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This is Not a Flophouse
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
November 14, 2010
Oh. Ow. Wow.
There's a feeling of Sodom & Gommorah, a place past all hope and needing cleansing destruction...I sound like an anarchist, a la V. Lot is hard to identify, and maybe there are not even 10 righteous men left to stay the hand of judgement to allow escape. Everyone is doomed.
There are sentences that are just so damn perfect, I laugh involuntarily as I cringe. Like this one: "She left him there, watching his pants slide around his ankles in her head, completely indifferent to whatever it was he thought he kept inside of them."
There are characters who you think are figured out, but then are shown to be something else. Paths criss-cross. And at the end, implying years ago there was a squad car where Joe...oh. Ow. Wow.
It's Sin City and American Beauty and the dark side of the news. There are frequent interruptions in the dialogue and action, where the writing lifts up out of the story to speak in a welter, the kind that attempts to describe color to the blind or music to the deaf. As the book goes on these interruptions smooth out and the story conveys these itself...which is a little unfortunate because I liked the clutches of frustration, lifting the narrator from the characters to stare directly at the reader, accusing and shaking you by the shoulders, willing you to see. See yourself, your actions, the hopelessness, the uselessness, the wrongs.
I love the references that I think I'm catching. The hippies in the coffeeshop? Recent Portland news, I think. There's a scene where a ficus plant is used for cover which seems to be a running joke on one of the groups here, although I haven't figured out why. And there was another one I'm forgetting. "Holy hell" is used.
Keep writing, K.I. I'm going to keep reading.
There's a feeling of Sodom & Gommorah, a place past all hope and needing cleansing destruction...I sound like an anarchist, a la V. Lot is hard to identify, and maybe there are not even 10 righteous men left to stay the hand of judgement to allow escape. Everyone is doomed.
There are sentences that are just so damn perfect, I laugh involuntarily as I cringe. Like this one: "She left him there, watching his pants slide around his ankles in her head, completely indifferent to whatever it was he thought he kept inside of them."
There are characters who you think are figured out, but then are shown to be something else. Paths criss-cross. And at the end, implying years ago there was a squad car where Joe...oh. Ow. Wow.
It's Sin City and American Beauty and the dark side of the news. There are frequent interruptions in the dialogue and action, where the writing lifts up out of the story to speak in a welter, the kind that attempts to describe color to the blind or music to the deaf. As the book goes on these interruptions smooth out and the story conveys these itself...which is a little unfortunate because I liked the clutches of frustration, lifting the narrator from the characters to stare directly at the reader, accusing and shaking you by the shoulders, willing you to see. See yourself, your actions, the hopelessness, the uselessness, the wrongs.
I love the references that I think I'm catching. The hippies in the coffeeshop? Recent Portland news, I think. There's a scene where a ficus plant is used for cover which seems to be a running joke on one of the groups here, although I haven't figured out why. And there was another one I'm forgetting. "Holy hell" is used.
Keep writing, K.I. I'm going to keep reading.
November 28, 2010
I’ve been sleeping with famous Goodreads Author K.I. Hope for almost a month and a half now, so I probably can’t write an unbiased review of her work. I’m specially thanked in this book, and in her inscription to me, Ms. Hope *finally* proposed (I said “yes!” it's romaaaaaaantic!). So, a lot of important, sentimental memories revolve around Flophouse. Pretty fitting for the book itself, I think. As an objective reviewer, though, who takes her job very, very seriously, I think I can tell you that this book is a philosophical, reflective, jaded portrait of American society. K.I. Hope is Norman Rockwell’s spiritual doppelganger.
I think this book is a misfit drama after the tradition of Carson McCullers. In A Love Song for Bobby Long, Pursy asks Bobby why he gave her mother a copy of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. He answers, “This is stories of misfits . . . invisible people. It's beautiful.” I would describe Flophouse just like that. It is about misfits and invisible people. And if they make it into a movie, I hope they cast Gabriel Macht as Maslow. That’s not a note about the book, but it’s important nonetheless.
