d put down some deep roots over the last ten years but they’d all been tugged up like a handful of dying weeds.”
Despite the book’s brevity, Piccirilli succeeds in creating a complex main character. The narrator’s dementia becomes increasingly apparent, but so does his humanity. In speaking about his strained relationship with his brother, he reflects:
Piccirilli suggests that it is in times of profound stress that we see ourselves most clearly. Perhaps it is this reflection that ultimately drives his character into madness.
Piccirilli dedicates this book to “everyone with an unfulfilled hope, a mediocre dream, a half-forgotten love, a vague regret, a thorn of disappointment, an average fantasy, a fear of failure, a ghost that walks the midnight corridors….” While the book focuses on an unnamed narrator, one can’t help wondering how much is drawn from Piccirilli’s own frustrations. Interestingly, the story’s narrator is himself a writer who offers darkly comic, sardonic commentary on the current state of popular literature. He mocks the superstar authors who tour the talk-show circuit explaining how “their characters had whispered in their ears and the books had written themselves.” He especially resents the puerile books that top bestseller lists, like ones about “a werewolf waitress who falls in love with the sous-chef,” or “an alien who comes to earth to coach a pee-wee football league and gives up his homeworld to court a divorcee with a chip on her shoulder.” Later, his publisher tells him his latest book wasn’t commercial enough, meaning “not enough middle-age women or tween girls are going to like it… the only [audience] that counts.” Whether this is Piccirilli’s thorn of disappointment or a fun jab at modern fiction, the dark humor offers a momentary reprieve from the otherwise heavy mood of the story. With intense subject matter and violence, a chuckle or two is welcome.
The author need not suffer his unnamed narrator’s fate of fading into insignificance, however. While he may not become a tween girl favorite, Piccirilli’s ability to relate the maddening but human experiences of unfulfilled hope or fear of failure through an evocative and exhilarating story makes Every Shallow Cut a standout. The story will resonate long after the short time it takes to read.
Tom Piccirilli’s gritty noir novella, Every Shallow Cut, slices to the bone with its portrayal of a down-on-his-luck man descending into madness. The book’s short length, lightning-fast plot, and unreliable narration combine for a white-knuckle experience as the protagonist loses his grip on life and reflects on the agony of disappointment.
Every Shallow Cut tells the story of an unnamed writer who barely recognizes himself as he plunges into insanity; downward spiral doesn’t begin to describe his descent. Here is a man who has lost everything: his income, house, wife, and dignity. His only remaining friend is his fiercely loyal English bulldog, Churchill, who often acts as an extension of the narrator’s psyche.
The novella begins abruptly, unapologetically dropping readers right into the middle of the man’s troubled life, as a gang of teenagers jumps him for what little he has left. “I was three days into my life as a homeless loser drifter when they broke my nose and dropped me on the street in front of a nameless pawn shop. I hit like two hundred pounds of failed dreams.” Before long, something in the narrator snaps. He reclaims control of his life by striking out with a brutal violence that can only be enacted by someone who literally has nothing left to lose.
Or does he? The mind of a madman cannot be trusted, at least not completely. Piccirilli plays with the unreliability of the narrator and asks readers to interpret his actions as reality or the delusions of a broken man. A purposefully vague ending allows the reader to absorb the story rather than focus on the conclusion. Like a film that leaves the viewer wondering what really happened as the end credits roll, Every Shallow Cut leaves readers in contemplation after the last page is turned. It’s an unsettling feeling.
Like a film, the book is best experienced in one sitting, and it can be read in the time it takes to watch a typical movie. There is little unnecessary exposition. Short chapters jump from one scene to the next without lengthy transitions, emphasizing the narrator’s rapid emotional deterioration and the feel of impending devastation. In the novella format, Piccirilli’s every word must aim for highest impact. He economically and poignantly conveys the narrator’s dire situation: “Churchill let loose with a howl. He missed his spot on the end of the futon. I missed my spot lying next to my wife on our king-size bed. I missed my house. The bank owned it now. I’d thought I’d put down some deep roots over the last ten years but they’d all been tugged up like a handful of dying weeds.”
Despite the book’s brevity, Piccirilli succeeds in creating a complex main character. The narrator’s dementia becomes increasingly apparent, but so does his humanity. In speaking about his strained relationship with his brother, he reflects:
I’d written about the love I’d felt for him when I was a boy and he’d ride his ten-speed around our hometown with me on the handlebars, coasting into the corner stationary and buying me comics… I still didn’t know why it had gone so wrong. Maybe he had his own premonitions and visions too. Maybe he saw what lay ahead of me and hated me for it. Or himself. Maybe he’d been warning me all along, and I just hadn’t listened.
