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5: 30 RETURN: A short novel
"Utopia doesn't come easy... and it takes a monster to enforce it."
Juan is a disabled vet, a recovering addict, and a professional extractor in Arizona's drug tourism trade. He is also a man with too many challenges. His only real friend in the world, Sammy, just turned up dead, apparently by a too-convenient suicide. His most recent client has disappeared into Tuscon's drug-fueled sadist subculture, and a drug-immune infection is devouring his face...
To survive, Juan must threaten the most taboo of class boundaries, defend a mindless child, and somehow solve the murder of the only person who ever wanted him to live. And to do it, he'll have to become more than just a monster.
Juan is a disabled vet, a recovering addict, and a professional extractor in Arizona's drug tourism trade. He is also a man with too many challenges. His only real friend in the world, Sammy, just turned up dead, apparently by a too-convenient suicide. His most recent client has disappeared into Tuscon's drug-fueled sadist subculture, and a drug-immune infection is devouring his face...
To survive, Juan must threaten the most taboo of class boundaries, defend a mindless child, and somehow solve the murder of the only person who ever wanted him to live. And to do it, he'll have to become more than just a monster.
- GenresScience Fiction
140 pages, Hardcover
Published August 15, 2018
4 people are currently reading
3 people want to read
About the author
William R. Herr
5 books25 followersVisionaries, migrants, soldiers, and thieves-Will, as his friends call him, surrounds himself with all of these, and more. Obsessed with "the wisdom of the lowest classes," he views the world as a perennial outsider, in the company of men and women most would not want to meet in a dark alley. His work reflects this, as he winds dramatic irony and sarcasm together with romance and drama to paint a picture of the world that others prefer not to see.
William R. Herr was raised on the road, and continues to live there. When not travelling the United States behind the wheel of a tractor-trailer, he can be found in Central Pennsylvania, either writing, editing, or arguing with college students over hot cups of coffee.
He lives with his wife and an extremely vocal Irish Stafford-shire Terrier named "The Duke."
William R. Herr was raised on the road, and continues to live there. When not travelling the United States behind the wheel of a tractor-trailer, he can be found in Central Pennsylvania, either writing, editing, or arguing with college students over hot cups of coffee.
He lives with his wife and an extremely vocal Irish Stafford-shire Terrier named "The Duke."
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
November 7, 2019
**WARNING**: If a movie, this story would be rated R or NC-17 for violence, rampant drug use, and graphic sexual situations. This should NOT be mistaken as appropriate for children under the age of 18. Parents - know what your kids are reading so they can talk to you about it.
Why I picked it up: The author approached me to beta read 5:30 Return. Knowing I wanted to review it, I waited 2.5 years to mostly forget details and read afresh the published version.
Thoughts: This book is part dystopia sci-fi, part hard-boiled murder mystery; a near future-scape, almost post-apocalyptic deadly sin driven modern Western. Told from Juan's POV, it's jaded, sarcastic, gritty and dark, but he has just enough concern for the one person he cares about to hook the reader’s emotional investment. While one might feel disgust at Juan's unfiltered mental tirade (which sometimes appears like it's phrased for shock value), you can't miss that Juan has little time for lies, from others or from himself, and that he'll get the truth of the thing, whatever it is.
There’s a lot of information given in a short number of pages, key of which is that this is set in a drug tourist Arizona. Drug. Tourism. People come from across the nation to PAY to take a specific drug (slang name “jack”), to fully succumb to its effects, and to participate in a plethora of activities entirely sanctioned by the local and state governments. There's no limit except murder, as Juan says to his client. Everything is legal.
“Jack”, essentially, is a mix between methamphetamines, an instant-solvent, and the fictitious pharmaceutical Antitol. Antitol disrupts neuro-receptors that acclimate you to experiences, thus making everything exactly like the first time you did it. Note that Herr’s point is not the simple enjoyments of life, but the depravity of human beings – from brawls to rape to gluttony to cutting, etc. – and the lengths they’ll go to prolong the “new” in anything, even if, when they finally get the jack flushed from their system, they live with the revulsion and shame of their actions for the rest of their lives.
Pivotal to the plot are the class divisions. One of the future-technologies in the story is the use of badges. It’s your ID, bank card, cell phone, business credentials, GPS tracking, and drug test all in one. At the top of the totem pole are the entitled Gold badges, the rich, famous, and powerful. Their badges get them anything, and anyone, and do not visibly indicate if they’re under the influence of jack. Silver badges are law enforcement; as far as I could tell, their badges also do not visibly indicate drug influence. Silvers are mostly corrupt, and if they aren’t, they soon will be. Blue badges are the folks that “keep things running” – the business owners and other emergency type personnel. Their badges turn purple if they are exposed to jack, and if exposed enough, turn red. Second to last are the White badges, usually tourists. Their badges turn red when they have jack in their system and are appropriately dubbed Red Badges, or jacks and janes (depending on gender). Finally, at the very bottom, are the Grays. Grays are people who were hooked on jack for too long and experience an irreversible break in the motivation center of their brains. They are permanently under the influence, but can’t overdose, and apparently don’t give a f*** enough to commit suicide. These are the nameless laborers, usually doing the jobs no one else is willing to. Grays are considered expendable because there’s always another one to take their place. They're also considered waste because they require housing a food but take forever to "vacate."