Unfortunately, Carson McCullers really isn’t my bag. If she is your bag, Flophouse will probably make you break into rapturous song while you are reading it (or stare despondently into the void, or whatever McCullers fans are allowed to do to express appreciation). It has that unflinching griminess contrasted with carnivalesque weirdness that McCullers does so well.
My personal problem with this type of book is that I don’t feel like I ever get a proper perspective on the characters. There is no comfort and enjoyment to contrast the unpleasantness and evil. The characters don’t go from comedy to tragedy; they go from unpleasantness to evil. So, I don’t get that sense of surprise or drama that I get from the larger contrast in a comedy-to-tragedy story; and, I'm not good at picking up on the more subtle contrast between unpleasant and evil. I pretty much expect the worst the whole time because all the characters are assholes. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t actually hate any of these characters, but I was largely indifferent to their struggles because they were perpetual and monochromatic. There were moments, yes, where I felt real compassion for them, but mostly I felt detached because the ugliness was continuous. Although there was also definitely some flash-bang to this book, it was flashing and banging through a dirty window.
Also, Ms. Hope suggested I mention that at the beginning of the story, one of the characters has carpet in her kitchen and is really careful about not crushing it. But, it's carpet in your kitchen, lady! What do you think is going to happen to it? It just gives you this sense of menace. brrr. Things that start with protecting kitchen carpet can't lead to anything good.
The calculation I made to come up with the star rating, if you want to know about it, was (objective quality – personal enjoyment + marriage proposal) x (A - Q) / (October + March) = four stars. The last thing I would like to tell you is that K.I. Hope is a fucking hilarious person. I don’t think her comedic genius is fairly represented in either of her two novels, except for a couple of parts in this book. I’m copying one of them here because I almost LOLed at it (I prolly would have if I hadn’t been so depressed by the context).
Never had anything so blasphemous been uttered under this roof. The roof of the home which was so holy to Joe and Mary it might have been constructed by Jesus himself. Jesus, the Mexican immigrant who patched holes in their roof last year after the flood, had commented on the bounty of crucifixes hanging inside the home, figuring that only the cruelest of sinners would show such displays of their affections for God.
Just a little taste of the cleverness for which you’re in store when you check out this gem.
I think this book is a misfit drama after the tradition of Carson McCullers. In A Love Song for Bobby Long, Pursy asks Bobby why he gave her mother a copy of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. He answers, “This is stories of misfits . . . invisible people. It's beautiful.” I would describe Flophouse just like that. It is about misfits and invisible people. And if they make it into a movie, I hope they cast Gabriel Macht as Maslow. That’s not a note about the book, but it’s important nonetheless.
Unfortunately, Carson McCullers really isn’t my bag. If she is your bag, Flophouse will probably make you break into rapturous song while you are reading it (or stare despondently into the void, or whatever McCullers fans are allowed to do to express appreciation). It has that unflinching griminess contrasted with carnivalesque weirdness that McCullers does so well.
My personal problem with this type of book is that I don’t feel like I ever get a proper perspective on the characters. There is no comfort and enjoyment to contrast the unpleasantness and evil. The characters don’t go from comedy to tragedy; they go from unpleasantness to evil. So, I don’t get that sense of surprise or drama that I get from the larger contrast in a comedy-to-tragedy story; and, I'm not good at picking up on the more subtle contrast between unpleasant and evil. I pretty much expect the worst the whole time because all the characters are assholes. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t actually hate any of these characters, but I was largely indifferent to their struggles because they were perpetual and monochromatic. There were moments, yes, where I felt real compassion for them, but mostly I felt detached because the ugliness was continuous. Although there was also definitely some flash-bang to this book, it was flashing and banging through a dirty window.
Also, Ms. Hope suggested I mention that at the beginning of the story, one of the characters has carpet in her kitchen and is really careful about not crushing it. But, it's carpet in your kitchen, lady! What do you think is going to happen to it? It just gives you this sense of menace. brrr. Things that start with protecting kitchen carpet can't lead to anything good.