Piccirilli suggests that it is in times of profound stress that we see ourselves most clearly. Perhaps it is this reflection that ultimately drives his character into madness.
Piccirilli dedicates this book to “everyone with an unfulfilled hope, a mediocre dream, a half-forgotten love, a vague regret, a thorn of disappointment, an average fantasy, a fear of failure, a ghost that walks the midnight corridors….” While the book focuses on an unnamed narrator, one can’t help wondering how much is drawn from Piccirilli’s own frustrations. Interestingly, the story’s narrator is himself a writer who offers darkly comic, sardonic commentary on the current state of popular literature. He mocks the superstar authors who tour the talk-show circuit explaining how “their characters had whispered in their ears and the books had written themselves.” He especially resents the puerile books that top bestseller lists, like ones about “a werewolf waitress who falls in love with the sous-chef,” or “an alien who comes to earth to coach a pee-wee football league and gives up his homeworld to court a divorcee with a chip on her shoulder.” Later, his publisher tells him his latest book wasn’t commercial enough, meaning “not enough middle-age women or tween girls are going to like it… the only [audience] that counts.” Whether this is Piccirilli’s thorn of disappointment or a fun jab at modern fiction, the dark humor offers a momentary reprieve from the otherwise heavy mood of the story. With intense subject matter and violence, a chuckle or two is welcome.
The author need not suffer his unnamed narrator’s fate of fading into insignificance, however. While he may not become a tween girl favorite, Piccirilli’s ability to relate the maddening but human experiences of unfulfilled hope or fear of failure through an evocative and exhilarating story makes Every Shallow Cut a standout. The story will resonate long after the short time it takes to read.
August 10, 2018
My first Tom Piccirilli book. So incredibly moving and painful. Piccirilli's writing and tempo is flawless here.
May 9, 2011
"He's nameless, faceless, and has nothing left to lose - and now he has a gun."
Wow! How can you not want to read a book with that as the first line on the back cover? I had picked this for the branch quite a while back, so it took me a minute to recognize it when it finally arrived (sort of like when I add books to my Amazon Wishlist, then forget why months later). I read the whole back cover, then started flipping through it while I did our usual processes for checking in new books - and before I realized it I'd already read the first chapter! Obviously this book wanted to go home with me, so I checked it out and home it came.
I don't normally gush about authors or their works as a rule, and I'm going to try not to do that here either, but damn; this guy is good, very good. I blew through this in no time at all, then actually went back and read it again to see if I'd missed anything. I never do that! And on the second reading, I did get more out of it, which changed my initial opinion about the nameless protagonist.
When the story opens, our "hero" has just been punched in the face by a punk outside a pawn shop. He starts flashing back on how he arrived at the pawn shop, again and for the last time; he was once a minorly successful writer with a wife living in Colorado and enjoying his life. Granted, each book was more of a critical success and less of a popular one (which meant less and less money), and granted his wife doesn't seem to love him much anymore, and granted he's been keeping up with the bills - just barely - but his life is pretty good. Then the bottom falls out of the economy and everything spirals into the toilet. His wife leaves him for "Sweetie", his publisher won't answer his calls, the collectors come for all his furniture (well, what his wife didn't take with her), and the bank forecloses on his house. When he arrives at this pawn shop for the last time, he's got nothing left but some clothes, the pieces he's going to pawn, and his bulldog, Churchill. He's gone from an overweight, doughy intellectual living the high life to a lean, mean, perhaps fighting machine. Why not fight? He didn't fight when he was losing everything, so why not do it now?
And fight he does; he buys a gun from the pawn shop owner after beating down the thug that hit him, and his two friends. Then he heads out from Colorado to the east coast to see his brother, a meeting that he dreads with every fiber of his being. Once upon a time, his brother loved him, even encouraged him to write, thought he was so smart. But that changed somewhere along the way, and his brother has shown nothing but contempt for him since they were teenagers. But if you can't go home, where can you go?