Juan, in this world, is a professional extractor, and very, very good at his job. Juan is expensive, and he is known by his reputation, which includes hunting down missing clients and using whatever means necessary to retrieve them. He’s hired by tourists to provide them with a white badge, transportation to downtown Tucson (jack central) to get their first hit, and then, regardless of where they go or what they choose to pursue, he extracts them exactly 24 hours later. They spend another 24 hours having a saline-flush of their system at a clinic, and then Juan takes them back to the airport to go home. Such a tourist is Mildred Pierce, or “Church Lady”, as Juan dubs her. She’s the reader’s first introduction to the drug tourism world, and the constant drag back to it as the novel progresses.
Juan is called “the Monster.” This is both because of who he is as a person, and because of the active staph infection in his face, courtesy of his time in the military. He’s technically a disabled veteran, and a recovered jack addict to boot. Once upon a time, before the book begins, he was put on Antitol by the Veteran’s Administration to “help” treat his infection, but it did… well, jack. He was on Antitol so long that his face became irrecoverable, and he descended into Gray. Only through the help and dedication of his friend Sam and former-priest turned clinician Padre Martinez did he miraculously claw his way back out, something no one else has ever done. No one. It left him damaged, and with a rage that frequently comes out to play.
At the onset of the story, Juan’s face is at a stalemate between the staph infection and the sterile worms that were specifically introduced to eat away the the rotting skin. As they eat, they lay eggs and die, and then the new worms continue eating the infected flesh. The worms eat as much putrid cells as new cells grow, which get staph infected just as quickly. If Juan cleans out the side of his face every night, the stalemate holds. But he knows it’s not for long. The infection will mutate again, and then he’ll lose more than just an eye.
How do people not vomit at the sight of him? They sometimes do, if the synth skin over the infection slips.
The damage to his Juan’s face reflects the damage to his heart and his spirit, the struggle he endures of what good is left of Juan the person as it is consumed by Juan the Monster. Rage, Antitol, jack, and the general corruption around him poison and putrefy who he used to be and turn him into the creature he is. Even the synth skin is a metaphor - his reputation and moral compass, no matter how skewed and confined, are what cover the ever-present rot.
So Juan is not only cynical, abrasive, and mutilated (literally and figuratively), but also very logical and analytical, and therefore possesses keen emotional awareness - he constantly analyzes his thoughts and his reactions to external stimuli and is therefore cognizant of inner shifts, though very sarcastic about it, from a monster doing monstrous things, to a man doing monstrous things to bring justice where justice otherwise would not go.
His pursuit of justice is most clearly seen in his resolution to find his friend’s murderer. Sam, the same man that pulled him out of being Gray, is found at the most divey of dives with his arms and legs sliced up, the fatal cuts being in his armpits and throat. Juan, angry at himself, at Sam, and at the nameless face of Sam’s killer, throws himself into playing detective, but on his own terms. Juan discovers Sam booked a gig running a daily pick up and drop off at a local pharmaceutical lab. He decides to fill in where Sam left off, hoping to uncover clues as to why Sam would kill himself, or why someone would make it look like he did. But he’s not prepared for what, or rather who, he’s ferrying.
Number 12 is the little boy, born Gray because his mother, also Gray, took jack during her pregnancy. Number 12 does not speak, does not play, does not pay any sort of attention to anything. He is led by a harness and leash; he can stand, walk, sit, crawl, and presumably use a bathroom. Juan is baffled why a pharmaceutical company would be interested in Gray children, but he has moral compass enough to want to treat this stunted child – who he dubs “Sammy” – as more than a lab rat. The longer Juan drives Sammy, the more he blends Sam and Sammy into one person, creating a one-sided emotional bond. At one point, hoping that it will disrupt the monotonous routine of Sammy’s existence, he buys a toy for Sammy, made of bells and string and tiny wooden dowels. It makes such a pure sound that it becomes rooted in his mind as a symbol of innocence and happiness. As foolish as he thinks it is, he wants Sammy to somehow respond, to break out of his mental cage. And, he reasons, a kid is a kid; even if it does nothing, every kid should have a toy.
