Thursday, November 14, 2019

491 -- The Sin That Can't be Forgiven


I bought Lars Görling's 491 from eBay after reading a review of the film somewhere. It seemed like the book, about young criminal boys who are part of an experiment, would interest me. It does ... to an extent, but seeing as it was originally published in 1962, what seemed harsh then seems less so today. Still, there are moments in it which have an impact, often these moments are ones dealing with sex and young girls.

The idea of a group of young boys grouped together by circumstances beyond their control is not a new one. Many of you probably read The Lord of the Flies, which is probably the most well-known example. The concept is fertile ground because young men of varying backgrounds grouped together, often against their will, is like setting a bomb to go off at a random time. Nothing good will ever come of it, and that is also the case here. What starts out as a mere nuisance (also, for the reader, I must add) quickly becomes a minefield of violence, sexual assault, crime, and devious blackmail plans that go awry. When the film adaptation was released, a scene showing the homosexual rape of one of the boys by a man in a position of authority caused outrage. The book handles it as if it were just another event, which is shocking in a very different way.

As of this writing, I have not yet finished the book. It reads fast, but interest in it wanes depending on the scene at hand. That's not a critique of the writing or condemnation of the cultural differences (this being a Swedish book). It's more about the time period at hand. These boys don't seem all that bad, smart, or even interesting. I'm finding it hard to care about what happens to them, and I think that may be the point. While I haven't finished it yet, it is obvious that this is, like A Clockwork Orange, more of an attack against a reform culture and the real criminals it produces. These boys are throwaways, a point made time and time again. The institution which has authority over them is harsh, uncaring, self-serving, and makes it own criminals. These days we call that "job security." Back then it was "doing the right thing." My how the times have changed.

I'll finish the book ... probably fairly soon. And when I do I'll put a review on Goodreads and Amazon, which is my usual thing to do after finishing a book. I may hold onto it, too. I have thought about selling it once I'm done, but it may be a good one to keep in the library. It will have to really redeem itself for me to do that, however. At the rate it's going, its conclusion looks like will be much like the end of a young criminal's life: basic and easily forgotten.

Post script: Finished it. Selling it. The blackmail was oddly horrific and disturbing for reasons I cannot understand, but not even the girl having sex with a dog saved this one.


Sunday, November 10, 2019

Baby Killer

In my Amazon review of Frank Cassese's novel, Baby Killer, I wrote that comparisons to Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho were unavoidable. They are and all because of reasons that will become quite clear soon enough. What you need to know now is that if you loved Ellis' book, think the title of this book is a bit much, and pride yourself on being a reader who is not afraid to have their boundaries destroyed ... well, you need to be purchasing this book pronto. Do not, however, expect the safety found in Ellis' work. Nope. This is most likely going to be uncharted territory for you.

The narrator of our tale, the one first dubbed the Baby Snatcher, is ... funny. Actually, he's quite funny at times. He's also obsessed with food, his workout schedule, his body, and music. He's also a killer of babies, which many would say makes him insane. Despite the killing, he is also easy to relate to in many ways, and as a reader, that can be poison. You see, while Ellis' book made an impression, it was only a brief one. Patrick Bateman was so over the top in that novel that he became unbelievable and unlikable at a certain point. Cassese's Baby Killer (I won't reveal his name) always comes across as someone you can see existing just down the street. In fact, you may feel like you know him. That makes the novel stick with you long after the final page. Well, that and the fact that the moments of shock of are actually shocking. It's not the violence that will shock you, though. It is when you read a single sentence and realize what is going to happen somewhere down the line. That takes an incredible writer to pull off as effectively as it is used here. Cassese does it like a seasoned pro.

The section simply titled "Juanita" opens with this gem: "I have always hated children. I probably hated myself as a child." It seems to be a simple two sentences, but it hits at the core of this novel, especially the second sentence. You see, it may or may not be a lie, but there is a lot of truth to it regardless. What is especially telling is that comes to the reader after the first victim has been disposed of in quite the intense fashion. We already assume he hates children. But ...