It's a powerful work, and when I read some reviews on Amazon, I came across a new term, one evidently coined just for these small pieces by Piccirilli - "Noirella". Perfect! It's definitely got the feel of a noir work, and it's definitely a novella, so "noirella" describes it perfectly. Now to what I realized on my second reading.... Yes, the author has nothing left to lose, and yes, he's spiralling out of control, and yet, he never really loses control. The ending is left ambiguous enough that you can decide what he does next, but I wouldn't agree with the nameless narrator, that he's now like the characters he used to write about, hard, lean men who get into fights at the drop of a hat. The narrative bounces from present to past seamlessly, and you can tell that despite what he says, the narrator does feel like there's something left to his life, no matter how small or tenuous it is.
Piccirilli's got a masterful way with the dialogue, too. When our writer friend visits a buddy of his out East, he leaves his newest creation in his backpack. The buddy reads it after drugging our narrator into a 48-hour nap. Describing the new work, his buddy says this: "There's a poignancy to it that's lacking in most of your other novels. You're writing from the marrow. I can feel every shallow cut you've ever suffered in it, all of them still bleeding, tearing wider and becoming deeper. You can die from a paper cut if it becomes infected. That's what I feel in your words now."
I will definitely be picking up more of Piccirilli's work. I can only hope that they live up to my now very-high expectations.
Wow! How can you not want to read a book with that as the first line on the back cover? I had picked this for the branch quite a while back, so it took me a minute to recognize it when it finally arrived (sort of like when I add books to my Amazon Wishlist, then forget why months later). I read the whole back cover, then started flipping through it while I did our usual processes for checking in new books - and before I realized it I'd already read the first chapter! Obviously this book wanted to go home with me, so I checked it out and home it came.
I don't normally gush about authors or their works as a rule, and I'm going to try not to do that here either, but damn; this guy is good, very good. I blew through this in no time at all, then actually went back and read it again to see if I'd missed anything. I never do that! And on the second reading, I did get more out of it, which changed my initial opinion about the nameless protagonist.
When the story opens, our "hero" has just been punched in the face by a punk outside a pawn shop. He starts flashing back on how he arrived at the pawn shop, again and for the last time; he was once a minorly successful writer with a wife living in Colorado and enjoying his life. Granted, each book was more of a critical success and less of a popular one (which meant less and less money), and granted his wife doesn't seem to love him much anymore, and granted he's been keeping up with the bills - just barely - but his life is pretty good. Then the bottom falls out of the economy and everything spirals into the toilet. His wife leaves him for "Sweetie", his publisher won't answer his calls, the collectors come for all his furniture (well, what his wife didn't take with her), and the bank forecloses on his house. When he arrives at this pawn shop for the last time, he's got nothing left but some clothes, the pieces he's going to pawn, and his bulldog, Churchill. He's gone from an overweight, doughy intellectual living the high life to a lean, mean, perhaps fighting machine. Why not fight? He didn't fight when he was losing everything, so why not do it now?
And fight he does; he buys a gun from the pawn shop owner after beating down the thug that hit him, and his two friends. Then he heads out from Colorado to the east coast to see his brother, a meeting that he dreads with every fiber of his being. Once upon a time, his brother loved him, even encouraged him to write, thought he was so smart. But that changed somewhere along the way, and his brother has shown nothing but contempt for him since they were teenagers. But if you can't go home, where can you go?
It's a powerful work, and when I read some reviews on Amazon, I came across a new term, one evidently coined just for these small pieces by Piccirilli - "Noirella". Perfect! It's definitely got the feel of a noir work, and it's definitely a novella, so "noirella" describes it perfectly. Now to what I realized on my second reading.... Yes, the author has nothing left to lose, and yes, he's spiralling out of control, and yet, he never really loses control. The ending is left ambiguous enough that you can decide what he does next, but I wouldn't agree with the nameless narrator, that he's now like the characters he used to write about, hard, lean men who get into fights at the drop of a hat. The narrative bounces from present to past seamlessly, and you can tell that despite what he says, the narrator does feel like there's something left to his life, no matter how small or tenuous it is.
Piccirilli's got a masterful way with the dialogue, too. When our writer friend visits a buddy of his out East, he leaves his newest creation in his backpack. The buddy reads it after drugging our narrator into a 48-hour nap. Describing the new work, his buddy says this: "There's a poignancy to it that's lacking in most of your other novels. You're writing from the marrow. I can feel every shallow cut you've ever suffered in it, all of them still bleeding, tearing wider and becoming deeper. You can die from a paper cut if it becomes infected. That's what I feel in your words now."