The calculation I made to come up with the star rating, if you want to know about it, was (objective quality – personal enjoyment + marriage proposal) x (A - Q) / (October + March) = four stars. The last thing I would like to tell you is that K.I. Hope is a fucking hilarious person. I don’t think her comedic genius is fairly represented in either of her two novels, except for a couple of parts in this book. I’m copying one of them here because I almost LOLed at it (I prolly would have if I hadn’t been so depressed by the context).
Never had anything so blasphemous been uttered under this roof. The roof of the home which was so holy to Joe and Mary it might have been constructed by Jesus himself. Jesus, the Mexican immigrant who patched holes in their roof last year after the flood, had commented on the bounty of crucifixes hanging inside the home, figuring that only the cruelest of sinners would show such displays of their affections for God.
Just a little taste of the cleverness for which you’re in store when you check out this gem.
January 30, 2011
This is Not a Flophouse reminds me of one of my own paintings entitled “The Time for Subtlety Is Over.”
If you can’t tell, this is a painting of George W stabbing the Earth while money rains into his hand, and the usual symbols on the bills are replaced with corporate logos and images of oil companies, pharmaceuticals, auto manufacturers and weapons makers. Instead of the United States of America on the bills, they read “The United Corps of America,” which is obviously the abbreviation for Corporations (as in, our government serves corporations not people) but also a play on the word “corpse” to imply that our country-slash-Democracy is dead thanks to corporate power.
I made this painting toward the beginning of the Iraq War when I was involved in numerous protest marches here in Chicago, the most dramatic of which found about 15,000 of us marching down Lake Shore Drive, completely stopping traffic for hours. After we circled around to Oak Street and LSD, that’s where the police stopped us. They had been unprepared for the number of protestors who would show up, but eventually called in enough reinforcements to pen us in and eventually encircled enough protesters to begin making arrests and, yes, clubbing anyone they felt like. (Later, we called them pig pens.) A few of my friends were clubbed who had done nothing violent. I managed to sneak out of the enclosures right before they got too tight and walked up the beach along Lake Michigan until I could cross over Lake Shore Drive at Fullerton.
At that time, it was very obvious to all of us protesters that all the reasons for the war were a big lie even though most the mainstream media was rather oblivious to that fact and because the mainstream media wasn’t pointing out that the emperor had no clothes, the masses couldn’t see it. Clearly, now, everyone realizes that “Weapons of Mass Destruction” was a fiction. Poor Colin Powell was paraded in front of the U.N. to repeat the lives with as much conviction as he could muster. He knew he was lying, and I’ll always hate him for it. Imagine if he had stood up and actually spoke the truth. All these, things, I know they are bullshit. I can’t in good conscious speak these lies. He could’ve truly changed history. But no, he was a loyal dog.
So at the time, I was sick of hinting around at the truth through metaphors and stories. I made a painting that just expressed exactly what I saw as happening. Oh, and the red background represents global warming and the denial of it (ps. anyone read how 2010 was the warmest year EVER. Ever? Ever.*) as well as the hellish nature of these scumbag politicians.
This is Not a Flop House similarly speaks direct truth about how K.I. Hope sees the world working. To me, it was an allegory, more than a tale of realism. Each character’s situation represents the engine of the system and how that systems affects people of different economic, social and class levels. K.I. doesn’t pull punches, she doesn’t hide the system in subtleties. Just like William S. Burroughs said about the title of his most famous novel, she sticks it naked, on the end of a fork, so you can see what you're eating. Is it easy to read? No. It’s painful because it forces you to confront the dark workings of our economics, our Capitalist, competitive, heartless system. But it’s important. It’s important not to be brainwashed by the media, by the government, and by the corporations. By Capitalism, whose only goal is to generate more capital by asking you to buy things you can live without and charging you for things that you can't live without. That’s what this book is about. The time for subtlety is over. Let’s face it, the human race may very well be doomed so we better get our asses in gear and make a change soon. The world is a flop house, sad to say.
*Ever since records have been kept. Thanks Robert.
