AICN BOOKS!! Bascombe

Dial Press, 242 pages

My maiden column at AICN involved Mr. Schickler’s first book, a collection of intertwined short stories entitled, ‘Kissing in Manhattan’. At the time I was new to the reviewing game and didn’t realize that most people who truck in this trade don’t go to such great lengths in praising a piece of writing. I didn’t care about that policy back then and nothing has changed in the almost four years that I’ve been writing this column.

What was so brilliant about ‘Kissing’? Besides everything? (I’m not joking. As far as debuts go, that book blazed an entirely new trail.) It had an imagination which proved itself over and over, page after page, where it finally left you, at the end, in such complete awe, inspired or otherwise, that you just set the book down and smiled. You were grateful that something this amazing an exciting actually existed in the world of published books. A few days after I finished that gem Mr. Schickler and I spoke in person about the finer points of his collection of stories. This meeting left me with an image of a man whose outward persona was so reserved, I wondered to myself how could this guy dream this stuff up, where does this imagination get it’s fuel? Those questions preceded the obvious. Where’s the novel? I waited, through 9/11, corporate downsizing, and waited while mountains of garbage pilled up in my local bookstore.

You’re going to have to wait a while longer. Me? I’ve been blessed with his debut novel, ‘Sweet and Vicious’ a few months early. Dial Press and one Susan Kamil (a editorial legend, on par with Gary Fisketjohn) are to thank for this masterpiece. Interesting that in the bowels of Random House and more specifically Bantam Publishing sits Dial Press, one of the last holdouts of quality in a house built on banality. But then, the big boys like Grisham pay for the likes of Schickler, Lethem, Elwood Reid, and Aimee Bender to name a few. That’s how it works and always will work.

Everything you’ll need to know, with the exception of the lovely Grace McGlone, our (heroine whose saddled in religion of the most devout), happens in the first chapter. When you’re finished with this section, if you’re not canceling appointments, skipping responsibilities and closing the door to your office to finish this book in one sitting, then you’re a lost cause. I’ve never finished a book in one reading. Never. ‘Sweet and Vicious’ now claims that honor. This book grabs you from the start and never lets go. We meet Henry Dante, (a black sheep hero and Gabriel-like angel) as he and his co-workers sail through the Midwest on a search for the “Planets”. They work for Honey Pobrinkis, a Chicago mobster who’s so brilliantly conceived upon the page that I’ve never met his literary likeness, ever. This man is the epicenter of this story right along side Henry and Grace. But Honey’s the devil in those torrid details. Henry and his sidekicks are on their way to visit an unsuspecting employee of Honey Pobrinkis. Charles Chalk has taken leave of his senses and after outbidding the world for some incredible booty, on behalf of Pobrinkis, he’s decided that he can’t bring home the prize for his boss. That sets in motion Henry, Floyd and Roger; the last is a relation of Honey’s. The treasure they seek is foreshadowed on the cover of this book, diamonds, and the best you’ve ever seen. Years ago, (Schickler goes to brilliant lengths with internal history, with sure footedness and laser like charm) a man had these diamonds cut into the shapes of the planets, but it was so long ago that only seven planets were known to be in existence, so he had them all carved up, polished and delivered to his wife, to show his undying love for her. Those “Planets” were handed down generation upon grandkids, and finally they ended up in the cross hairs of diamond junky Pobrinkis. The first chapter closes with Henry escaping, diamonds in hand and with no intention of bringing them back to his boss. So begins this story. Henry and Grace followed by Roger and Floyd and occasionally they’re over seen by Honey, who himself is all seeing even when he’s not in the room with you. That “awe” I mentioned about Schickler’s writing. You experience a healthy dose of it after this opening segment.

What David Schickler has developed here is an enormous recipe for brilliance. What will shock you most is the unrelenting magnitude of his imagination. The characters he’s developed in Grace, Henry and Honey, whom all get to enjoy a master plan and their own back-stories, which are the stuff of legends. Schickler is a man of so many achieved talents that it’s hard to wrap your mind around them all in one sitting. You can mention this book in the same breath as ‘The Corrections’, ‘Fight Club’ and ‘The Sportswriter’ just to compare it quickly to my favorites. It’s amazingly violent, picturesque and epic in its details and profoundly heartfelt emotions. Combine this with its breathtakingly compelling love story and you’ve got a bestseller for years to come.