I will definitely be picking up more of Piccirilli's work. I can only hope that they live up to my now very-high expectations.
May 1, 2011
Yes, Officer High School Security Guard, I’d like to report a crime. Go inside and find my guidance counsellor, grab him by the collar and shake him until his back molars crack to pieces. Rap him upside the head with a dictionary. Tell him he shouldn’t perpetuate the fallacy that we can all be whatever we want to be. That all we have to do is to achieve it is want something badly enough and work diligently enough. Spray his eyes and watch him flail screaming across his desk. Tell him to find a new line of work. Tell him there are a lot of others coming up behind me who’ll be visiting him soon. Tell him an army of his former victims is marching across the face of the earth at this very moment. Tell him I’ll soon be back with a different face and a different dog in a different car, but it will be me, and I’ll still have a gun in my pocket. And the next time I might just draw it, and the next time I might just pull the trigger. Yes, I want to report a crime. Someone is being murdered.
***
There are varying degrees to social despondency. There’s the frustration that too many people lie and cheat their way through life, the consequences never seeming to catch up with them; there are those that feel life has not given them a fair hand, and they’re forever begging/praying/soul-selling their first borns for another chance; there are the men and women, all ages, all levels of success, who fear with never ending certainty the knife they know will one day stab them in the back.
Then there’s the narrator of Tom Piccirilli’s Every Shallow Cut.
This man hates every square inch of the world. His mind is an unfiltered, self-destructive vortex of antagonistic, murderous, spiteful thoughts. He’s been crushed by the world, by having his dreams slowly recede until they’re limping to the grave with little hope of a last-minute reprieve.
Piccirilli’s novella—clocking in at a slim 162 pages—relies on the spiralling momentum of its protagonist’s mind as he plummets deeper and deeper into a self-loathing so severe that takes on a life of its own. The unnamed narrator has nothing—he’s lost his wife, his possessions, and his career as a writer has been in steady decline, each book selling fewer than the last. He’s a forgotten integer and can see no way to climb out of the abyss. All he does have is his bulldog Churchill, a car, a gun, and a lot of demons he chooses to address like a man sentenced to die at the gallows, confessing his sins and the sins others have inflicted upon him all the same.
And hating the world—and himself—for being in this position.
Reading like a vertical slice of a noir married with a certain degree of distorted self-reflection, Every Shallow Cut is at times an unpleasant experience, but never one I wish I hadn’t taken. Piccirilli’s narrator is the author’s dark half rising to the surface, unchained and naked for all the world to see. Outside of being a simple narrative device that allows the reader to easily place themselves within the mind of the narrator, the namelessness of Piccirilli’s antihero could be read as being overtly tied to the author, their names one and the same, or it could be interpreted as one more thing that’s been taken from him—his identity along with all purpose and will to survive.
Hate is something none of us are without. The vitriol on each page of Piccirilli’s novella, while startling and sometimes overwhelming, is also healthy. On one hand the narrator has lost everything he had ever lived for; on the other hand, over the course of the book he is confronting and shouting honestly at everything he’s ever been dissatisfied with. There’s no point in holding back anymore. Everything is going to come out because everything has to come out. The gun in his possession is the arbiter of truth in this case—it’s his final judgement, having divulged the unhappiness that runs through him, and it’s what will help him to decide, when all is said and done, what singular action he takes from here on out: to move forward in this life or the next.
***
There are varying degrees to social despondency. There’s the frustration that too many people lie and cheat their way through life, the consequences never seeming to catch up with them; there are those that feel life has not given them a fair hand, and they’re forever begging/praying/soul-selling their first borns for another chance; there are the men and women, all ages, all levels of success, who fear with never ending certainty the knife they know will one day stab them in the back.
Then there’s the narrator of Tom Piccirilli’s Every Shallow Cut.
This man hates every square inch of the world. His mind is an unfiltered, self-destructive vortex of antagonistic, murderous, spiteful thoughts. He’s been crushed by the world, by having his dreams slowly recede until they’re limping to the grave with little hope of a last-minute reprieve.
Piccirilli’s novella—clocking in at a slim 162 pages—relies on the spiralling momentum of its protagonist’s mind as he plummets deeper and deeper into a self-loathing so severe that takes on a life of its own. The unnamed narrator has nothing—he’s lost his wife, his possessions, and his career as a writer has been in steady decline, each book selling fewer than the last. He’s a forgotten integer and can see no way to climb out of the abyss. All he does have is his bulldog Churchill, a car, a gun, and a lot of demons he chooses to address like a man sentenced to die at the gallows, confessing his sins and the sins others have inflicted upon him all the same.
