Zeek found the first piece of eggshell in his High Country omelette. Don Bronco's more concerned about this than he is.
Don Bronco's (Working Title) Shell explores the roots of creativity and inspiration. A triptych of sorts. As if Italo Calvino had written Stranger Than Fiction. Familiar and unique, funny and maddening. You'll come away questioning your day to day, seeing your own story in a whole new light.
This book gave me big Stranger than Fiction vibes which, it looks like that is in the synopsis, so, yess! I really loved the experience of uncovering what was going on, and especially the big shift of perspective that came with the POV changes or formatting changes.
The book is also soo heavy with these funny clever observations, and really enjoyable slice of life descriptions and characterizations, I felt like every time I sat down to read I was doing double takes, rereading lines. I *loved* the absurdist humor too.
The stilted construction of the title and subtitle of this novel(?) reeled me in, and every time I frantically gave my girlfriend a run down of the plot a la Charlie Kelly’s “Pepe Silvia” rant, I felt the need to address the novel by its full front cover text. Don Bronco’s (Working Title) Shell: A Novel(?) by Donald Ryan. The use of parentheses and the inclusion of the Two Dons aptly reflect the contents.
Shell (which I will now and only now call it, likening it to a saved half a calorie now that my thumbs will no longer have to type out the verbose but apt title and subtitle) is truly a collage of all literary devices. Donald Ryan lets his prose take every opportunity it can. When Zeek’s keyboard vowels get stuck, the text responds with only consonants. When the “o” in the neon “Fellows” sign partially dies, the text casually calls it “Fellcws”. Ryan frequently uses parts of speech interchangeably and often injects different formats at will, jumping from prose to verse to screenplay to article to essay. It’s blinding and disorienting but consistently stimulating and entertaining. It’s like jingling keys in my face, but don’t get it twisted, I love jingling keys.
Shell can be broken into two large parts. Zeek’s narrative, and Don Bronco’s notes when writing Zeek’s narrative. Wait. Donald Ryan’s notes? Zeek’s part goes from black text, to blue text, to scripty flourishy blue italics. Each time the information literally gets less accessible to my eyes, more into the page than on its surface.
At first I interpreted this as Don Bronco in a room, typing on a typewriter, and throwing these balled up papers in a basket in the corner dramatically. Each discarded page leaving a remnant (see: eggshells which interrupt Zeek’s consistent routine) in the Zeek narrative. Then, having written and rewritten, Bronco’s toner runs out. And finally, after so many drafts, resorting to pen on paper once his typewriter can no longer type. At least, that was until Don Bronco outright said in his notes that he read somewhere that a different font will…activate the readers’ brains or something, annihilating my theory.
Donald Ryan also appears in Shell as a character within Don Bronco’s life. I couldn’t help but think that, while Bronco was essentially stalking Zeek to “develop” his character for Bronco’s novel, Ryan was doing the same to Bronco for Ryan’s novel. Are we seeing that in Shell, or are we not? The Dons get confused several times in the text, so I find it difficult to say one way or the other.
I sometimes could see the shell breaking(!) and seeing Real Donald Ryan’s real, and kind of annoying, philosophical waxing coming through Don Bronco’s playful, love-to-hate-it philosophical waxing. Just some bland what doth life what doth art sitting there pathetically at times. I don’t know. Wasn’t for me.
But still I thoroughly enjoyed Shell, and I took notes on notes while I read. The edges of my copy are a paper cut obstacle course for my fingers, post its and plastic tabs poking out everywhere. I really felt I had to engage in the text in this way with how knotted up the words are. I enjoyed how situations would get re-contextualized after hearing it a second time from Bronco’s perspective.
And then I found twenty dollars. And then I caught on fire.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
All right, now. Everyone should grab a copy of this book. It's extremely funny, with very charming characters, plot, tone, and, oh yeah, about halfway through, the entire plot breaks into pieces and the font turns blue. Delightful, entertaining, and profound, this book explores the process of writing, though more as an "anti-craft" book than anything else. It starts out following Zeek, an odd, secluded man who starts finding pieces of eggshells everywhere he goes, first in normal places like in the "high country omelets" that he always orders for breakfast, but then in more bizarre places like beneath his keyboard at work or on the street. While trying to figure out what it all means, he meets Don Bronco whose interactions with Zeek are not exactly as they seem. Then chaos (and attempted order) ensues. You find lyrics, poems, short stories, and even recipes all crammed into the pages of Don Bronco's (Working Title) Shell. Check it out!
This book is a ton of fun. I bought it from an indie press (shoutout Malarkey Books) I discovered on Twitter, and I was blown away by how polished and intricate this read was. It's a fun book to discover on your own, so I won't get too bogged down in the plot details, but it starts out as a light and clever story with an intriguing bent to it and then becomes something else entirely. An entirely unqiue stream of conciousness style narrative showcasing the thoughts process of a writer forming a narrative, while still providing an entertaining narrative in it's own right. Check it out if you're interested in seeing an author play with form like it's a jump rope and he's Corbin Bleu in the Disney Channel Original Film Jump In!
This is a surprisingly confident debut with a voice all its own. I'd classify much of the second half as prose poetry, though that might give the impression it's overly self-serious, which is certainly not the case. Hard to say much else without spoiling the experience, but I want to add that the last slice of the novel proper (pp.376-391) was my favourite section, and could function alone as a perfect short story.