If you can’t tell, this is a painting of George W stabbing the Earth while money rains into his hand, and the usual symbols on the bills are replaced with corporate logos and images of oil companies, pharmaceuticals, auto manufacturers and weapons makers. Instead of the United States of America on the bills, they read “The United Corps of America,” which is obviously the abbreviation for Corporations (as in, our government serves corporations not people) but also a play on the word “corpse” to imply that our country-slash-Democracy is dead thanks to corporate power.
I made this painting toward the beginning of the Iraq War when I was involved in numerous protest marches here in Chicago, the most dramatic of which found about 15,000 of us marching down Lake Shore Drive, completely stopping traffic for hours. After we circled around to Oak Street and LSD, that’s where the police stopped us. They had been unprepared for the number of protestors who would show up, but eventually called in enough reinforcements to pen us in and eventually encircled enough protesters to begin making arrests and, yes, clubbing anyone they felt like. (Later, we called them pig pens.) A few of my friends were clubbed who had done nothing violent. I managed to sneak out of the enclosures right before they got too tight and walked up the beach along Lake Michigan until I could cross over Lake Shore Drive at Fullerton.
At that time, it was very obvious to all of us protesters that all the reasons for the war were a big lie even though most the mainstream media was rather oblivious to that fact and because the mainstream media wasn’t pointing out that the emperor had no clothes, the masses couldn’t see it. Clearly, now, everyone realizes that “Weapons of Mass Destruction” was a fiction. Poor Colin Powell was paraded in front of the U.N. to repeat the lives with as much conviction as he could muster. He knew he was lying, and I’ll always hate him for it. Imagine if he had stood up and actually spoke the truth. All these, things, I know they are bullshit. I can’t in good conscious speak these lies. He could’ve truly changed history. But no, he was a loyal dog.
So at the time, I was sick of hinting around at the truth through metaphors and stories. I made a painting that just expressed exactly what I saw as happening. Oh, and the red background represents global warming and the denial of it (ps. anyone read how 2010 was the warmest year EVER. Ever? Ever.*) as well as the hellish nature of these scumbag politicians.
This is Not a Flop House similarly speaks direct truth about how K.I. Hope sees the world working. To me, it was an allegory, more than a tale of realism. Each character’s situation represents the engine of the system and how that systems affects people of different economic, social and class levels. K.I. doesn’t pull punches, she doesn’t hide the system in subtleties. Just like William S. Burroughs said about the title of his most famous novel, she sticks it naked, on the end of a fork, so you can see what you're eating. Is it easy to read? No. It’s painful because it forces you to confront the dark workings of our economics, our Capitalist, competitive, heartless system. But it’s important. It’s important not to be brainwashed by the media, by the government, and by the corporations. By Capitalism, whose only goal is to generate more capital by asking you to buy things you can live without and charging you for things that you can't live without. That’s what this book is about. The time for subtlety is over. Let’s face it, the human race may very well be doomed so we better get our asses in gear and make a change soon. The world is a flop house, sad to say.
*Ever since records have been kept. Thanks Robert.
January 25, 2011
I don't know what to say. I liked the book but I don't know what to say. It's like talking to someone when they will often ask me "What's good today?" or "What's the plan?" Nothing. (I'm really good at feeling bad. I don't plan to do that, though. It's just what happens, like nature.) Do I ever do anything? Doesn't feel like it. This is like what talking about society and politics and the world today is like for me. I feel disconnected. It matters to me. But I don't know what to say any more than I have answers for what the hell I even did, or plan to do. I dread those kinds of questions when I'm in one of my moods. (I'm not always like this. I don't think...)
I was reminded of the Betty Draper parts of Mad Men a lot. That's good stuff. Good stuff that is not my favorite part of Mad Men (I'm fascinated by Pete, of all people [I've only seen the seasons on dvd]. Knowing someone I'd never know at all stuff that means a lot to me). Society I don't belong in, will never belong in. It's hard to place my giving a shit on a scale 'cause I don't know what the relevance to me is, yet. The plan is to do nothing but feel bad.