And hating the world—and himself—for being in this position.
Reading like a vertical slice of a noir married with a certain degree of distorted self-reflection, Every Shallow Cut is at times an unpleasant experience, but never one I wish I hadn’t taken. Piccirilli’s narrator is the author’s dark half rising to the surface, unchained and naked for all the world to see. Outside of being a simple narrative device that allows the reader to easily place themselves within the mind of the narrator, the namelessness of Piccirilli’s antihero could be read as being overtly tied to the author, their names one and the same, or it could be interpreted as one more thing that’s been taken from him—his identity along with all purpose and will to survive.
Hate is something none of us are without. The vitriol on each page of Piccirilli’s novella, while startling and sometimes overwhelming, is also healthy. On one hand the narrator has lost everything he had ever lived for; on the other hand, over the course of the book he is confronting and shouting honestly at everything he’s ever been dissatisfied with. There’s no point in holding back anymore. Everything is going to come out because everything has to come out. The gun in his possession is the arbiter of truth in this case—it’s his final judgement, having divulged the unhappiness that runs through him, and it’s what will help him to decide, when all is said and done, what singular action he takes from here on out: to move forward in this life or the next.
July 7, 2011
One good way to enticing me to read your book is to put a dog in it. One good way to repel me is to put a cat in it. Tom Piccirilli opted for dog. My kind of author.
This isn't a story about a dog though, even if it is an adorable old bulldog named Churchill. It's about an author at the end of his rope. He's lost his house, his wife, his career, and the story starts off with him being beaten and robbed of his few remaining possessions in front of a pawn shop. All he has left is his car and his dog. Throw in a steel guitar and you've got yourself a country song. After he's patched up, he pawns off what he can and buys something he believes he'll need: a gun.
Have you ever had an disquieting feeling go through you, one that feels like when you're in a sawmill? That's kind of how this book makes you feel as you read it. There's a menacing shadow over this guy as he makes his cross-country journey to see his estranged big brother. He's not going on a killing spree or anything as explosive as that, but he's a lit fuse. He drives from Colorado to New York to reunite with his estranged brother, as well as his literary agent. Every relationship he has is strained, if not ruined by how his life has been led. The guy, who is never named, is sympathetic on one level for the hardships he faces, but he's not a very likable guy.
The narration is a combination of frenetic ramblings and brooding contemplation. Piccirilli gives you the idea of what's going through the guy's head as it's happening, not much of it pretty. A feel good story it is not, but it wound up being a story that resonated--like that hum I mentioned--and is rightfully earning praise from just about everyone who reads it. It's a novella length work, which is a perfect fit for a story like this, as it lasts just long enough for the story that needs to be told to have its turn in the spotlight. The ending may not be what you expect, but it's about as close to a perfect ending that you could ask for.
If you have any appreciation for dark fiction, then you should most definitely read this book.
This isn't a story about a dog though, even if it is an adorable old bulldog named Churchill. It's about an author at the end of his rope. He's lost his house, his wife, his career, and the story starts off with him being beaten and robbed of his few remaining possessions in front of a pawn shop. All he has left is his car and his dog. Throw in a steel guitar and you've got yourself a country song. After he's patched up, he pawns off what he can and buys something he believes he'll need: a gun.
Have you ever had an disquieting feeling go through you, one that feels like when you're in a sawmill? That's kind of how this book makes you feel as you read it. There's a menacing shadow over this guy as he makes his cross-country journey to see his estranged big brother. He's not going on a killing spree or anything as explosive as that, but he's a lit fuse. He drives from Colorado to New York to reunite with his estranged brother, as well as his literary agent. Every relationship he has is strained, if not ruined by how his life has been led. The guy, who is never named, is sympathetic on one level for the hardships he faces, but he's not a very likable guy.
The narration is a combination of frenetic ramblings and brooding contemplation. Piccirilli gives you the idea of what's going through the guy's head as it's happening, not much of it pretty. A feel good story it is not, but it wound up being a story that resonated--like that hum I mentioned--and is rightfully earning praise from just about everyone who reads it. It's a novella length work, which is a perfect fit for a story like this, as it lasts just long enough for the story that needs to be told to have its turn in the spotlight. The ending may not be what you expect, but it's about as close to a perfect ending that you could ask for.