Finally, James Frey (‘A Million Little Pieces’) tosses his two cents in on the back cover, high praise from a guy who doesn’t take shit from anyone. I’m glad that this book was written. It confirms my belief that the novel is alive and well. For the Fall 2004 fiction lists that are being compiled as I write this, let me crown your champion. It’s ‘Sweet and Vicious’ by a mile.

Safe in Heaven Dead by Samuel Ligon

Harper Collins, 245 pages

It’s a shame really, when you think about it. Imagine you’re a first time novelist and you’ve just inked a deal with one of New York’s premiere book publishers. Your book will be printed in hardcover and distributed all over the country. But that’s it. Harper Collins is the publisher in question and I’ll bet my eyeteeth that they tossed this book out into the wind like so much bad gas. There is a pattern in the publishing business where a book gets signed, the author gets paid and the rest is forgotten. It’s a line on the budget, a number, nothing more than that. Basically, Samuel Ligon was paid a meaningless advance in the hopes that he’d go away. There is only one person at Harper Collins who liked this book, his editor. No marketing, no print ads, anywhere (this book was published more than a year ago, so I’ll bet there was something) that I could see. But the New York Times managed a quote, which was praise beyond anyone’s wildest expectations and made it to the front of the book. Besides Publishers Weekly, Fort Worth Star-Telegram, Kirkus Review and Long Island Newsday (Long Island? Oh lord, is this what Harper Collins is reduced to?) There wasn’t a soul of merit who reviewed this book. (The New York Times said something, obviously, just not enough).

Until now.

I’ll tell you what. If you go out and read the first page of this book, you’ll be hooked. Then you’ll get through the first fifty and say, “Jesus Christ, this is great, reminds me of ‘The Corrections’, a complex family portrait, laced with heavy morality, told through the eyes of several unforgettable narrators” At least that’s what I say if anyone asked. You’ll probably say something else I’m sure.

Robert Elgin is dead. At least he thinks he is. Spiritually, mentally and for most of the novel you think he’s a ghost. We track Mr. Elgin through his days and nights in Manhattan, and on his arm we find a high priced call girl who spends her time at College studying Faulkner and the ways of the English language, while making extra cash at night on her back. At first Elgin goes by another name, and for a long time so does Carla (she has a real name), his high priced companion. Which all leads you to believe that this is a tale not unlike anything you’ve read in Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy. Then it gets really good.

Robert Elgin is married. He’s got kids. He’s a pawn in a very advance union benefit scam that is skimming money off the rights of the city workers of Ann Arbor, Michigan. This is where we see the author’s true talents, this section soars. Ligon structures his story with precision and an extremely cool balance. This fractured narrative leads you across the country with Elgin, to the bowels of despair in Ann Arbor and into the heart of a hooker whose doing it to everyone, for no reason. We’re treated to an amazing assortment of emotions, a sort of 33 Flavors of sadness. Mr. Ligon has done his home work, lived in New York City, researched the highs and lows of this country, and compiled a complete portrait of a man who loses himself, finds his way through despair, and then realizes that it’s all futile and worthless. Or so he thinks.

You see, we know he dies. We know what waits for him. You know. But Robert Elgin doesn’t. That’s the trick. There is a beautifully savage insight into Elgin’s character when a head shrink is analyzing his daughter after some nasty business has come to light. Elgin wonders if he could kill this women with one punch to her head. Then he listens to more of her bullshit and decides that two punches to the head would suffice. I like Robert Elgin, his perspective is honest and forthright. Characters in today’s literature rarely reveal their true feelings about their failures; Robert Elgin is as flawed as stack of wet dynamite. Samuel Ligon on the other hand is a sneaky bastard, and this book will kick your ass if you let it in to your heart. Sure Ligon’s first book is a winner, but who the hell read it?

Thanks Harper Collins, for nothing.

Want to tell me something? Go ahead, right here.

Great job as always, man. Thanks.

"Moriarty" out.