One of the other major characters of the story is the goddess-like Porche Delacroix, head of the project using Number 12. Miraculously, between being dumbstruck by her assets and fantasizing about them, he learns enough in two days about the lab’s research to cause him severe alarm for both Sammy and Porche’s safety, and to set his rage to defending them as only the Monster can. With both of them, he experiences role reversal - he becomes the rescuer and Porche/Sammy becomes the victim – and with Sammy in particular, psychological projection - he transposes Sam onto Sammy and protecting Sammy the boy becomes a quest for vindication because he failed to save Sam the man.
Almost all the characters in 5:30 Return are pitted against Juan’s deep-seated suspicion and judgement. Most of them deserve it. Some might not. Perhaps his ire is an unconscious inner drive to find each person’s fatal flaw and thus prove that all people are monsters, they just don’t wear it on their faces. Or perhaps it’s a defense mechanism against the disappointment he feels whenever a subconscious longing for hope is dashed yet again by a hope-less and hopelessly corrupt society. Whatever the reason, the conflict between how Juan sees a person, and who they actually might be, is most clear in the character arcs for Padre Martinez and Church Lady. It brings into sharp focus the cynicism and skepticism inherent in human nature – the distrust of others' motives, and the question of whether our own are entirely without self-interest. Which then leads to: do ANY of us do things entirely without self-interest? Utterly devoted to duty, all morality or altruism an act of sacrifice, or because somewhere in our subconscious, there's a payoff?
The first time I read 5:30 Return, I started thinking along the above lines. I started wondering, even justifying, that I do things because it's right, not because I get a dopamine rush. That, I believed, was one of the major lynch pins of 5:30 Return. Not limited to just the question of altruistic behavior, but the broader question of human motivation and drive.
However, after my re-read last weekend, I picked up another theme; subtle, and almost taken as ironic. I believe Herr not only interwove psychology and biology into this story, but also the philosophy of forgiveness. Those readers familiar with any redemptive faith will recognize two of the major pillars: repentance and grace. Padre Martinez was guilty of arrogance and sadism (sorta), and Church Lady guilty of rampant lust, but in both cases, find their resolution in the mercy of their God.
Juan judges Padre Martinez harshly, regardless of Padre’s repentance, because “being a priest is supposed to mean something.” Yet he shows leniency to Church Lady because she never actually commits “the” sexual act; she pursues her sins with rabid intent to consummate, but her drug-addled mind paints him the embodiment of Wrathful God come for her, so she always runs at the last possible second. Somehow, she ends up at Padre Martinez’s clinic, and finds that the enjoyment she feels from aiding the helpless is entirely guilt-free. She’s the first to actually surprise Juan; he never imagined that anyone could find such an innocent pleasure feedback loop.
I think buried inside Juan’s festering heart, along with everything else, is the question of personal redemption. He calls himself the Monster for the face he has and the things he’s done, but his moral compass includes a relentless pursuit of justice where justice otherwise won’t be found. Playing anti-hero may be three-fold: 1. his own type of penance, 2. his vindication, and 3. retribution - a way to fight back against the injustice of his past. Unlike God, with whom all sins are equal, and thus the extending of grace equally profound, Juan ranks vices and weighs the question of deserving. Consciously, he denies the existence of God and lays all blame for behavior squarely at each person’s feet, including his own. Everyone is f***ed up, no exceptions, and everyone deserves their consequences. Subconsciously? He wants to be free of what and who he is. He wants the dead flesh cut away, all the way away, even if he loses the eye. Somewhere in his heart he knows Sam saving him the first time wasn’t enough. It simply delayed the inevitable. More is needed. So until given a better way, he does the only thing he knows how: be the Monster so others don’t have to be.
Don't tell him I said that, though.
I’m at my character limit, otherwise I’d say more. Support self-published authors, especially when you want them to keep writing.
As Sam and Juan, would say, Winners get sprinkles.
Why I picked it up: The author approached me to beta read 5:30 Return. Knowing I wanted to review it, I waited 2.5 years to mostly forget details and read afresh the published version.
Thoughts: This book is part dystopia sci-fi, part hard-boiled murder mystery; a near future-scape, almost post-apocalyptic deadly sin driven modern Western. Told from Juan's POV, it's jaded, sarcastic, gritty and dark, but he has just enough concern for the one person he cares about to hook the reader’s emotional investment. While one might feel disgust at Juan's unfiltered mental tirade (which sometimes appears like it's phrased for shock value), you can't miss that Juan has little time for lies, from others or from himself, and that he'll get the truth of the thing, whatever it is.
There’s a lot of information given in a short number of pages, key of which is that this is set in a drug tourist Arizona. Drug. Tourism. People come from across the nation to PAY to take a specific drug (slang name “jack”), to fully succumb to its effects, and to participate in a plethora of activities entirely sanctioned by the local and state governments. There's no limit except murder, as Juan says to his client. Everything is legal.