If you have any appreciation for dark fiction, then you should most definitely read this book.
March 20, 2011
I was happy to see one of Piccirilli's "noirellas" end up in print (he's put out a number in the digital over the last year) so that I could lose myself in pages - rather than screens - of his writing again. I read this one in a single sitting, and when I got to the parts about the flood and the diner, or the friend who lives in the Bronx in a building with a big, red, metal door, I felt a warm glow: this is the writing that Piccirilli just nails - when his words take over and capture sadness and humor and despair with minimal, well-wrought sentences.
The rest of the story stays in the narrator's head, and since he has full billing, I kept waiting for more to his character than the strung out and fed up emotions he pours forth. In fact, I wonder if Piccirilli might have gotten more bang out of a third person narrative.
Overall, this story is a pint of blood from a deeper wound, and I have a feeling that Piccirilli has only just begun to pull from this vein and write with its fluid. When he does, I will be one of the first in line to read it.
The rest of the story stays in the narrator's head, and since he has full billing, I kept waiting for more to his character than the strung out and fed up emotions he pours forth. In fact, I wonder if Piccirilli might have gotten more bang out of a third person narrative.
Overall, this story is a pint of blood from a deeper wound, and I have a feeling that Piccirilli has only just begun to pull from this vein and write with its fluid. When he does, I will be one of the first in line to read it.
July 30, 2011
Tom Piccirilli is in top form with "Every Shallow Cut". This guy is a writing juggernaut of talent. Book after book, he is consistently better than any of his peers and it is truly a joy to read his stories. His prose is crisp and biting, and the spontaneous violence keeps you on the edge of your seat. Perhaps his greatest strength (although he is powerful in all areas) is his wonderfully realized characters. The pain they endure is so heartbreaking and real, you almost don't want to turn the page.
So far, this is my top three books of 2011. When he is on fire like this, I can't see how anyone else could even come close to dethroning Piccirilli much less stand at his level. Every release by Piccirilli is a cause for celebration, and this one even more so. "The Cold Spot" is another terrific novel by the author that is sure to please any fan of great fiction. Seek out his work, folks, you'll thank me later.
So far, this is my top three books of 2011. When he is on fire like this, I can't see how anyone else could even come close to dethroning Piccirilli much less stand at his level. Every release by Piccirilli is a cause for celebration, and this one even more so. "The Cold Spot" is another terrific novel by the author that is sure to please any fan of great fiction. Seek out his work, folks, you'll thank me later.
February 1, 2012
The bare bones of noir. There's no shady gangster, no hitman, nothing. Just a man, who's very afraid and confused. Only a master could have pulled off a novella so mean, so minimalistic and make it work beautifully. Not a word is wasted. No fear is spared. EVERY SHALLOW CUT charges you like a train coming at the horizon...and yeah, you are tied to the track. Darker than noir, sad and even touching. The writers who call themselves noirists have to define their work in relation to Piccirilli's masterpiece. I don't use this word often, but I don't shy away from it. EVERY SHALLOW CUT isn't exactly a sprawling epic, but it's perfect for what it is and it has its place in history. I will lend this to friends who wonder what noir is.
November 15, 2012
Pardon the language but my mind has been thoroughly f**ked thanks to this book. After finishing it I didn't even know what happened to me. Talk about going along for the ride. I think the author had me right where he wanted me for most of the book. There was one part that I laughed uncontrollably at and it was perfect. I didn't give this book a five because I still don't know what's going on and I'm not sure what to make of that. Maybe I will up it a star later. Great fast read. Be prepared and buckle up.
November 8, 2013
Every fear you have, all those things that keep you up in the dark hours.... Tom Piccirilli knows what they are and taps into them in this slim, quick read. No monsters, nothing supernatural, just a man who has absolutely nothing to lose and his trip across the country with his dog. The scariest thing in this book is the fact Piccirilli seems to know, in our trying times, what we fear most and it's much more frightening than that thing lying beneath the bed.
A story for our times....
A story for our times....
August 15, 2015
Read it for its wonderful restraint...this will sound like an odd comment if you've read the book, given its subject matter: a man going off the rails! Tom Piccirilli has really peaked my interests with this strong and understated novella; I'll have to read more of his work. Readers expecting "Noir" will most likely be disappointed, I'm happy to say.
