Disturbing Neighbors

One book really disturbed the crap out of me as a child. That would be Thomas Berger's Neighbors. To be honest, I don't remember a lot about it. I remember being aware of the book because I saw the trailer for the movie adaptation that was coming out starring Dan Aykroyd. I got my parents to buy the book for me at that time, so I was ten or eleven years of age when I read it. The feelings of chaos and disjointed reality that it caused me are feelings I remember to this day, though I can't recall key points of the plot. All I really remember about it is that one family is having a hell of a time with the new couple who moved in next door. There is vandalism (I think), sexual flirtation (I think), and a feeling of insanity that runs through the novel (I'm certain). 

I actually went and found the paperback version of the book I once owned and rebought it . . . with the intention of giving it another read. I haven't done so yet, though, because I'm afraid it won't live up to the uneasy feelings it caused decades ago. I'm far older now and understand more about life, and I don't want that precious, uncomfortable memory to be erased by all that. I don't want to ruin what was such a monumental thing. The Shining made me want to be a writer. Neighbors made me question my sanity.

I will go back to the book someday. I will reread it. I probably won't be disturbed. Here's my secret hope, however: I want to be even more disturbed by it. I want to pick up things I was not able to understand as a child, and I want it to bother me. I'm sure it won't bother me as much as some of Peter Sotos' writing, but I still want to come away with having the feeling of my soul being shaken. I want to be moved. It did it once. It can do it again. I know it's labeled as a "comedy" in some circles, but comedy can be disturbing. Just watch the last Hangover movie if you don't believe me.

If it doesn't disturb me the next time around, though, that's okay, too. It's not great, but it's understandable. I won't be bitter. I won't throw the book into the fire and spit at it. It's not a James Patterson novel, so it doesn't deserve that fate. I will be disappointed, sure. But I'm disappointed by a lot of things I revisit from my youth. The mileage varies as the car gets older, right?

I'm crossing my fingers . . .

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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.

Necessary But Pure - More on Peter Sotos

I have been going through a Peter Sotos buying spree, the highlight of which was finding a used copy of Total Abuse at a near eighty dollar price.  Cheap.  Upon telling a friend about this find, he asked, “Why do you even read that stuff?  It’s beyond sick.”

Yeah.  It is.  As the back copy of Total Abuse reads, “Peter Sotos is the world’s foremost practitioner of verbal brutality.”  That is an understatement.

The things Sotos writes about aren’t pretty, and he doesn’t handle them with kid gloves (no pun intended).  Murder, rape, pedophilia, pornography, Nazis, rough trade, self-loathing, racism and the like shouldn’t be the subjects of casual reads.  Sotos, more than any other writer, rubs your face in the filth and makes sure you taste it.  It is uncomfortable, to say the least.  Reading his work is obviously not for the faint of heart, and nor is it for those who are easily offended.  I read it because I find it inspirational, but not in the way of a budding serial killer or cowardly rapist.  I find it inspirational as a writer.

When I write something, I hope to move the readers in some way.  I want to horrify them, make them laugh or cry … any reaction other than one of utter boredom.  Sotos does that at the most base and instinctually gut-wrenching level.  Few authors (Jack Ketchum, Hubert Selby Jr., and James Ellroy come to mind) can even come close to what he has achieved.  (That’s why used copies of his books command such high prices.)  If my work can cause even a fraction of that sort of reaction, then I am satisfied.  That’s why I read him.  I want the reaction.  I want the inspiration.  I study the way the words flow and the images he conjures with their use and repetition upon the page (Ellroy, again, does something similar). 

If all of that sounds slightly magical, that’s because it is.  Reading is a magical experience.  It is unlike any other artistic medium.  It engages its audience in ways that few arts can.  The reader is just as much a part of the art as the writer, too, and anyone who is serious about writing understands what a delicate dance the two are engaged in during that process.  A lot has been written about this tango, but what needs to be remembered is that writing is also magical.  In fact, it is the main ingredient in the spell because without it there would be nothing to experience.  Without the writer, the reader wouldn’t exist, and that doesn’t go both ways.