“Jack”, essentially, is a mix between methamphetamines, an instant-solvent, and the fictitious pharmaceutical Antitol. Antitol disrupts neuro-receptors that acclimate you to experiences, thus making everything exactly like the first time you did it. Note that Herr’s point is not the simple enjoyments of life, but the depravity of human beings – from brawls to rape to gluttony to cutting, etc. – and the lengths they’ll go to prolong the “new” in anything, even if, when they finally get the jack flushed from their system, they live with the revulsion and shame of their actions for the rest of their lives.
Pivotal to the plot are the class divisions. One of the future-technologies in the story is the use of badges. It’s your ID, bank card, cell phone, business credentials, GPS tracking, and drug test all in one. At the top of the totem pole are the entitled Gold badges, the rich, famous, and powerful. Their badges get them anything, and anyone, and do not visibly indicate if they’re under the influence of jack. Silver badges are law enforcement; as far as I could tell, their badges also do not visibly indicate drug influence. Silvers are mostly corrupt, and if they aren’t, they soon will be. Blue badges are the folks that “keep things running” – the business owners and other emergency type personnel. Their badges turn purple if they are exposed to jack, and if exposed enough, turn red. Second to last are the White badges, usually tourists. Their badges turn red when they have jack in their system and are appropriately dubbed Red Badges, or jacks and janes (depending on gender). Finally, at the very bottom, are the Grays. Grays are people who were hooked on jack for too long and experience an irreversible break in the motivation center of their brains. They are permanently under the influence, but can’t overdose, and apparently don’t give a f*** enough to commit suicide. These are the nameless laborers, usually doing the jobs no one else is willing to. Grays are considered expendable because there’s always another one to take their place. They're also considered waste because they require housing a food but take forever to "vacate."
Juan, in this world, is a professional extractor, and very, very good at his job. Juan is expensive, and he is known by his reputation, which includes hunting down missing clients and using whatever means necessary to retrieve them. He’s hired by tourists to provide them with a white badge, transportation to downtown Tucson (jack central) to get their first hit, and then, regardless of where they go or what they choose to pursue, he extracts them exactly 24 hours later. They spend another 24 hours having a saline-flush of their system at a clinic, and then Juan takes them back to the airport to go home. Such a tourist is Mildred Pierce, or “Church Lady”, as Juan dubs her. She’s the reader’s first introduction to the drug tourism world, and the constant drag back to it as the novel progresses.
Juan is called “the Monster.” This is both because of who he is as a person, and because of the active staph infection in his face, courtesy of his time in the military. He’s technically a disabled veteran, and a recovered jack addict to boot. Once upon a time, before the book begins, he was put on Antitol by the Veteran’s Administration to “help” treat his infection, but it did… well, jack. He was on Antitol so long that his face became irrecoverable, and he descended into Gray. Only through the help and dedication of his friend Sam and former-priest turned clinician Padre Martinez did he miraculously claw his way back out, something no one else has ever done. No one. It left him damaged, and with a rage that frequently comes out to play.
At the onset of the story, Juan’s face is at a stalemate between the staph infection and the sterile worms that were specifically introduced to eat away the the rotting skin. As they eat, they lay eggs and die, and then the new worms continue eating the infected flesh. The worms eat as much putrid cells as new cells grow, which get staph infected just as quickly. If Juan cleans out the side of his face every night, the stalemate holds. But he knows it’s not for long. The infection will mutate again, and then he’ll lose more than just an eye.
How do people not vomit at the sight of him? They sometimes do, if the synth skin over the infection slips.
The damage to his Juan’s face reflects the damage to his heart and his spirit, the struggle he endures of what good is left of Juan the person as it is consumed by Juan the Monster. Rage, Antitol, jack, and the general corruption around him poison and putrefy who he used to be and turn him into the creature he is. Even the synth skin is a metaphor - his reputation and moral compass, no matter how skewed and confined, are what cover the ever-present rot.
So Juan is not only cynical, abrasive, and mutilated (literally and figuratively), but also very logical and analytical, and therefore possesses keen emotional awareness - he constantly analyzes his thoughts and his reactions to external stimuli and is therefore cognizant of inner shifts, though very sarcastic about it, from a monster doing monstrous things, to a man doing monstrous things to bring justice where justice otherwise would not go.
His pursuit of justice is most clearly seen in his resolution to find his friend’s murderer. Sam, the same man that pulled him out of being Gray, is found at the most divey of dives with his arms and legs sliced up, the fatal cuts being in his armpits and throat. Juan, angry at himself, at Sam, and at the nameless face of Sam’s killer, throws himself into playing detective, but on his own terms. Juan discovers Sam booked a gig running a daily pick up and drop off at a local pharmaceutical lab. He decides to fill in where Sam left off, hoping to uncover clues as to why Sam would kill himself, or why someone would make it look like he did. But he’s not prepared for what, or rather who, he’s ferrying.