August 9, 2017
Want to read a depressing book? There you go, here's "Every Shallow Cut". Our narrator has hit rock bottom of rock bottom: his books don't sell, his marriage is over, he lives in his car with his dog. All he has left is his dog, Churchill, and I am sure if this story would have been told without the dog in it I would have given it a star less. But the two of them, man, that naturally elevates things, stakes are higher now.
The prose is sparse and hits you right where it hurts. The novel is appropriately short (it is really more of a novella), don't wait around for the happy ending, it won't come. All in all, I enjoyed this but don't really have much to say about it. It is a devastating study of someone lost and on the brink of things to get worst. That's when people buy guns, when things are expected to get worse, as does our man. And yes, I was so worried for the dog! Most depressing road trip ever but written so well and authentically it is quite good. Quite good indeed.
The prose is sparse and hits you right where it hurts. The novel is appropriately short (it is really more of a novella), don't wait around for the happy ending, it won't come. All in all, I enjoyed this but don't really have much to say about it. It is a devastating study of someone lost and on the brink of things to get worst. That's when people buy guns, when things are expected to get worse, as does our man. And yes, I was so worried for the dog! Most depressing road trip ever but written so well and authentically it is quite good. Quite good indeed.
February 28, 2024
Edging closer to a 3.5 (come on, Goodreads, give me half stars already!). This was going along really well until it wasn't. Strong first half, wet noodle second half.
August 3, 2011
Book Review "on the fly":
A dark "Noirella"....a meditation on personal and professional failure....Marriage gone bust...Career permanently on the rocks (save the twist)
Our nameless hero is homeward bound, reluctantly....after a failed marriage and a career-gone-stagnant...in the company of his bulldog Churchill
Lots of pent up rage, accompanied by a case of Hypergraphia....you know this guy is circling the drain.
At first, I would have called this a Stephen King type Road Novel....given his penchant for exposing the Hell that writers endure to serve their craft...on second thought..the only Horror here, is our protagonist's dilemma, being so out of touch with what is generally perceived as Reality...yet being so in touch with his own pain and frustration (if that makes any sense) that his vision is blurred, to say the least....
After a corner beat-down, he acquires a gun...Homeless and raging...he's homeward bound to a brother who probably doesn't want him around any way
If this seems depressing...it's nothing compared to the short sharp ending....which i won't give up...let's just say "suicide or the highway"
This book packs a wallop in 175 pages...not for the faint of heart...
The only other book i have read by Mr Piccirilli...is A Choir of Ill Children...which was more of a Southern Gothic...and a lot creepier
I give this book 4 Stars...because it smacked me upside the head with its wit, heart, violence,and craft
A dark "Noirella"....a meditation on personal and professional failure....Marriage gone bust...Career permanently on the rocks (save the twist)
Our nameless hero is homeward bound, reluctantly....after a failed marriage and a career-gone-stagnant...in the company of his bulldog Churchill
Lots of pent up rage, accompanied by a case of Hypergraphia....you know this guy is circling the drain.
At first, I would have called this a Stephen King type Road Novel....given his penchant for exposing the Hell that writers endure to serve their craft...on second thought..the only Horror here, is our protagonist's dilemma, being so out of touch with what is generally perceived as Reality...yet being so in touch with his own pain and frustration (if that makes any sense) that his vision is blurred, to say the least....
After a corner beat-down, he acquires a gun...Homeless and raging...he's homeward bound to a brother who probably doesn't want him around any way
If this seems depressing...it's nothing compared to the short sharp ending....which i won't give up...let's just say "suicide or the highway"
This book packs a wallop in 175 pages...not for the faint of heart...
The only other book i have read by Mr Piccirilli...is A Choir of Ill Children...which was more of a Southern Gothic...and a lot creepier
I give this book 4 Stars...because it smacked me upside the head with its wit, heart, violence,and craft
July 25, 2011
To me this book read like a demented, Great Recession version of CATCHER IN THE RYE. Envision Holden Caulfield reimagined as a 50-something pulp crime writer who's seen better days (and sales), but finds himself somehow empowered (or...pseudo-empowered?) by committing acts of violence during a brief, cross-country romp (complete with a Salingeresque scene of returning home in the middle of the night but not letting anyone know that you're home, at least at first).
Piccirilli's skills at characterization shine in this slim volume. He's able to use subtle effects (like cadence) to convey character in rich ways.