I always feel like there's something wrong with me about discerning world issues. Other people know how to put two and two together and see big pictures. I'm too busy looking for some crack like when you stare at ants and blades of grass until they look so big they don't seem real anymore.
I was reminded of the Betty Draper parts of Mad Men a lot. That's good stuff. Good stuff that is not my favorite part of Mad Men (I'm fascinated by Pete, of all people [I've only seen the seasons on dvd]. Knowing someone I'd never know at all stuff that means a lot to me). Society I don't belong in, will never belong in. It's hard to place my giving a shit on a scale 'cause I don't know what the relevance to me is, yet. The plan is to do nothing but feel bad.
I always feel like there's something wrong with me about discerning world issues. Other people know how to put two and two together and see big pictures. I'm too busy looking for some crack like when you stare at ants and blades of grass until they look so big they don't seem real anymore.
January 9, 2011
You know why I hate chick writers? I know! I know! You don’t care! But listen to this one! Is their male characters! They always sound like something that comes out of spite! Even the good guys the write sound so fucking stupid! It annoys m to no end! When I first started talking to K.I. I complimented her on the way she talks… no holding back at any moment! Like a dude! (say what you want… but chicks hold back…) when she told me about her writings the thing I remember the most is her saying “I write like a dude” I ain’t gonna front! When she said that I was skeptical… one thing is talking like a dude… and another is writing like one… then I read her first book… and I’ll be damn! She does write like a dude! And like a good writer dude in so! No fucking bull shit! Not even when she is making me feel ashamed of having a penis (yeah, there was some of that again here! I don’t know how she does it! but she does manages to make me feel ashamed of having one! ) arg! Before I go nowhere! Let me talk about the book! Well actually I rather talk about the book reading experience… there are a bunch of other reviews about this book that will tell you what this book is all about with more sense that I ever could*
The first time I read it fall sleep! But not cuz of the book! I was tired! And I decided to make myself comfortable! I ate a lot and then set up the bed to read it in one sit… next thing I know is 2 am and I sleep 5 hours in a row! (I never sleep that long) I woke up terrified! Thinking the book was so boring it put me to sleep! Imagine! A book where I inspired a scene will put to sleep like a baby! The horror!!!!!! But last night…. I grabbed again and decided to give it another try… I read it from cover to cover in one sit! It’s freaking good!!! Each time I flipped a page I got more and more exited! The characters are believable! I’m not an expert in the whole noir thing… that shit is usually too smart for me… but I do know good shit when I read it! and this is good shit! The characters feel real... I know there is a lot of stuff here that is well… beyond me! but that never been an issue for me! i always been able to enjoy the a good story even if I don’t understand it! over all all I have to say is that K.I. rocks! This is a great book!
The first time I read it fall sleep! But not cuz of the book! I was tired! And I decided to make myself comfortable! I ate a lot and then set up the bed to read it in one sit… next thing I know is 2 am and I sleep 5 hours in a row! (I never sleep that long) I woke up terrified! Thinking the book was so boring it put me to sleep! Imagine! A book where I inspired a scene will put to sleep like a baby! The horror!!!!!! But last night…. I grabbed again and decided to give it another try… I read it from cover to cover in one sit! It’s freaking good!!! Each time I flipped a page I got more and more exited! The characters are believable! I’m not an expert in the whole noir thing… that shit is usually too smart for me… but I do know good shit when I read it! and this is good shit! The characters feel real... I know there is a lot of stuff here that is well… beyond me! but that never been an issue for me! i always been able to enjoy the a good story even if I don’t understand it! over all all I have to say is that K.I. rocks! This is a great book!
December 7, 2010
Last night as I was dicing an apple, I accidentally cut my finger. The agonizing quiver through my nerve made me scream in pain. As the dense red liquid oozed out from the fresh gash dribbling down my palm, a peculiar deadness prevail my senses besieging the distress with serenity. Mesmerized by the gooey scarlet stream, I let the razor-sharp steel perforate every epidermal cell over and over again till my skin appeared a bloodied collage of madness. All through the self-choreographed chaos of deep lacerations I never once flinched or whimper as if I had got used to the agony; the gory carnival that never stops to cease. It was not a nightmare but a dream that vanished at the crack of dawn. Ah! Is this an appraisal for 'Interpretation of idiotic reveries?' Er…no! As cliché as it may sound; life scares me death does not.