Number 12 is the little boy, born Gray because his mother, also Gray, took jack during her pregnancy. Number 12 does not speak, does not play, does not pay any sort of attention to anything. He is led by a harness and leash; he can stand, walk, sit, crawl, and presumably use a bathroom. Juan is baffled why a pharmaceutical company would be interested in Gray children, but he has moral compass enough to want to treat this stunted child – who he dubs “Sammy” – as more than a lab rat. The longer Juan drives Sammy, the more he blends Sam and Sammy into one person, creating a one-sided emotional bond. At one point, hoping that it will disrupt the monotonous routine of Sammy’s existence, he buys a toy for Sammy, made of bells and string and tiny wooden dowels. It makes such a pure sound that it becomes rooted in his mind as a symbol of innocence and happiness. As foolish as he thinks it is, he wants Sammy to somehow respond, to break out of his mental cage. And, he reasons, a kid is a kid; even if it does nothing, every kid should have a toy.
One of the other major characters of the story is the goddess-like Porche Delacroix, head of the project using Number 12. Miraculously, between being dumbstruck by her assets and fantasizing about them, he learns enough in two days about the lab’s research to cause him severe alarm for both Sammy and Porche’s safety, and to set his rage to defending them as only the Monster can. With both of them, he experiences role reversal - he becomes the rescuer and Porche/Sammy becomes the victim – and with Sammy in particular, psychological projection - he transposes Sam onto Sammy and protecting Sammy the boy becomes a quest for vindication because he failed to save Sam the man.
Almost all the characters in 5:30 Return are pitted against Juan’s deep-seated suspicion and judgement. Most of them deserve it. Some might not. Perhaps his ire is an unconscious inner drive to find each person’s fatal flaw and thus prove that all people are monsters, they just don’t wear it on their faces. Or perhaps it’s a defense mechanism against the disappointment he feels whenever a subconscious longing for hope is dashed yet again by a hope-less and hopelessly corrupt society. Whatever the reason, the conflict between how Juan sees a person, and who they actually might be, is most clear in the character arcs for Padre Martinez and Church Lady. It brings into sharp focus the cynicism and skepticism inherent in human nature – the distrust of others' motives, and the question of whether our own are entirely without self-interest. Which then leads to: do ANY of us do things entirely without self-interest? Utterly devoted to duty, all morality or altruism an act of sacrifice, or because somewhere in our subconscious, there's a payoff?
The first time I read 5:30 Return, I started thinking along the above lines. I started wondering, even justifying, that I do things because it's right, not because I get a dopamine rush. That, I believed, was one of the major lynch pins of 5:30 Return. Not limited to just the question of altruistic behavior, but the broader question of human motivation and drive.
However, after my re-read last weekend, I picked up another theme; subtle, and almost taken as ironic. I believe Herr not only interwove psychology and biology into this story, but also the philosophy of forgiveness. Those readers familiar with any redemptive faith will recognize two of the major pillars: repentance and grace. Padre Martinez was guilty of arrogance and sadism (sorta), and Church Lady guilty of rampant lust, but in both cases, find their resolution in the mercy of their God.
Juan judges Padre Martinez harshly, regardless of Padre’s repentance, because “being a priest is supposed to mean something.” Yet he shows leniency to Church Lady because she never actually commits “the” sexual act; she pursues her sins with rabid intent to consummate, but her drug-addled mind paints him the embodiment of Wrathful God come for her, so she always runs at the last possible second. Somehow, she ends up at Padre Martinez’s clinic, and finds that the enjoyment she feels from aiding the helpless is entirely guilt-free. She’s the first to actually surprise Juan; he never imagined that anyone could find such an innocent pleasure feedback loop.
I think buried inside Juan’s festering heart, along with everything else, is the question of personal redemption. He calls himself the Monster for the face he has and the things he’s done, but his moral compass includes a relentless pursuit of justice where justice otherwise won’t be found. Playing anti-hero may be three-fold: 1. his own type of penance, 2. his vindication, and 3. retribution - a way to fight back against the injustice of his past. Unlike God, with whom all sins are equal, and thus the extending of grace equally profound, Juan ranks vices and weighs the question of deserving. Consciously, he denies the existence of God and lays all blame for behavior squarely at each person’s feet, including his own. Everyone is f***ed up, no exceptions, and everyone deserves their consequences. Subconsciously? He wants to be free of what and who he is. He wants the dead flesh cut away, all the way away, even if he loses the eye. Somewhere in his heart he knows Sam saving him the first time wasn’t enough. It simply delayed the inevitable. More is needed. So until given a better way, he does the only thing he knows how: be the Monster so others don’t have to be.
Don't tell him I said that, though.
I’m at my character limit, otherwise I’d say more. Support self-published authors, especially when you want them to keep writing.
As Sam and Juan, would say, Winners get sprinkles.