I felt *slightly* let down by the ending, but I don't think it creates SUCH a problem for the book to detract from the five star rating I'm giving it. Keep in mind: I don't think *any* book is perfect. Five stars doesn't mean "perfect book" (for me); it just means, "the best possible reading experience". For me, the ending worked as a lingering, ragged, fever-dream edge.
Piccirilli's narrator appears to be finding himself AND losing himself all at the same time. The result is agonizing for the narrator, but breathtaking for the rest of us. I'm not someone who typically flies through books quickly, but I finished this one in one sitting over the course of a few hours on a Sunday night. Highly recommended.
Piccirilli's skills at characterization shine in this slim volume. He's able to use subtle effects (like cadence) to convey character in rich ways.
I felt *slightly* let down by the ending, but I don't think it creates SUCH a problem for the book to detract from the five star rating I'm giving it. Keep in mind: I don't think *any* book is perfect. Five stars doesn't mean "perfect book" (for me); it just means, "the best possible reading experience". For me, the ending worked as a lingering, ragged, fever-dream edge.
Piccirilli's narrator appears to be finding himself AND losing himself all at the same time. The result is agonizing for the narrator, but breathtaking for the rest of us. I'm not someone who typically flies through books quickly, but I finished this one in one sitting over the course of a few hours on a Sunday night. Highly recommended.
January 20, 2012
I could not stop reading this book. It was short enough to be read in almost one sitting, but I was sneakily reading it at work, so it took me a little longer than it might have otherwise. This novella is powerful. It is a story of desperation, of a man that has lost everything and just wants to go home again. I can feel that this story is going to stay with me for a while.
The nameless narrator is a failed writer. His books are being sold in thrift shops for quarters, and they’re still not selling. His wife has left him for another man. And the bank has taken his house. He has his dog – and only friend – and his car. After selling all of his other possession to a pawn broker he decides to drive across the country to visit his brother. They have not seen each other in a long time.
The narrator of this story could be anyone. Me or you or that guy sitting next to you on the train this morning. It captures our economy perfectly. Everywhere houses are in foreclosure, businesses are at risk of going under. All of it takes a toll on an already weak marriage. The narrator’s mantra is “I don’t know,” and he doesn’t. He doesn’t know where he is going or what he is doing. He is on the edge of a breakdown and he doesn’t even know.
Highly recommended for fans of realistic, gritty stories that may or may not leave you feeling depressed afterward.
The nameless narrator is a failed writer. His books are being sold in thrift shops for quarters, and they’re still not selling. His wife has left him for another man. And the bank has taken his house. He has his dog – and only friend – and his car. After selling all of his other possession to a pawn broker he decides to drive across the country to visit his brother. They have not seen each other in a long time.
The narrator of this story could be anyone. Me or you or that guy sitting next to you on the train this morning. It captures our economy perfectly. Everywhere houses are in foreclosure, businesses are at risk of going under. All of it takes a toll on an already weak marriage. The narrator’s mantra is “I don’t know,” and he doesn’t. He doesn’t know where he is going or what he is doing. He is on the edge of a breakdown and he doesn’t even know.
Highly recommended for fans of realistic, gritty stories that may or may not leave you feeling depressed afterward.
May 17, 2011
There are no easy answers or happy endings here. Life isn't fair, and there is no grand plan or deep meaning. Things turn to shit for no reason and there's nothing you can do about it.
Far from wallowing in his own misery, the main character strikes out to do something in the wake of the collapse of his marriage and career. But what can you do? We're not all resolute, able to knuckle down against all adversity and crawl our way back up Movie of the Week-style.
This is a fabulous look at hitting bottom. Rather than page after page of "woe as me," this compelling narrative moves along with aimlessly rage-fueled momentum as the narrator tries to figure out what to do next when there might be nothing else to do.
Far from wallowing in his own misery, the main character strikes out to do something in the wake of the collapse of his marriage and career. But what can you do? We're not all resolute, able to knuckle down against all adversity and crawl our way back up Movie of the Week-style.
This is a fabulous look at hitting bottom. Rather than page after page of "woe as me," this compelling narrative moves along with aimlessly rage-fueled momentum as the narrator tries to figure out what to do next when there might be nothing else to do.
July 16, 2012
I got a couple of short mysteries from the library. This is the first book by Tom Piccirilli that I've read. It was quick, dark, and heart-wrenching, a reflection on the difficult times in which we live, but also on the struggle to maintain our hopes and relationships in the face of disappointment. There's a meditative quality to it, despite its brutality. I'll be thinking about it for a while, I can tell.
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