Perfection scares the shit out of me! It equates to a wolf in a sheep’s skin. Life is akin to a picture perfect that we perceive as children only to apprehend that it is flawed when observed with an astute acumen. I always crave for blemished nuances in all paths of my existence. At the risk of sounding deranged or delusional, imperfection, dystopian functioning has acquired a mundane status in my perceptions. As I am writing this review, the ongoing news in the background is blaring with a horrendous death scene of a fresh bomb attack in one of the pilgrimage cities of India. Should I be stunned? Petrified? I used to but not anymore. When enormously painful visuals and dastardly acts encumber on a daily basis either you unwilling acknowledge the ongoing distortions or seek the corridor of death believing it to be the sole reprieve from a burdensome life.
So, what is really a 'Flophouse'? Or what signifies a flophouse? Is it a residential brick-walled cemented structure where existence prevails for what it is or a home rooted in an individual’s soul that has sunk under the weight of hierarchical turbulence of anarchy and vaporized hopes?
“Once, there was a beautiful little girl. She lived in a big house, on a hill, with red brick everywhere.”
“Like here!” She exclaimed.
“Yes, like here, but this was no ordinary house. This was not a flop house.”
“What’s a flop house?”
Joe chuckled gently. “A flop house is where people come and go without meaning, or caring, or loving the house. To them it’s just a house, but this house was a home. A magical home, where everyone that entered it was loved and they all loved the home in return.”……..
…………. “You’re already there, darling. You’re already there. Because in a home like that, there is no pain, or hate, or mistakes. There are no faggots or whores.”
K.I.Hope does not hide under the veil of a happy- endings. She is ruthless, shrewd and even sadist in her overtones; nonetheless it is a sincere and factual representation of hysteria that thrives over the panic of washout ‘Codes of ethics’ and “societal raptures”. The sequences of events are riveting that spins your cerebral normalization into a chasm of absurd daze ultimately releasing you with acumen of the existential sinister underbelly that proliferates alongside our naive dwelling.Hope's brilliance shines out through every crooked twist of the narrative asserting her to be one of the most promising and meticulous authors I have come across.
I could go on and on praising Hope as it is worth every cent. However, I have to run to the local bar for a couple swigs of whiskey to drown my sorrow for I have read both her books (Hector & Flophouse) and eagerly awaiting for another plethora of scintillating libretto.
Before I leave, all I would like to say especially to those pseudo-utopian "monks" who try to assemble hallucinated heavens before figuring out prevalent hell ; BUY THE BOOK!!!BUY AND READ IT DICKHEADS!!
Perfection scares the shit out of me! It equates to a wolf in a sheep’s skin. Life is akin to a picture perfect that we perceive as children only to apprehend that it is flawed when observed with an astute acumen. I always crave for blemished nuances in all paths of my existence. At the risk of sounding deranged or delusional, imperfection, dystopian functioning has acquired a mundane status in my perceptions. As I am writing this review, the ongoing news in the background is blaring with a horrendous death scene of a fresh bomb attack in one of the pilgrimage cities of India. Should I be stunned? Petrified? I used to but not anymore. When enormously painful visuals and dastardly acts encumber on a daily basis either you unwilling acknowledge the ongoing distortions or seek the corridor of death believing it to be the sole reprieve from a burdensome life.
So, what is really a 'Flophouse'? Or what signifies a flophouse? Is it a residential brick-walled cemented structure where existence prevails for what it is or a home rooted in an individual’s soul that has sunk under the weight of hierarchical turbulence of anarchy and vaporized hopes?
“Once, there was a beautiful little girl. She lived in a big house, on a hill, with red brick everywhere.”
“Like here!” She exclaimed.
“Yes, like here, but this was no ordinary house. This was not a flop house.”
“What’s a flop house?”