July 27, 2018
5:30 Return, by William R. Herr, is – a futuristic dystopian sci-fi slice of life. Its beautiful descriptive opening drew me in and made me empathize with the protagonist right from the first words on the page. Told through the one good eye of “Juan the Monster”, the story follows a tale of guilt, remorse, missed chances, and the hope for making things better. An eloquently described glimpse of the narrator’s perspective of the underbelly of Tuscon, a world in which addictions have become the driving energy of the city and their consequences are everyone’s life story. The world revolves around “jack”, an addictive mix of chemicals and drugs that is so important to society an entire underworld of services exists to bring people to the brink with it and help extract them back out to sobriety. Juan the Monster provides this service. A recovered “grey” who has been to the brink and was rescued back, Juan now maintains his sobriety to do the same for others. He is wounded, both physically and emotionally, and has just lost the only person who really cared about him. Now he’s on a mission to find out why this dark world of drugs and manipulation took his friend down, and to see whether he can find some redemption, some meaning, and some glimpse of hope buried beneath the rotten stench of robotic underbelly Tuscon. In doing so, he has to follow the rules of this underworld society where holographic and color changing badges track everyone’s location, their sobriety levels, and their actions. The badges also show everyone’s place in society, and everyone must stay within their place – unless Juan decides to break the rules.
This is an entertaining, action packed adventure that expounds on the darkest of outcomes for a society based around addiction. It serves as a reminder of the choices we make and a hope for something beyond this world. An enjoyable read full of twists and surprises with endless unfolding of the world Juan lives in. It kept me hanging until the end, always wanting to learn more, to better understand Juan’s world, and to find out whether Juan will escape the cycle. An unexpected end to a thrilling adventure. Very well written for maximum depth and drawing me in, keeping me on the edge to find out more. Every page of this unique world intrigued me enough to turn the next one. I highly recommend this book!
This is an entertaining, action packed adventure that expounds on the darkest of outcomes for a society based around addiction. It serves as a reminder of the choices we make and a hope for something beyond this world. An enjoyable read full of twists and surprises with endless unfolding of the world Juan lives in. It kept me hanging until the end, always wanting to learn more, to better understand Juan’s world, and to find out whether Juan will escape the cycle. An unexpected end to a thrilling adventure. Very well written for maximum depth and drawing me in, keeping me on the edge to find out more. Every page of this unique world intrigued me enough to turn the next one. I highly recommend this book!
April 26, 2018
In the not-too-distant future, tourists flock to the red-light district of Tucson to get high on a futuristic drug and engage in all kinds of debauchery. They hire Juan, a disfigured veteran and recovering addict, to send them in and get them out. Known as "Juan the Monster," he doesn't have a lot of friends. So when one of the few people he cares about, Sammy, dies suspiciously, Juan takes it upon himself to find the truth. Meanwhile, his latest client has vanished, and he's assigned to take over Sammy's old gig, shuttling a developmentally challenged child -- born to an addict -- to and from a drug research facility. But he soon learns that there's more to Tucson's drug trade than he realized...
Like the Hobbsian vision of life without society, 5:30 Return by William R. Herr is nasty, brutish, and short. In a good way. It's a tightly written book that's somewhere between a long novella and a short novel, yet a lot happens in those few pages, with a fully realized world, a plot full of twists, and a fascinating portrait of a very, very damaged man.
Narrated in Juan's dry, unfiltered voice, 5:30 Return reminded me of Sin City with a more sci-fi bent, starring a cross between Deadpool and Jonah Hex. The book establishes quickly that Juan is not a nice guy, and it spares nothing when it comes to gritty details. Yet somehow he seems to be one of the few people around willing to do the right thing when it comes to solving Sammy's murder and uncovering a dark conspiracy.
It's a really quick read that draws you in right away with Juan's distinctive narration. If you're looking for the darker, grittier side of sci-fi, this is your book.
Like the Hobbsian vision of life without society, 5:30 Return by William R. Herr is nasty, brutish, and short. In a good way. It's a tightly written book that's somewhere between a long novella and a short novel, yet a lot happens in those few pages, with a fully realized world, a plot full of twists, and a fascinating portrait of a very, very damaged man.
Narrated in Juan's dry, unfiltered voice, 5:30 Return reminded me of Sin City with a more sci-fi bent, starring a cross between Deadpool and Jonah Hex. The book establishes quickly that Juan is not a nice guy, and it spares nothing when it comes to gritty details. Yet somehow he seems to be one of the few people around willing to do the right thing when it comes to solving Sammy's murder and uncovering a dark conspiracy.
It's a really quick read that draws you in right away with Juan's distinctive narration. If you're looking for the darker, grittier side of sci-fi, this is your book.
May 11, 2018
I'm a huge fan of sci fi and this is among the best I've read. I dont say that lightly.
A gritty, noir like novel set in an utterly fascinating and very bleak and very possible future with just enough hope.
This is an amazingly well constructed world with a really interesting lead character and a plethora of really well developed supporting characters, most of whom aren't quite what they seem. They are far more layered.