Sotos, whether or not he would admit it, has an understanding of that magic and he uses it to cause the worst reactions in his readers.  He knows how the words need to flow on the page (any writer of worth needs to understand that sentences, like music, must fit into the greater composition just so or run the risk of becoming disruptive).  He knows what patterns to utilize.  He gives just enough of himself that when the readers fill in the “blanks” they are touched in the vilest of ways.  He forces his readers to create images of unspeakable crimes, and then they become complicit in them.  They aren’t just merely reading about these acts.  They are in the room smelling the smells and hearing the cries.  Whether he puts you in the mindset of predator or prey, the end result is that you suffer.  It is an amazing feat to pull off, and it is dangerous, but when it works it is sublime.

My friend was right.  It is sick stuff.  Beyond sick, as he said.  Shouldn’t it be?  Shouldn’t writing about such dark subjects be sick and disturbing?  Sure, some readers will want to stay away from it for whatever reason (and they should if they have any doubts about their ability to handle it), but for the daring, for those who appreciate the magic, the experience is unlike anything you’ll ever read, and why wouldn’t you want to embrace that?

I understand Sotos isn’t for everyone.  In fact, there are times I question whether or not he is even for me, but I respect him, and if I respect an artist, I engage in his or her work.  It’s not always a pleasant job, but it beats reading the latest James Patterson novel, where everything is safe and you know the story before you read it.  Patterson’s yarns are like a fast food breakfast for the reader’s soul.  Sotos, however is not so easy to digest.  It takes an investment of time and intellect that many readers will eventually regret, scarred and scared by what they have experienced.  I would have it no other way.

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Pure Filth ... Pure Style ... Pure Sadism

What drives a woman to let a man choke her, defecate on her, write horribly nasty things on her body and generally treat her worse than he would treat a dog?  For some it's a simple as needing to pay the bills.  Others like it.  Perhaps no two people know this better than Jamie Gillis and Peter Sotos.  Neither should need an introduction, but allow me to do so anyway.

Gillis was a porn star.  I say "was" because he's dead.  He's considered the inventor of gonzo porn, and if you saw Burt Reynolds in Boogie Nights, well that was supposed to be Gillis. 

Sotos is a writer who dabbles in some very dark stuff.  He writes of sadistic, violent crimes ... often involving children ... often written in the first person ... often based in reality.  He was once arrested for obscenity and possession of child pornography based on what was on the cover of the second issue of his Pure 'zine.  The obscenity charged was dropped.  He pled guilty to possession.

Pure Filth is made up of transcripts courtesy of Sotos, of some of Gillis darker porn stuff (and an out-of-control commissioned video).  Sotos and Gillis each wrote an introduction, and Gillis wrote a little commentary before each transcript.  The book took about a decade to come out because Gillis was shopping around a memoir and didn't want Feral House (the publisher of the Gillis/Sotos collaboration) putting out something that could scare the major publishers.  (The proposed memoir apparently freaked out the publishers anyway for scenes Gillis recounted, including one where a girl just shy of 13 years of age offered Gillis some oral favors and he accepted.)  Pure Filth isn't horrific, but it is an examination of degradation of some of the worst sorts as well as being a study in what gets the juices flowing in some people.  Some would say the women in these films were nothing but common whores, but reading the transcripts proves otherwise.  Some are broken.  Some are abused.  Some want to be broken and abused.  Most people don't want to know this stuff exists.  Fewer still want to read about it.  If you want some insight into human nature, however, you can't ignore this.  It's disrespectful.

The book is expensive enough to keep it out of the hands of those who are mere dabblers.  Those who do decide to take the plunge won't regret it.  Some of it may bother you.  Some of it may intrigue you.  Some of it may have you questioning humanity.  By the end of it you may not have a better understanding of human nature, but you will have some new insights into yourself and what you are able to tolerate.  And if you aren't careful, you may just find yourself a bit turned on by what has transpired.  Either way, you'll probably never look at a toilet the same way again.


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Pure Filth Arrives Shrinkwrapped

There it was. Fresh from the printer. Shrinkwrapped. Cover price? An ironic $69. Peter Sotos. Jamie Gillis. I had wanted it since I saw it on Feral House's website. Pure Filth. Knowing of the two minds behind it, I could only imagine how it would read. As I peeled off the plastic, I found out. I wasn't ready to read it yet. I'm still reading Eyes to the South, an incredibly interesting examination of Algeria. But I had to look through. Examine the photos. Read a few passages.

It was as I expected it to be.