"Curiously, I don't detest babies with the same intensity that I reserve for young kids ..." Prior to the section of the book these lines appear in, the reader is simply sitting back for a ride. We get to know our narrator a bit, but it is from a distance. He reveals things about himself, and they are accurate details, but they still appear as if coming through a fog. Once we get to this part of the story, though, we become invested in the character in a way that should not be possible given his actions and thoughts. This is where the book begins to really set its hooks in for anyone paying attention. This is where it begins to defy expectations. And what expectations are there?

For most people who read books that are more ... extreme ... and for the media that sometimes pays attention, we all know there are books out there that are over the top, disturbing, gruesome, that deal with unsettling subject matter that is often taboo ... and they are poorly written. The writers of these novels treat their victims like they treat writing, which is all hack and no finesse. Those books are easily dismissed and forgettable. They appeal to the people who only watch gore-saturated horror movies and then only for the kills and the wet stuff. It's rare, almost unheard of, when a novel can take the truly horrific and make it work for the general reader. American Psycho did that, and look what happened to it in the media. Baby Killer does it, too, and better than Ellis' novel, and what will happen to it? Well, that is interesting to think about.

If it is a slow news day and some news show gets a hold of this book, the avalanche of disapproving, self-serving disgust will begin ... and it will be as ferocious as it is inaccurate. Many will not have even read the entire thing before wanting to declare it an obscenity. It will then sell copies to that gore crowd, who will in turn be disappointed because this is, after all, a thinking person's novel. That's if it is a slow news day. The thing that will most likely happen is the media may get a hold of this, and some people may actually read it all the way through, and if they do, they will refuse to let any coverage of it occur. To do so, after reading it and understanding just what is being written, will be looked at as being careless and dangerous. These gatekeepers of the news will decide the public is actually better off not knowing about the book. You cannot have a book about baby killing actually be an incredible, thoughtful, engaging read. That is out of the question.

Should it be?

For many, the answer is "yes." We should never sympathize or try to understand people who do horrific things. With that in mind, we should also never read fictionalized accounts of these acts for entertainment or enlightenment purposes. If we do, the writing and story should be so poorly executed that it is easily dismissed out of hand, which keeps us away from that verboten sympathy and understanding.

I could probably write a book on why this novel works the way it does. Instead, I'll mention another scene from it, a scene that has probably played out millions of times in real life. In it, our narrator has bought a device that disguises his voice. He is angry with the media coverage of his crimes and needs to let the police know this. He isn't a baby snatcher. He's a baby killer, and he needs to call them so they get it right during their press conferences. In making the purchase of batteries for the device, the female clerk's fingertips graze his palm. "It is exceedingly rare that I have any kind of physical contact with other humans."

That is less than 20 words and it tells you almost everything you need to know about the character right there. That is brilliance. That is why this book is dangerous. That is why it must be read.

Dangerous, envelope pushing works are no stranger to this book's publisher, Nine-Banded Books. After all, this is one of the few publishers willing to put out Peter Sotos' work. Readers of this infrequent blog will know how much of an impact Sotos has had on me. By publishing Cassese's work, 9BB is courting danger in a way few publishers would dare try these days. A book called Baby Killer about a baby killer that is actually funny, horrific, and engaging? Most publishers would rather steer clear of the potential controversy. We, the ones who do not mind reading challenging novels, are lucky 9BB has decided this work has merit. I'm sure every one of the major publishing houses would have dismissed this manuscript upon the seeing the title and reading the query, which is why they have not been all that relevant in decades.

Kudos to all involved in this novel. They have produced a book that not only lives up to its potential, but exceeds it in ways most writers only dream about. Now it is up to us, the readers who aren't afraid of being pushed out of our comfort zones, to give it the respect it deserves, to give it that open, honest read and then let people know why it is important. If you read this far, I'm thinking you are up to the challenge.