Joe chuckled gently. “A flop house is where people come and go without meaning, or caring, or loving the house. To them it’s just a house, but this house was a home. A magical home, where everyone that entered it was loved and they all loved the home in return.”……..
…………. “You’re already there, darling. You’re already there. Because in a home like that, there is no pain, or hate, or mistakes. There are no faggots or whores.”
K.I.Hope does not hide under the veil of a happy- endings. She is ruthless, shrewd and even sadist in her overtones; nonetheless it is a sincere and factual representation of hysteria that thrives over the panic of washout ‘Codes of ethics’ and “societal raptures”. The sequences of events are riveting that spins your cerebral normalization into a chasm of absurd daze ultimately releasing you with acumen of the existential sinister underbelly that proliferates alongside our naive dwelling.Hope's brilliance shines out through every crooked twist of the narrative asserting her to be one of the most promising and meticulous authors I have come across.
I could go on and on praising Hope as it is worth every cent. However, I have to run to the local bar for a couple swigs of whiskey to drown my sorrow for I have read both her books (Hector & Flophouse) and eagerly awaiting for another plethora of scintillating libretto.
Before I leave, all I would like to say especially to those pseudo-utopian "monks" who try to assemble hallucinated heavens before figuring out prevalent hell ; BUY THE BOOK!!!BUY AND READ IT DICKHEADS!!
October 22, 2010
This is not a book for a bookshelf. It lives in the gutter of your burnt down apartment. It is read until the pages turn to ash. It is found, given away, and carried around until every word is a floater in your eyeball while you gaze at the world.
Each chapter latches onto your ankles and pulls you to the ground, only to then stab at your tendons and pluck them out one by one until you listen, until you look up from the margins at the citizens around you and plead for them to listen too.
The setting? America. The plot? The message? This is a spoiler free review, but walk down the road, walk into your own home, and you’ll find it everywhere.
This is Not a Flophouse plays no games. Instead, it gives the reader what few books, or authors, ever achieve: a filter-less vision of America, a vision so tenderly sincere and honest that it has no choice but to decimate bones and ravage mind sets. It unifies us all, through a cast of earnest, familiar characters and an atmosphere of inescapable relate-ability.
But through the depravity, the reader is given the scenic splendor of the English language. It’s a car accident, a shuttle explosion, a building collapsing, a bridge jumper. Horrid and beautiful. Mystical and magnetic. The splendor of an atrocity is something humans are unable to resist. Flophouse is written with splendor and gives the reader America’s everyday atrocities, the ones none can help but watch.
K. I. Hope has given us, America, a look in the mirror, a look at an x-ray of our knees before we fall to them. I fear for this author’s life. For the greatest of them all tend to die young.
Each chapter latches onto your ankles and pulls you to the ground, only to then stab at your tendons and pluck them out one by one until you listen, until you look up from the margins at the citizens around you and plead for them to listen too.
The setting? America. The plot? The message? This is a spoiler free review, but walk down the road, walk into your own home, and you’ll find it everywhere.
This is Not a Flophouse plays no games. Instead, it gives the reader what few books, or authors, ever achieve: a filter-less vision of America, a vision so tenderly sincere and honest that it has no choice but to decimate bones and ravage mind sets. It unifies us all, through a cast of earnest, familiar characters and an atmosphere of inescapable relate-ability.
But through the depravity, the reader is given the scenic splendor of the English language. It’s a car accident, a shuttle explosion, a building collapsing, a bridge jumper. Horrid and beautiful. Mystical and magnetic. The splendor of an atrocity is something humans are unable to resist. Flophouse is written with splendor and gives the reader America’s everyday atrocities, the ones none can help but watch.
K. I. Hope has given us, America, a look in the mirror, a look at an x-ray of our knees before we fall to them. I fear for this author’s life. For the greatest of them all tend to die young.
June 29, 2011
This is the second book I've read from K.I. Hope and I must admit I really love the way she just serves the story up - all political, in a gritty, unapologetic - in your face, realistic way. The ending to this book is very tragic and things aren't as they seem, at all. There are loose, frayed ends, and if you're in the mood to read a book that's all tied up with a nice pink bow on top, this is NOT THAT KIND OF BOOK!