Sotos is a disturbing writer. Here he is transcribing a series of films. If you are familiar with the two men, you have an idea of what you'll read. I imagine that when I finally sit down with it I will be beyond captivated. Of course, this isn't something I want to take in casually. It will be an experience ... one unlike most reads.

While others devour Fifty Shades of Gray and feel somewhat transgressive or racy, I will picture them reading this and cringing in horror. That mom porn is fantasy. This is reality. And what a terrible reality it appears to be. This isn't the kind of stuff that those S&M/B&D weekenders call "play." This is deadly serious stuff. Mouths pried wide open for some humiliating wonders. It's the kind of thing that if you read it and it gives you an erection, you may want to seek out a psychologist. Otherwise, you may just end up trolling the streets looking for hookers who seem like they won't know the kind of trouble they're about to find up until about five minutes after they are knee deep in it. Mommy porn, indeed.

The last Sotos book I read gave me nightmares. It bothered me so much I stopped working on my sex and violence manuscript. I expect this one to effect me a bit differently. This isn't from Sotos' mind. He's a witness to it. He is merely the notebook man. That said, my guess is that while he watched these films, there was a definite erection going on ... and he totally understood why. Another guess? There was a bit of a smile, too, but not the kind you are thinking ...

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Manuscript is Out

I sent out my manuscript last week. A hope and a prayer, right? The word count is less than what the publisher is looking for, but if the story wows it, the word count can be worked around. If it's an "on the fence issue," then the word count will mean rejection.

I could add a few scenes, but it would change the story and the flow. I crafted it carefully. It moves like I want it to. It is short, but sweet, and at this point any additional scenes will probably do a disservice to the overall experience.

We shall see.

I finished Selfish, Little. It was far from pleasant. Gave me two nightmares. Got to hand it to the author, Peter Sotos, for that. His work is not easy to read, but he does have some valid points on the media and how it handles child sex crimes. I've written about it before here and on the Cancerous Zeitgeist blog, so I won't delve into it again. Needless to say I'm onto more pleasant books now. I'm reading about the rise of the Fourth Reich in Jim Marrs book of the same name. From child murderers to Nazis. 'Tis the season, right?

A friend asked me what I would like to come of the manuscript. First and foremost is the book. I want it published. In the past I thought I would never let my books be optioned for movies unless I had some say over them. (Hey, I can dream.) I have since changed my stance on that and have gone the James Ellroy route. Just give me a check. I don't give a fuck what you do with it. The book exists and no movie can change that. Books a book. A movie's a movie. Pretty simple. Ideally, I'd love to get enough to quit my job and write full-time. That would be the dream. Of course, it's been years and that hasn't happened, and I don't expect it to, but I'm trying to think positive. Writing is what makes me happy. It is therapeutic. It can inspire. That's all good stuff. That has meaning. That gives me a legacy to leave my daughter.

(On a related note, John Lithgow was on television last night. I pointed him out and said, "See that guy? He wrote a short story at the same time I did. Amazon published both. Mine outsold his." She told me that was pretty cool that a "normal" guy outsold a "famous actor guy." Damn straight.)

It's a good dream. A positive one. If it happens -- great. If not -- I'll keep trying. I know the story has merit. I would not have wrote it otherwise. I know there is an audience for it, and I know it would make a great movie (I would put Rob Zombie in place as director).

I'll keep you all posted.

Selfish, Little: The Annotated Nightmares

Transgressive author Peter Sotos' Selfish, Little: The Annotated Lesley Ann Downey is what I would describe as not being for the faint of heart. I actually blame it for a horrible nightmare I had ... and I can't stop reading.

It would be easy to dismiss Sotos as a racist pedophile (descriptions that are, I believe, accurate), but you can't dismiss the fact that Sotos has a keen eye to how the media eroticizes missing and abused children. He's candid about his desires, actions and thoughts. The media is not. For him to call the media on this is not only brilliant, it is also a fascinating insight into the mindset of Sotos.

This book was given to me as a birthday present from Mirror. She has wondered if it was the right thing to do. It was. It was actually on my Amazon Wish List, so no complaints. Can I recommend it to anyone? No, not really. After all, this is not I Stand Alone, which at least has artistic merit. That's not to say Sotos' work isn't artistic. It is ... but for a very select few.

Chris Hansen from To Catch A Predator (a show I think is very guilty of the exact things Sotos describes) needs to interview Sotos. I'd love to see the two of them go at it.

Consider yourself warned.