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ANGEL STATION

A graphic, grungy tale of addiction and consequences.

A Czech junkie blows his last shot at redemption.

Zucker explains in a rich translator’s note that this brutal little novel by inventive wordsmith Topol (The Devil’s Workshop, 2013, etc.), published in Czech in 1995, is the third entry in a prose triptych depicting Prague as the city evolved beyond the end of communism. It accomplishes its goal, as does its 2000 no-budget film adaptation (Angel Exit). However, with its harsh colloquial language, colorful descriptions, and heavy focus on drugs, the novel recalls nothing so much as Irvine Welsh’s cult classic, Trainspotting (1996). The book’s main protagonist is Hooks, a meth addict who's spent the last few years bouncing in and out of insane asylums. Unlike Welsh’s colorful cast, Hooks is deeply, painfully aware of what he’s going through. “He knew whoever takes a drug, himself becomes the drug,” Topol writes. “And either they stop or they’re dead. He knew drugs had killed even among the first people. He knew drugs had come down to him through a chain of human bodies. Drugs circulate via bodies, live off the bodies of dead addicts. He knew it but left it for later.” Via a strange accident, Hooks and kind-of-girlfriend Vera cook up a batch of meth so powerful it catalyzes the local Mafia to make an order too big to be filled. Eventually Vera figures out that the secret ingredient in Hooks’ superdrug is his own blood. There’s also some domestic drama with Hooks’ ex Lyuba, who’s pregnant—when Hooks asks her if it’s his, her response is reflective of the book’s laissez faire attitude toward the world: “I think so. You’ve just gotta take it for what it is.” Hooks’ language is starkly evocative, kept whole by Zucker’s insistence on not “normalizing” his unique voice. But it's a very harsh tale, made more so by a devastating ending.

A graphic, grungy tale of addiction and consequences.

Pub Date: May 26, 2017

ISBN: 978-1-94315-0-120

Page Count: 152

Publisher: Dalkey Archive

Review Posted Online: April 3, 2017

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 2017

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OF MICE AND MEN

Steinbeck is a genius and an original.

Steinbeck refuses to allow himself to be pigeonholed.

This is as completely different from Tortilla Flat and In Dubious Battle as they are from each other. Only in his complete understanding of the proletarian mentality does he sustain a connecting link though this is assuredly not a "proletarian novel." It is oddly absorbing this picture of the strange friendship between the strong man and the giant with the mind of a not-quite-bright child. Driven from job to job by the failure of the giant child to fit into the social pattern, they finally find in a ranch what they feel their chance to achieve a homely dream they have built. But once again, society defeats them. There's a simplicity, a directness, a poignancy in the story that gives it a singular power, difficult to define.  Steinbeck is a genius and an original.

Pub Date: Feb. 26, 1936

ISBN: 0140177396

Page Count: 83

Publisher: Covici, Friede

Review Posted Online: Oct. 5, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1936

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  • Pulitzer Prize Winner


  • National Book Critics Circle Finalist

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THE ROAD

A novel of horrific beauty, where death is the only truth.

Awards & Accolades

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  • Pulitzer Prize Winner


  • National Book Critics Circle Finalist

Even within the author’s extraordinary body of work, this stands as a radical achievement, a novel that demands to be read and reread.

McCarthy (No Country for Old Men, 2005, etc.) pushes his thematic obsessions to their extremes in a parable that reads like Night of the Living Dead as rewritten by Samuel Beckett. Where much of McCarthy’s fiction has been set in the recent past of the South and West, here he conjures a nightmare of an indeterminate future. A great fire has left the country covered in layers of ash and littered with incinerated corpses. Foraging through the wasteland are a father and son, neither named (though the son calls the father “Papa”). The father dimly remembers the world as it was and occasionally dreams of it. The son was born on the cusp of whatever has happened—apocalypse? holocaust?—and has never known anything else. His mother committed suicide rather than face the unspeakable horror. As they scavenge for survival, they consider themselves the “good guys,” carriers of the fire, while most of the few remaining survivors are “bad guys,” cannibals who eat babies. In order to live, they must keep moving amid this shadowy landscape, in which ashes have all but obliterated the sun. In their encounters along their pilgrimage to the coast, where things might not be better but where they can go no further, the boy emerges as the novel’s moral conscience. The relationship between father and son has a sweetness that represents all that’s good in a universe where conventional notions of good and evil have been extinguished. Amid the bleakness of survival—through which those who wish they’d never been born struggle to persevere—there are glimmers of comedy in an encounter with an old man who plays the philosophical role of the Shakespearean fool. Though the sentences of McCarthy’s recent work are shorter and simpler than they once were, his prose combines the cadence of prophecy with the indelible images of poetry.

A novel of horrific beauty, where death is the only truth.

Pub Date: Oct. 2, 2006

ISBN: 0-307-26543-9

Page Count: 288

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 15, 2006

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