To me, this book was the equivalent of the movie REQUIEM FOR A DREAM. When I got to the end I was really glad I read it (even though it was like a sucker punch to the gut that made me cry), but it's not something that I can go back and re-read on a regular basis (even though I do agree with what she's saying and where she's coming from).
However (even with the above said), I do think this is an important read for the times we're living in, and that everyone should read this book at least once. I will most certainly continue to read everything written by this author because she has very important things to say, things that we as a society need to listen and pay close attention to.
To me, this book was the equivalent of the movie REQUIEM FOR A DREAM. When I got to the end I was really glad I read it (even though it was like a sucker punch to the gut that made me cry), but it's not something that I can go back and re-read on a regular basis (even though I do agree with what she's saying and where she's coming from).
However (even with the above said), I do think this is an important read for the times we're living in, and that everyone should read this book at least once. I will most certainly continue to read everything written by this author because she has very important things to say, things that we as a society need to listen and pay close attention to.
February 8, 2013
This is Not a Flophouse is one of those books that slaps you across the face repeatedly in an attempt to make you it's bitch. Depending on the kind of person you are it may or may not succeed, but either way, it attempts this feat with reckless abandon. The pages of Flophouse are filled with ugliness, the kind of ugliness we deny the existence of on a daily basis. We drink it in, and cover it up, and pretend we couldn't be happier, but deep down, we know that is far from the truth.
June 20, 2011
I read this book in one sitting. I kept telling myself I'd read just one more chapter, only to find I just couldn't lay this book down. This is Not a Flop House is gritty, bold, and completely unexpected. The novel is centered around crooked cops, politicians, and the misfits of society. Even knowing this is a work of fiction, I found myself contemplating how close it paralells common reality. The story though tragic, is quite uplifting with the most unlikely characters finding the hope of happiness. I encourage anyone with a strong stomach to pick up a copy of this novel!
I received this book free from a Goodreads giveaway.
I received this book free from a Goodreads giveaway.
November 23, 2010
Jesus Kristen - talk about depresssing.
January 28, 2011
I hate sugar-coated, unrealistic fiction books. Thankfully, this is not one of those books. Tragic and raw - it was great
June 17, 2011
fantastic modern noir, reminds me of "black minutes" by solares.
December 12, 2011
"You... actually think you're going to live to be 65? That you won't die of chronic acute assholeitis first?"
This book I read earlier year, and had intended on reviewing it earlier, but college took a toll on me, preventing me from doing so.
In order to review it now, I had to re-read it, but I didn't mind.
This book is very well written, I like the style it took. I haven't read any of Hope's other works but if they're written like this they must certainly be entertaining. It goes deep into the life of the characters, and their characters are well portrayed.
It's very witty with dark humor, reminds me of a Daniel Handler style, but in the same it is a very unique style.
This is Not a Flop House is a book I can see certain people liking, but at the same time I can see others not. I place myself in the first category, if you disagree, well at least you read it :).
This book I read earlier year, and had intended on reviewing it earlier, but college took a toll on me, preventing me from doing so.
In order to review it now, I had to re-read it, but I didn't mind.
This book is very well written, I like the style it took. I haven't read any of Hope's other works but if they're written like this they must certainly be entertaining. It goes deep into the life of the characters, and their characters are well portrayed.
It's very witty with dark humor, reminds me of a Daniel Handler style, but in the same it is a very unique style.
This is Not a Flop House is a book I can see certain people liking, but at the same time I can see others not. I place myself in the first category, if you disagree, well at least you read it :).
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 21, 2011
Hope is a powerful writer. The emotional tone of the story grabs you and doesn't let go. Its the perfect kind of book to have a glass of whiskey with, maybe a smoke if it floats your boat. Overall, fantastic effort.
Want to read
January 6, 2012Finally ordered this thing. Sweet. It's on its way.
November 21, 2011
This is not a flophouse is an angry novel about how shattered a broken society can be - and its great. You should read it asap!
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