I've often thought there are two things that identify a novel as a good one:
1. How quotable is it? How many passages do you find yourself wanting to copy and share with the world?
2. Do you wish it was twice as along because you'd like to be even more immersed in the world of the story, in every little thing past and present about the characters?
When it comes to Joe R. Lansdale's latest, MOON LAKE, I can cheerfully answer "yes" to both question. And that makes it a great novel, one of the best I've read in a long time. It's like its own survey course in Lansdale's career, combining his love of East Texas, low-rent characters and locales, legends and myths, a splatter of spectral horror and a couple of flyspecked screens' worth of drive-in grindhouse atmosphere.
It's fine as it is, but oh, how I wished for more. I would have liked to seen Danny Russell, the orphan turned newsman turned novelist whose life is inextricably intertwined with the namesake lake that claimed his family (and the families of dozens) struggle more in his search for the truth — too many pieces of this dark puzzle about the truth behind all those deaths came to him perhaps a little too easily. And , as someone who believes a story of crime is only as good as those behind the crime, I would have liked to seen a lot more of the evil members of Long Lincoln, Texas' city council, who rule the twon like Third World potentates. I feel that Joe R. Lansdale has earned the right to write — and publish and mass-distribute a Stephen King-sized doorstop novel that leisurely unpacks all the legends and cats long pleasant dark shadows over every character.
But that's an observation, not a criticism. Lansdale does just fine with the length he's got, and on the whole, MOON LAKE is a h*ll of a lot of black, bleak, nightmarish fun.
Oh, and that quotability I mentioned? Here are some favorite lines:
— "We were in our broken-down Buick that had come from a time when cars were big and the American dream lay well within reach for just about anyone white and male and straight who wanted to reach for it. All others, take a number and wait."
— "That bridge was narrow and long, the railing on the side was made of thin, rusting strips of metal, and when we drove onto it, it shook and moaned like a sad old woman about to die."
— "It was a warm kiss and I liked it more than the one on the cheek she had given me before. I felt it all the way down to my toes and it made the milk and corn bread in my stomach spin around."
— "Dreams get crippled from time to time, and the people dreams cripple the most are those without the right kind of backbone. You keep your backbone.”
— "Your father wasn’t worth the collected cells that made him, that handsome bastard. There was always something dark and suspicious about him, like a snake in your underwear drawer."
— "Buy some condoms and use common sense. Enjoy yourself for a few years. Better yet, die a bachelor. It saves on groceries.”
— "I finished up the piece on the partially dog-eaten woman, wrote a half a page of the novel I had started, then tried a few poems, and as usual, all of them sucked. But writing, like boxing, lets the pressure off my mind, no matter what I’m writing about."
— "Look, I’m locking up and going home, and tomorrow I’m going fishing. I’ve never been, so I thought I might. Course, I need to get some gear first, so I might not go after all. It seems like a big damn bother to catch a fish and clean it, more I think about it.”
— "“City council folks. Think they look old there, now they look like death in a wheelbarrow. Thing is, though, old dogs can bite same as young dogs.”
— "The man turned and looked at us. There was an old-fashioned manly air about him. He was thin-lipped and squint-eyed; a lock of his dark hair hung down on his forehead. It was like someone had jacked up Elvis and driven John Wayne up his *ss."
— "Strange place. Missing people. Those bones in car trunks. The lake and people drowning in it. It’s like that go**amn lake is made up of misery, pettiness, every mean, soulless act you can imagine, all of it wet with robber-baron dreams. This town is full of oddities, Danny.”
— "The sun was so bright that the idea of there being a kind of darkness moving through this rather all-American small city seemed as unlikely as discovering a talking pigeon with a recipe for hot-water corn bread."
— "Just give the switch a quick flick. First time I turned it on, I managed to touch the wire instead of the switch and got lit up well enough I d*mn near sucked my panties up through my *sshole. I could taste them in my mouth. Pardon my language, but I’m dying of cancer, so what the f*ck.”
— "Jim Crow rides in the back now, but he still gets plenty of trips around town and rests his forearms on the back of the driver’s seat."