You end up really rooting for the protagonist "Juan the Monster" and those he's trying to protect. Expect to lose a little sleep as you make excuses to yourself as to why you can read just one more page. It's one of those. I wanted more when I finished the book. Truly impressive.
A gritty, noir like novel set in an utterly fascinating and very bleak and very possible future with just enough hope.
This is an amazingly well constructed world with a really interesting lead character and a plethora of really well developed supporting characters, most of whom aren't quite what they seem. They are far more layered.
You end up really rooting for the protagonist "Juan the Monster" and those he's trying to protect. Expect to lose a little sleep as you make excuses to yourself as to why you can read just one more page. It's one of those. I wanted more when I finished the book. Truly impressive.
May 28, 2018
“It is no easy road.” So says Severian, the narrator of Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun, of the story he tells. Juan “the Monster” Romero, the voice of 5:30 Return by William R. Herr, could say the same of his tale, with sharper justification. Juan is a war veteran in a near-future America, suffering from an incurable infection that is literally devouring his face. Once addicted to a drug known on the street as “jack” – a substance that makes crack look like nothing more than a bad habit – Juan was rescued from the “pit” of addiction by a friend who is later found dead under suspicious circumstances. The story of his friend’s death rings false for Juan, and this is the story of his search for the truth. It’s a story of contradictions. Of a highly stratified society full of people who deliberately seek the darkness of a drug-fueled underworld that exists in the glare of a harsh desert sun. Of a man so damaged by the life he’s led that he should be nothing more than a wellspring of bitterness, and yet has the compassion to come to the aid of a child who is, in his way, as damaged as Juan. He sees the ugliness of the institutionalized dysfunctionality of this world and its drug of choice, and yet makes his living delivering thrill-seekers into, and out of, the world of depravity that is rooted in “jack.” Juan is a man powerfully motivated to find an answer, when he has every reason to simply give up. Deep contradictions do not make for an easy road, but they can fuel compelling fiction, and this dark tale of murder, revenge, and desire for redemption certainly qualifies as compelling. No easy road, but I highly recommend traveling it.
November 6, 2018
As always, Herr's writing is rich and full of depth. The world he builds is clever and dark. This book is not for the faint of heart, but it will be intriguing and eye-opening at times to the world of addiction. I know this is a shorter review. I feel like if I keep going on and on about the book I'll either just keep repeating how wonderful it is until it gets annoying, or spoil the whole thing, and I'd rather do neither. This is a great book, though. So detailed. You'll especially enjoy it if you're a fan of Stephen King.
May 7, 2018
Without a doubt a great story. If you like the old gumshoe style stories, this is your book. Yet it also is set in a future corporate dystopia. Will Herr does an amazing job of blending the two genres together in a story where you find yourself rooting for the monster.
July 11, 2018
5:30 RETURN by William R. Herr 170 pages
Review by Wolf Forrest
A short novel set in the near future in Tucson, Arizona, where social castes are enumerated by the color of badge they wear, be it gold, white, blue, silver, or red, is one of many unique plot devices which keep this tale humming. Herr’s dystopian narrative is brisk and economical---if you favor the language of Hemingway or Spillane, then you should enjoy following the adventures of Juan Romano, who calls himself the Monster, and whose military obligations in South America have left him an addict with a troubling infection and facial disfigurement. Luckily, he gets to drive a rig (don’t call it a transport!) for a living that is a glorified assault vehicle, which he uses to pick up and deliver other addicts (most of the population) and even curious visitors, to various diversions like tourist traps, dens of prostitution, and to Chemcor, a halfway house designed to prolong the suffering of those they serve. The badges serve not only to identify a person’s socio-economic rank and their drug intake--it also acts as a phone, money drop, and tracking device. Juan’s best friend Sammy has died under mysterious circumstances---a possible murder designed to look like suicide, and his efforts to determine the exact cause of death leaves him poking around some unsavory and deeply disturbing locations and characters.
Between episodes of eating at various restaurants that would be flattering to call “greasy spoons”, and dealings with his dispatcher Jen, and other enablers like Padre Martinez and Lieutenant Perez--who seem to only get in the way of Juan’s quest, Juan comes to know one of the lowest caste members, a mute, zombie-like boy referred to as Number 12, but whom Juan now calls “Sammy” after his dead friend. Shuttling the boy between his guardian, a mother barely functioning herself and Chemcor, he also falls in love with the daughter of the owner, and his numbing, laissez-faire attitude is impacted in a big way. And there’s Duggers, another driver like Juan, who may be working both sides of the aisle. These detours are really MacGuffins designed to distract the reader from Juan’s real quest to locate a tourist he has picked up earlier, and is responsible for--the kinky-clad-in-virtue Mildred Pierce, a missionary from the Midwest, whom Juan dubs “Church Lady” (he gives descriptive names to everyone he meets). Her disappearance, and the discarding of her badge provide the impetus for Juan’s odyssey. Complicating matters is the fact that the street drug Antitol becomes jack when mixed with other substances, and users can inadvertently provide a “touch-high” to those they come in contact with--including Juan, who constantly battles his own inner rage over his inability to have prevented Sammy’s death, and whatever PTSD lingers from his time in the military. The title refers to the customary time he brings back little Sammy to his shell-of-a-guardian, and this routine seems to be the only stable element in his life—the reader may smell the paranoia of Logan’s Run and the subterfuge of Soylent Green within the pages.
I was initially concerned that the sub-plots engendered by the introduction of so many ancillary characters in the first sixty-or-so pages was needlessly cluttered, but it does allow the reader to navigate the backwaters of a drug-fueled town and understand why the pages populated by unsavory characters need to facilitate something in the way of redemption. As the reader joins Juan’s quest to determine what happened to Sammy and Church Lady, everything else is incidental—until the clues add up and the bones of investigation reveal the true skeleton. Knowledge, good or bad, can be its own reward.
In the words of Juan the Monster, “Winners get sprinkles.”
Review by Wolf Forrest
A short novel set in the near future in Tucson, Arizona, where social castes are enumerated by the color of badge they wear, be it gold, white, blue, silver, or red, is one of many unique plot devices which keep this tale humming. Herr’s dystopian narrative is brisk and economical---if you favor the language of Hemingway or Spillane, then you should enjoy following the adventures of Juan Romano, who calls himself the Monster, and whose military obligations in South America have left him an addict with a troubling infection and facial disfigurement. Luckily, he gets to drive a rig (don’t call it a transport!) for a living that is a glorified assault vehicle, which he uses to pick up and deliver other addicts (most of the population) and even curious visitors, to various diversions like tourist traps, dens of prostitution, and to Chemcor, a halfway house designed to prolong the suffering of those they serve. The badges serve not only to identify a person’s socio-economic rank and their drug intake--it also acts as a phone, money drop, and tracking device. Juan’s best friend Sammy has died under mysterious circumstances---a possible murder designed to look like suicide, and his efforts to determine the exact cause of death leaves him poking around some unsavory and deeply disturbing locations and characters.
Between episodes of eating at various restaurants that would be flattering to call “greasy spoons”, and dealings with his dispatcher Jen, and other enablers like Padre Martinez and Lieutenant Perez--who seem to only get in the way of Juan’s quest, Juan comes to know one of the lowest caste members, a mute, zombie-like boy referred to as Number 12, but whom Juan now calls “Sammy” after his dead friend. Shuttling the boy between his guardian, a mother barely functioning herself and Chemcor, he also falls in love with the daughter of the owner, and his numbing, laissez-faire attitude is impacted in a big way. And there’s Duggers, another driver like Juan, who may be working both sides of the aisle. These detours are really MacGuffins designed to distract the reader from Juan’s real quest to locate a tourist he has picked up earlier, and is responsible for--the kinky-clad-in-virtue Mildred Pierce, a missionary from the Midwest, whom Juan dubs “Church Lady” (he gives descriptive names to everyone he meets). Her disappearance, and the discarding of her badge provide the impetus for Juan’s odyssey. Complicating matters is the fact that the street drug Antitol becomes jack when mixed with other substances, and users can inadvertently provide a “touch-high” to those they come in contact with--including Juan, who constantly battles his own inner rage over his inability to have prevented Sammy’s death, and whatever PTSD lingers from his time in the military. The title refers to the customary time he brings back little Sammy to his shell-of-a-guardian, and this routine seems to be the only stable element in his life—the reader may smell the paranoia of Logan’s Run and the subterfuge of Soylent Green within the pages.
I was initially concerned that the sub-plots engendered by the introduction of so many ancillary characters in the first sixty-or-so pages was needlessly cluttered, but it does allow the reader to navigate the backwaters of a drug-fueled town and understand why the pages populated by unsavory characters need to facilitate something in the way of redemption. As the reader joins Juan’s quest to determine what happened to Sammy and Church Lady, everything else is incidental—until the clues add up and the bones of investigation reveal the true skeleton. Knowledge, good or bad, can be its own reward.
In the words of Juan the Monster, “Winners get sprinkles.”
May 12, 2018
William R Herr's newest book 5:30 return is written with such detail that will have you turning the page again and again.
It takes you to a place and time that many wonder about. The path to and from the drug world and how it works.
The different ways that status separates so many different things and paths in life.
The most unlikely heroes, in the most unlikely situations.
The little joys in life, that make it worth giving everything up for.
It takes you to a place and time that many wonder about. The path to and from the drug world and how it works.
The different ways that status separates so many different things and paths in life.
The most unlikely heroes, in the most unlikely situations.
The little joys in life, that make it worth giving everything up for.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews