Kaiju Unleashed: An Illustrated Guide to the World of Strange Beasts

 Kaiju Unleashed: An Illustrated Guide to the World of Strange Beasts by Shawn Pryor

Kaiju Unleased book cover

Godzilla 1984 Noger Chen, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Shin Godzilla Noger Chen, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Toho Studios Godzilla via Wiki Commons

Toho's New Godzillas via Wiki Commons

Huge (Kaiju) thanks to Quarto Publishing Group and Netgalley for making this amazing compendium of strange and epic beasts available for review. I was so excited to find Shawn Pryor’s new guide Kaiju Unleased: AnIllustrated Guide to the World of Strange Beasts available on Netgalley! I am a huge Godzilla fan, and like Shawn Pryor, I had my initial exposure to Godzilla as a kid watching movies on Saturday afternoons, amazed at the destructive power of this giant lizard who could seemingly breath blue fire.

While the book is a great reference for classic Toho films from the 1950s through the 1970s, Pryor also explores (and helpfully defines) the other eras of Godzilla films, including the more recent Heisei, Millennium, and Reiwa eras. I was glad to learn more about these eras since I never really new the differences or the story lines. I’ve watched a few from the Heisei and Millennium eras, but didn’t get into them as much. However, Pryor’s entries for each of these films not only provides great information about the actors and directors, but he also acknowledges the suit actors and explains the differences in the construction and artistry of the Godzilla suit, highlighting differences in appearance. I also loved how the movie summaries tried to tie the plots together for continuity or they acknowledged points of departure, where the films went in different directions and told alternate story lines. Furthermore, Pryor also brings in other Kaiju who battled with or supported Godzilla. Having these references not only helped me develop a watch list, but also helped to provide a great frame of reference for the various Kaiju, and what they may have represented in the stories. Pryor typically ended with some kind of analysis or evaluation, either his own or from another critic, which was also helpful to see how the films were received. I loved how there was always something positive to say about these films, even when Pryor acknowledged that they may not have performed well in the box office or were not as well filmed as other entries. The Godzilla section ends with the recent Godzilla Minus One, which has rightly been lauded as one of the best, if not the best, Godzilla movie.

 

What was also great about this book is that Godzilla is only the starting point. Pryor goes on to explore the other Kaiju in many of the other films, and shows where they came from and what their movie series were like. I learned so much about the other beasts. I also really liked how Pryor notes that while Godzilla is probably the most famous, King Kong is probably the original Kaiju, and there are sections about American Kaiju, especially the various iterations or King Kong, another personal favorite. The book then examines some other Kaiju movies from other countries, included some from South (and one from North) Korea. This really opened my eyes, and I was fascinated to learn about different movies from other cultures. Pryor then explores other media like Kaiju television shows, manga, comics, books, and video games. I can’t wait to track down some of these shows and television movies from the 70s. I also was intrigued to consider Grape Ape as a Kaiju. I shared this with my kids and we had fun watching the theme song. In any event, this is a thoroughly researched and considered book that explores all avenues of Kaiju. Beyond the text, there were great images throughout the book, detailing the history and promotion of these films, as well as interesting facts and other data about Kaiju. This is definitely a great book for anyone who loves Godzilla movies or other Kaiju films. I really appreciated how Pryor’s book ends with Kaiju in various forms of popular culture, especially since we see how Godzilla and Kong have teamed up for a slew of movies in Universal’s Monsterverse, and in series like Monarch: Legacy of Monsters. Pryor’s research and analysis helps to show how these monsters are not only great entertainment to help us through challenging times, but can also serve as interesting metaphors that address social issues and problems in the world. Although I have a digital copy, I would definitely love to have a hardback version of this book. I could imagine how nice the layout and images would look in a real copy. Highly recommended and enjoyable book. 

Murakami's Latest-- Ceaseless Change and Movement

 The City and Its Uncertain Walls 

by Haruki Murakami

Murakami in conversation Ministerio Cultura y Patrimonio from Quito, Ecuador, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The City and Its Uncertain Walls book cover

Strange Library-- another Murakami book/story dealing with books and libraries JasperWare, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Truth is not found in fixed stillness, but in ceaseless change and movement. Isn’t this the quintessential core of what stories are all about?

 

Big thanks to Knopf Publishers and Netgalley for allowing me to read the new Haruki Murakami novel The City and Its Uncertain Walls. Murakami is one of my all time favorite authors. I didn’t start to read his books until about 2006, so there haven’t been too many opportunities to read new books, but I was incredibly excited to read this book since it is his first translated novel since Killing Commendatore in 2018. I’ve read his other more recent collections of stories, essays, and interviews, but there’s something immersive and magical about Murakami’s novels where he is able to craft these kinds of worlds (or maybe underworlds) that serve both as a kind of refuge and a prison, where characters both escape and find themselves lost, both geographically and philosophically. The City and Its Uncertain Walls doesn’t disappoint in fulfilling this element of Murakami’s oeuvre. In fact, while I love the inventive worlds that Murakami crafts and the unique characters that populate these worlds, there’s also some level of familiarity that I seek in Murakami’s writing—there’s bound to be cats, music (jazz, classical and the Beatles), maybe some pasta (or cooking of pasta), and probably some woman who the narrator is attracted to, but is out of reach. Maybe she has disappeared into the fantastical world, or she has lost some element of herself, or she can no longer talk or feel. This book has many of those key elements that I look to check off on my Murakami bingo card. Although these points are all featured in the novel, there’s something different about this one from Murakami’s other novels. I’m a little torn about this, since I’ve recently read some books about musical artists (in particular R.E.M. and MF DOOM) who struggled with fans and markets when they sought to take their music in new directions. I suppose Murakami is kind of in the same dilemma where he has built up a literary reputation and following around his own brand of magical realism that both seeks refuge from and understanding of the modern world. I have always found his stories and characters original, inventive, and engaging, sometimes being drawn in by their oddities.

 

Murakami ends the novel with an afterword that was helpful to read—I almost wish that I read the afterword to begin. The quote I used above are the final lines he wrote in the afterword, and I think it captures the essence of this book and his own writing as well—I loved thinking that there is ceaseless change and movement in his work, and I can see that. However, we also found out that this book was based on a novella/long short story that was published in 1980, right after his first novel. Murakami goes on to explain that he was never happy with the story, and always wanted to expand the narrative, finding a way to merge the two tales. It never happened the way he wanted, but he used some basic elements of the story to write The Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, which is why this book seemed really familiar from the beginning. The tale of the dream reader and the beasts in the town were elements of that same novel. That novel is not one of my favorites, but I did remember some of the parts of it. The other parts of the novel remind me of other Murakami books. For example, the unnamed narrator falls in love with a girl he meets at a writing contest award ceremony when they are in high school. The girl seems quiet and reclusive, although they write letters to one another. At times, she seems like she is not completely there, and mentions how she was unable to get out of bed at one point. We later learn that she may not even be herself in the real world, but rather this might only be her shadow, while her real self is in the City with its uncertain walls, that gradually adjust to keep inhabitants within its walls. The narrator, caring for the girl, wants to go to her, and eventually ends up in the city, forsaking his shadow and piercing his eyes to become a dream reader. The spartan city is cold, and these unforgiving winters bring about the deaths of beasts, unicorn like creatures whose bodies are burnt in a pit. This part of the novel, the first part, reminded me of Norwegian Wood since the narrator sought refuge in a town, following a somewhat depressed and spiritually wounded woman. The town, set apart from reality and offering its inhabitants insights if they give up parts of their selves, also seemed like the sanitarium in Norwegian Wood, but it also reminded me of Mann’s Magic Mountain. It’s as if the world is too much, and there’s a need to escape, to find relief and spend time with a loved one. Murakami writes in his afterward that he started revising and reconceptualizing this novel during the beginning of the pandemic, and maybe that influenced this aspect. I will say that although there are similarities between the first part of the book and some of Murakami’s other work, it wasn’t as fun and joyful (or quirky) as his other novels and stories. Rather, this part of the novel felt much more severe and sparse. The narrator had to give up his shadow, and the ensuring separation proved to enervate the shadow. Similarly, the narrator had little to no interaction with others, and eventually, he realizes he needs to escape this world. I had a hard time getting into this part of the book—it was a little disorienting to me, and as I mentioned, it just wasn’t as fun as some of his other books. There was no music, no other books or writers, no pasta or cats. Only the doomed beasts, who faced either death by cold or a day of brutality to eventually mate.

 

Thankfully, the book switches gears, and the narrator escapes to live a life in Japan. However, like his earlier experiences as a dream reader, he also becomes dissatisfied with this life, and eventually decides to quit his job to become a librarian. While he’s not exactly sure why he’s developed this calling, he realizes that it’s what he needs to do. With a little help from a colleague, he eventually secures a librarian job in a small mountain town near Fukushima. There’s a really interesting story about this non-public town library, and we learn about its head librarian who helped select the narrator for the job. I grew to enjoy Mr. Koyasu, the mysterious librarian. He is one of the more interesting characters in the book, and he fits in with the kind of magical realism that Murakami often features in his novels. I won’t give too much away about him, but I think that this is also what Murakami was talking about with ceaseless change and movement since I don’t think there are characters who are quite like Koyasu in other Murakami works. Some characters, especially those from Kafka on the Shore reminded me of Koyasu—a kind of spiritual guide or advisor who supports the narrator and helps him make connections with others who are important to his mission. I think, though, part of the challenge for me was not really being aware of what his mission was—was he trying to reunite with the girl? Was he trying to return to the city that he left? Was he trying to regain his dream reader position? The narrator never really lets us know.

 

I think that this part of the book, the 2^nd part that comprises most of the book, was the best part. I really enjoyed the characters in the town, even there aren’t too many. I liked how the narrator eventually took on the librarian job and encountered M***, a seeming savant who devours books and can accurately tell people the day of the week they were born. This character also shares some similarities with other characters from other Murakami works. We eventually meet his family, and I think that their treatment and concern for this character shows a different side of Murakami. Furthermore, M’s role in the book and his quest to learn more about the City raises important questions about inclusion and acceptance. Although I felt bad that M felt like he really didn’t have a place in this library town, it was interesting to see how he felt like the other city might be a refuge where he could become himself. I think that this fits with some of Murakami’s themes and ideas about isolation, escape, and identity in many of his works. The third part of the novel deals with the bond or connection that M and the narrator share. It was interesting, but it is also the shortest section, and Murakami’s afterward helps to shed some light on the narrative challenges that this part of the novel raised. I like what he was trying to do, but some of it was a little strange—the earlobe biting especially. I’m not sure why the earlobes.

 

The book kind of seemed to end without some resolutions- in particular, the coffee shop proprietor and her relationship with the narrator. In the second part of the book, the narrator discovers a coffee shop with good coffee and great blueberry muffins. They also play jazz, which I was so relieved to come across some music in the novel (M also wears Beatles parkas from Yellow Submarine—which also maybe speaks to his desire to picture himself somewhere else). He eventually has the woman over for some pasta and wine, and while nothing romantic immediately develops, she does seem to be one of the only people he interacts with in this library town. I enjoyed their discussions, and wanted to know more about her condition that prevents their developing a deeper intimacy. I was really hoping for some kind of resolution with her or finding out more about what might happen to her in the town. I also wondered whether the narrator would remain as the head librarian in the town, or if anything might happen to close the town’s library down. Not all novels resolve themselves in neat ways, but I wasn’t completely sold on where the narrator ended up and who he ended up with. It was a thought-provoking ending, and I think with all of the talk about doubles and shadows, there’s a theme about who we are, how we shape our identities, and what really defines us. Is it our jobs? Our hobbies and interests? Is it our relationships and connections to others? For Murakami, these are factors that affect us, but there’s also something more to our selves and our identities—and for his characters in particular, part of the discovery of the self often involves a kind of journey or quest, even if it means traveling from one part of Japan to another and giving up the comfort and stability of a job for something that one is more passionate about.

 

I ultimately enjoyed this novel, and I feel like it is one that I would like to revisit in a few years. The book is heavy and heady; it is a novel of ideas, with considerable symbolism and meaning beyond the surface. I was able to glean some of the meaning, but I think this would be a good novel for discussion, whether that is in a book club or even in the classroom. I could see this book being part of a curriculum on modernism or post modernism, or even a seminar on Murakami’s work. I would really like to see this book taught in a comparative literature seminar that maybe focuses on some of Murakami’s influences and the discussions center around not just the comparisons of the novels, but rather how Murakami utilizes these influences (and other cultural touchstones) to enact his ending quote of ceaseless change and movement. Although this won’t rank as one of my all time favorite Murakami novels, I really enjoyed the read, and a good Murakami book is still excellent literature. I know that others have criticized his more recent works as not measuring up, but I feel like this is a strong entry into his oeuvre, one that continues to move and change his themes and interests. 

The Power of Picket Fences: A Band Biography for R.E.M.

 The Name of This Band is R.E.M.-A Biography by Peter Ames Carlin

The Name of This Band is R.E.M. book cover

Author Peter Ames Carlin

R.E.M. in concert in Italy by Stefano, CC BY-SA 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

R.E.M. collage -A derivative work by CityFeedback ,CC BY-SA 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Thank you to Doubleday Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Peter Ames Carlin’s detailed and entertaining book The Name of This Band is R.E.M. A Biography. Although I am not an R.E.M. fanatic, they were definitely a part of my musical development. I think that any person who grew up in the 90s would have to say that R.E.M. was a part of their musical life since the band was ubiquitous in so many good ways during the late 80s and throughout the 90s. It was fun to read this book, reminiscing about listening to “Pop Song ‘89”, “Stand”, and “Orange Crush” from a dubbed cassette, probably borrowed from a classmate with an older sibling. In fact, I loved “Pop Song ‘89” since it was like one of the first songs I really remember the singer addressing me. I especially liked the overdubbed “Hi, hi…” R.E.M. helped to change the way I thought about music and especially the ways that I thought about videos. I also learned about some of their older songs once I got to high school and my musical tastes were further expanded by new friends with different tastes (and older siblings as well). Plus, alternative radio in the Philadelphia area had a cool radio station that played some of the older R.E.M. songs, and I usually stayed up late on Sunday nights to watch 120 Minutes, so I remember the videos for “The One I Love” and “It’s the End of the World as We Know It”, especially since R.E.M. really challenged the concept of videos, making short films rather than using it as a promotional tool for the band. This was definitely apparent once Out of Time and Automatic for the People were released. In any event, Carlin’s book provides great insight into the band’s evolution, as well as to what went on during those video shoots and how the band’s insistence in kind of refusing the more traditional trappings of rock stardom during the 80s led to a unique and transformative approach to video stardom, and R.E.M. becoming one of the biggest bands at the time.

I typically love most books about music, especially rock music, and reading about a time period and music that I’m familiar with and grew up with is really appealing to me. Carlin’s book also taught me a lot since I wasn’t completely familiar with R.E.M.’s backstory (besides learning from the awesome Pavement song “UnseenPower of the Picket Fence”). This book provides a great history of the Athens, GA music scene, establishing where the band members came from and how they met and started making music. As Eddie Vedder noted in the band’s Hall of Fame enshrinement, it’s really cool that two of the members met at a record store discussing music. I also liked learning about their different influences, and learning how Michael Stipe was really influenced by Patti Smith, and the other members had different influences. I was aware that the Athens scene produced some great bands (obviously aware of the B52s and Pylon), but it was also fun to learn about how the band practiced together and really developed an organic sense of work and song writing. In some ways, the band kind of reminded me of Fugazi, as Joe Gross detailed in his 33 1/3 book on In on the Kill Taker. R.E.M. had no intention of becoming big stars, but rather sought to make music and art, and thus worked together and separate to create their music. It’s really cool to see how bands can kind of develop these organic methods of working and bring everything together.

Carlin’s book follows the band through their early recordings and their eventual deal with IRS Records, who helped the band become one of the most popular left of the dial/college radio bands of the 80s. I really enjoyed this part of the band’s history since it was not something I was too familiar with, and it also reminded me of some other great books about college rock bands like Trouble Boys by Bob Mehr about the Replacements and Our Band Could Be Your Life by Michael Azerrad. Incidentally, I think I remember reading in Azerad’s book that the Minutemen toured with R.E.M. and had a kind of bad experience with them. I was a little disappointed to not see mention of the other bands that R.E.M. may have helped (or hurt) along the way. Regardless, it was interesting to read more about this phase of the music scene, and just how different it was to develop a following for a band. In some ways, I could also see R.E.M.’s influence on Pavement in that they really didn’t want to do much promotion. However, that seems to change after the release of Document when the band eventually moves to Warner Brothers for Green.

Carlin’s narration is unique in that he focuses on eras of the band, but certain chapters are devoted either to the music or to different band members. I appreciated this structuring and the organization of the book. There was a good flow, and it allowed us to get to know the different members of the book, even if they did not participate in the book’s development (which I found out at the end of the book). Nevertheless, Carlin’s research and interviews with friends and colleagues of the band helped to piece together meaningful events and characteristics of the band members. For example, I really enjoyed learning about Michael Stipe’s interest in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and seeing how he was both somewhat shy and outspoken about certain things. An early news interview at one of the midnight showings of the movie helped to illustrate this kind of dual nature of someone who both seemed to love and be wary of the spotlight. In thinking about how R.E.M. differed from most mainstream MTV 80s and 90s bands, I can see how the experiences and values of Michael Stipe and other band members impacted their approach to stardom. What’s even more amazing is how they mostly maintained this approach to fame and rock stardom as their popularity continued to grow. Carlin’s analysis of the band shows that while they sought to maintain their stance, the move to Warner Bros brought about changes. However, it also seemed like the band also brought changes to music and popular culture. As Carlin mentioned towards their later tours, the band had a more family vibe towards it and had more beer and wine over the hard liquor and drugs that are often a part of rock excess. However, I also think it’s important to note how their videos were so much more conceptual than many other bands. Carlin repeatedly reminds readers that Stipe hated to lip synch, and refused to do so for older videos (which I didn’t realize). The band also didn’t like fake playing their instruments, so a video like “Stand” or “Shiny Happy People” makes sense in how ridiculous the band acts in aping their musicianship. At the time, I thought it was kind of goofy, but I see how they were both uncomfortable with bending their values and stances towards musicianship, but also kind of making fun of videos at the same time. With Out of Time and Automatic for the People, we see how the band expanded their pallet to use a bigger budget and wider audience to explore the visual elements of their art. Videos for “Losing My Religion” and “Everybody Hurts” (a personal favorite) not only emphasized the themes of their music, but also inspired other acts who took videos to new artistic heights. I can see a direct relationship between the video for “Losing my Religion” and “Heart Shaped Box”. I

The latter quarter of the book looks at the band in the 21^st century as their star starts to wane, but their musicianship goes in different directions, and the band’s identity is threatened with the loss of drummer Bill Berry, who left in 1997. The work with different drummers, but also begin to bring in different musical styles and experiment more with electronics and other styles of music. I think it’s important to note that this is also around the time of Radiohead’s OK Computer and follow up Kid A, which also took the band in a more electronic exploratory dimension. This was both an exciting a strange time for music, as bands in the post Nirvana era gravitated more towards experimentation as pop music veered towards younger solo stars and boy bands (I’m purposely ignoring the rise of Nu Metal and Rap Rock here). Carlin notes that as R.E.M. continued to create and experiment, their albums just didn’t chart in the same way. Interestingly, they continued  to have more single success in Europe and especially in the UK; however, their American success was never replicated, and their albums performed worse and worse. Carlin speculates that this could have been due to changes in popular tastes and the transition to less rock oriented popular music, but he also considers the early rise of file sharing sites like Napster and digital streaming like iTunes, that also moved music away from albums and more towards singles as a musical commodity. Throughout these industry changes, R.E.M. continued to receive critical praise with their albums. I also liked learning about what the band is up to today, learning how they are still engaged in music, and how they continue to engage in charity and consciousness raising activities, another value that the band was known for helping to contribute to MTV during the 90s. In fact, I looked up the band members as I was reading the book, and saw that Michael Stipe had recently campaigned for democrats. It’s cool to see how they remain committed to voting rights and encouraging people to vote. That’s another thing I appreciated about the band’s contribution to MTV—as a viewer or fan, you could always learn about their position about important topics, even if it was just encouraging people to register and vote.

I really enjoyed Carlin’s book, and it made me appreciate R.E.M. even more. I really hadn’t thought about them that much, and wasn’t the biggest fan, but reading about their earlier work made me realize how important they were to the college radio music of the 80s and the alternative music scene of the 90s. It’s kind of weird because I don’t usually think of them as punk rock, nor do I think of them as bands that were contemporaries of more alternative 90s bands like The Pixies or Nirvana since R.E.M. was so popular and massive in the 90s. However, they had humble origins and were able to maintain a lot of their artistic integrity in making music. Furthermore, they had an important role in challenging a lot of artists and bringing more art to videos and other programming on MTV, raising the bar and the consciousness of young, impressionable viewers and listeners. Carlin’s detailed research and interviews helped to flesh out a band that was somewhat elusive and reserved in talking about themselves, and helps to paint a pleasant portrait of the evolution and development of one of the 20^th century’s most consequential rock bands. Although I mentioned that I would have liked to learn more about the bands that toured with R.E.M. and their influence on these bands (like the Minutemen), I also think the book would have benefitted form more images and photos. I’m not sure if as an advanced copy, there weren’t any photos available, but I would have loved to see the album covers and art work, since it was such a prominent part of R.E.M.’s artistic ethos. Furthermore, I think that seeing video stills and concert photos would have been great too. I’m not sure if there are photos of the band in the studio, but that would have also been interesting to see. I also wish that Carlin talked about R.E.M.’s decision to allow the use of “Stand” as the theme song to the show Get A Life with Chris Elliot. I absolutely loved that show, and I totally associate the song with that show, even though it probably came out 3-4 years before the show. I was wondering how this reflected the band’s popularity, what went into their decision to license the song to a sitcom, and if it was even their decision. Finally, I know Carlin talked a little bit about “Radio Song”, a song and video that paired R.E.M. with KRS-ONE; it was such a strange pairing that I wish there was more discussion about what went into this song. I actually liked this song, and the video was kind of cool. KRS-ONE has always been a favorite rapper, and yet this song is never discussed in other pairings of rap and rock like “Walk This Way”. However, I think this song fell somewhere after Sonic Youth’s “Kool Thing” with Chuck D and the Judgement Night soundtrack, which had some grungy bands (including Sonic Youth and Pearl Jam). I wasn’t sure if this song might have been influenced by Sonic Youth’s “Kool Thing” since SY had a more under the radar trajectory than R.E.M. Nevertheless, maybe I can research and analyze more about this. Carlin’s book has given me much to think about and even more to listen to—not just R.E.M.’s early output, but some of the other great Athens’ bands. I highly recommend this book, especially if you grew up during the 90s. 

DOOM: Excellent Biography Takes Us Behind the Mask

 The Chronicles of DOOM: Unraveling Rap's Masked Iconoclast by S. H. Fernando Jr.

The Chronicles of DOOM book cover 

KMD Promotional Photo from Electra Records featuring Zev Love X and Subroc (The Dumile Bros)

Author S. H. Fernando Jr. 

MF DOOM TheArches, CC BY 2.0  via Wikimedia Commons

MF DOOM in 2011 Possan, CC BY-SA 3.0  via Wikimedia Commons

Big props to Astra House and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of S.H. Fernando Jr.’s new biography and cultural analysis of MF DOOM, the masked rapper and beat maker whose career in hip-hop spanned several eras and was influential in pushing the borders and possibilities of hip-hop. The book is titled The Chronicles of DOOM: Unraveling Rap's Masked Iconoclast. I was so excited to find this book available since I was a fan of DOOM’s first incarnation and appearance on 3rd Bass’s “The Gas Face” as Zev Love X and his band KMD, who made fun and conscious hip hop that fit right into the Native Tongue Collective (although they weren’t really a part of that). I had a 12” of a few 3rd Bass singles and the Cactus Album, and “Gas Face” was always my favorite. Even years after the song came out, I remember giving the gas face to others, and Zev’s bars at the end of the song provided a nice compliment to Serch and Pete Nice’s varied deliveries. I absolutely loved KMD’s first album. I still have the cassette single for “Who Me” and loved that their album sampled a lot of Sesame Street records that I listened to as a kid. “Peach Fuzz” was also a really great single that made great use of vibraphones, but also dealt with topics like being a teenager, but still not feeling old enough to appeal to girls. KMD had this appealing quality that was both conscious and universal, while also being fun and funky. They seemed like such a fun crew. Needless to say, DOOM’s early work left a mark on me for various reasons. 

I also encountered DOOM later in life, sometime around 2004/2005 when I found the Special Herbs CDs in a Borders. I was instantly drawn to the Dr. Doom Marvel covers that offered little more than the track listings, which also seemed to be the names of different herbs and spices. Once I got these CDs home and started listening to them, they became such an important part of my listening. First, these albums were like nothing I really heard before. The samples were different and obscure, but also somewhat familiar—Was that the Electric Company theme song? Is that some music from Star Blazers? What did they do to “Black Cow” or The Doobie Brothers? I couldn’t get enough of this, and wanted to find out more. It was also around the time when iTunes was popular, so I could quickly access some albums, finding the Victor Vaughn and King Ghidora albums. I’m not sure ecqactly when I found out that Zev Love X and DOOM were the same, but it kind of blew my mind. I think Black B*st*rds was also available, and the story of KMD started to come back. 

Some recent books, like Dante Ross’s excellent memoir Son of the City, provide some details about what happened to KMD and how they lost their deal mainly due to the artwork for the follow up album. Compounding this tragedy was the death of Zev/DOOM’s brother Subroc, shortly before the 2nd album’s release. Although it is sad on many different levels—a young, promising artist is killed in a tragic accident and a major record label fails to nurture and support their artists, confirming the kind of commodification of hop hop’s artistry as a commercial endeavor for many corporations. However, S. H. Fernando’s book explores not only the details of these events, but also delves in to analyze the impact on DOOM’s artistry and adaptation/development of his villainous persona MF DOOM. I absolutely loved this book and could not put it down. For one, I have strong connections with DOOM’s music at various points in my life. Furthermore, I loved how Fernando’s book is not only a detailed and complex biography that incorporates interviews and sources from the elusive and incredibly private DOOM and those who knew him, but also engages in in depth analysis, examining history, pop culture, literature, films, television and cartoons, as well as celebrity culture and technology to help understand the themes and signifiers that made DOOM such an iconic and influential figure in hip hop and popular music. It is such a great blend and helps readers to understand the varied influences and contexts that shaped DOOM’s perspective, style, lyrics, and performance. 

The book starts out with general biographical details, but does not provide much about DOOM’s early life. We learn a little about his home, but most of the early chapters are spent detailing the development of KMD and their work with Serch and Pete Nice. 3rd Bass was a fun group, and I totally remember this time, watching Yo MTV Raps and Rap City. However, I also loved how Fernando’s book takes a broader approach and looks at other events happening around this time, especially in the NYC Hip-Hop world. It not only helps us understand the trends and styles, but also what the Dumile brothers were looking to challenge and create their own unique voice. We also learned about the influence of Malachi York, leader of the Nuwaubian Nation, a kind of cult that I read about in Ocker’s excellent book Cult Following. Through these details, we gain a better understanding of some of the factors that influenced DOOM’s eventual outlook and his pursuit of knowledge, learning constantly to reinvent himself. 

I really appreciated Fernando’s research and analysis of the kind of criticism of hip-hop from the early 1990s. Although I wasn’t sure how events like the LA Riots, NWA, and Ice-T connected with East Coast hip-hop like KMD, Fernando does a great job weaving the kind of white panic and parental control that led to the creation of advisory stickers. In particular, it was interesting to read more about Body Count’s infamous Cop Killer song (as well as the reference to Paris’s “Bush Killa”), and the fallout that resulted from these first amendment cases. I couldn’t help but think about which first amendment warriors would come to the defense of these albums and artists today. Fernando’s research helps to contextualize the scene that eventually led to KMD’s loss of a deal. It was also interesting that much of the criticism came not from parents or white politicians, but rather from Black journalists who, as Fernando and Dante Ross have speculated, probably didn’t pay attention to the meaning and content of the album. Even looking back now, it’s hard to understand how the image of killing a stereotype could be misconstrued, but Fernando’s analysis helps to also frame the challenges that artists like DOOM faced in maintaining their artistry while also battling the commercial demands of working for a major corporation. It also probably helps to explain why DOOM frequently worked with independent labels throughout the remainder of his career. 

This kind of deep level analysis and examination of the various factors at play in DOOM’s career are what make this book such an excellent and interesting read. Other sections look to DOOM’s artistic predecessors, whether it is examining the comic artists, super heroes and villains, or other musicians who most likely influenced his art and style. I also loved learning about the other visual artists and promotional people that DOOM worked with—including learning more about Blake Lethem, who helped to design DOOM’s mask and created his tag logo. Interestingly, Blake is also the brother of author Jonathan Lethem, and reading a little about his experiences with hip-hop, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was partly the basis for Mingus from Lethem’s Fortress of Solitude, a book that focuses on the early days of hip-hop as well as super heroes. 

As someone who loved the Special Herbs albums, as well as Mad Villain, and MMM…FOOD, I really enjoyed reading about the creation of these albums, especially since DOOM’s samples are all so unique and his production style, as Fernando reminds us, is idiosyncratic, maybe a little sloppy, but also endearing, kind of like a punk rock, DIY hip hop production and beat making. For me, I loved the sonic density of his records, and how there’s so much layering. Not quite like the Bomb Squad, but just lots of different references and touch points that were appealing to me and familiar to my own interactions with music from childhood and beyond. Fernando’s analysis and exploration of these samples was helpful and enlightening. I really loved learning where the samples came from as well as their significance to DOOM and how they represented his own interests and style. Since DOOM was a kind of mysterious figure, Fernando does an admirable job unveiling the mask as much as possible to help us learn more about who Daniel Dumile really was. We are reminded that he was a loving father, an artist, and a student—not only of rap, but later on, of esoteric knowledge. The later chapters that detail DOOM’s exile in England (after being denied re-entry to the US due to his British passport and non-citizen status) were really interesting. On the one hand, it seems crazy that he couldn’t return to the US where he lived for most of his life. However, it was also fortuitous that he found people to help him get settled and spend time on Youtube learning about various theories and ideas that largely informed his artistry. These interviews with those who worked with DOOM were amazing—they were interesting in providing more perspective into this mysterious artist, but also insightful in helping us understand his influences and mindset, how he may have been gradually developing and evolving his own artistry and persona. Fernando and some of his interview subjects make some great points about artists and reinvention, and how many times fans, especially zealous fans, can often reject when artists try to evolve and grow, especially in hip hop, which despite being a groundbreaking and revolutionary art form, has also been coopted and commodified, relying on formulaic albums and styles and algorithmic topics and themes to sell. Fernando reminds us, through interviews with others, that while DOOM’s albums became more challenging and experimental, the sales dropped off. People were more interested in hearing the same songs, which also might have been why he reverted to DOOM bots, people dressed like DOOM sent to performance spaces. I loved that Fernando and others called this out, but also acknowledged that DOOM was giving people what they wanted, and using the mask to his advantage. This kind of depersonalization and hidden identity provided Dumile/DOOM with his anonymity, but also with an out, allowing others to fill in when he wasn’t feeling it. Fernando raises these interesting questions about art, identity, and commerce, and what the artists’ responsibilities are to their audience—as well as the ways we consume art and what we, as an audience, expect of artists. 

Finally, the book ends detailing DOOM’s legacy and strangely focuses on the commercialization of DOOM’s legacy, looking at the different collabtive ways DOOM sought to possibly monetize his image. Although Fernando didn’t take a critical stance, it seemed like DOOM pursued products he was interested in or used, not just those that paid him the most. In fact, it looked like these companies (Clarks, Nike, Puma) sought out DOOM due to his popularity. It was a little odd to end the book this way, but it also helps to show DOOM’s enduring legacy and impact on music and especially hip hop. I appreciated the analysis and examination of DOOM’s last days. I, like just about everyone else, was shocked to learn about DOOM’s passing on New Year’s Eve 2020, and even more surprised to learn that it happened 2 months prior. Fernando provides some other key details about DOOM’s death, which was helpful but also frustrating that he experienced some medical racism. Regardless, I really appreciated that Fernando, through research and interviews, helps to flesh out DOOM’s final years in exile, showing us how his health and his own interests may have slowed his art and contributed to his death. 

I can’t recommend this book enough. It is an amazing tribute to one of the most important artists in music and especially hip hop. Furthermore, it situates DOOM’s contributions by connecting his art to many other art forms that are considered more low brow (cartoons, comics, monster movies/Godzilla, quiet storm r-n-b), but also shows how an artist not only can make use of these disparate forms to create something wholly new, but also remind us of how this is the spirit of hip-hop—reinvention and recreation, and it is also representative of DOOM’s life, reinventing himself from Daniel Dumile, to Zev Love X, to MF DOOM, and eventually DOOM (all caps). Highly recommended book, and I can’t wait to read Fernando’s book on Wu-Tang Clan.

Anno Satanis! A Biography of Anton LaVey

 

Born with a Tail: The Devilish Life and Wicked Times of Anton Szandor LaVey, Found of the Church of Satan by Doug Brod

Born with a Tail book cover

An early picture of LaVey with a lion

LaVey conducting a mass

Anton LaVey

Big thanks to Hachette Books and Netgalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of Doug Brod’s book Born with a Tail: TheDevilish Life and Wicked Times of Anton Szandor LaVey, Founder of the Church ofSatan. Born with a Tail could also be titled Born with a Tale, as Brod’s book about Anton LeVey, the founder of the Church of Satan, chronicles many of LaVey’s stories and myths that have been both part of his legend as well as typically debunked by his critics, his family, and his followers. The tail in question is one that LaVey claims he had up until his adolescence, when it became an irritation and needed to be removed. This was also the time he supposedly joined the circus and became an apprentice to a lion tamer, although there is no real record of his time in the circus or as a lion tamer. However, as Brod’s in depth and colorful biography presents, we learned that LaVey kept a lion at the Black House, the Church of Satan’s longtime headquarters in San Francisco, for a number of years after the church’s inception. Interestingly, LaVey’s lion, Togare, somehow ended up with Tipi Hedren. While LaVey’s stories and legends are entertaining and serve mainly to boost his black magic cred, it was also amazing to see how many different people and celebrities LaVey crossed paths with as the head of the Church of Satan.

 I’ve always had an interest in the Church, but my awareness of it came at a time when the focus had really shifted, and I think I was more aware of the Satanic Temple, which Brod differentiates from the Church of Satan towards the end of the book. I actually had the Something Weird DVD for Satanis and had read a book about Satan in popular culture—I thought it was from Feral House, but I can’t find it. In any event, the book featured a lot of LaVey and some of the individuals he was involved with towards the latter 1/3 of the Church’s period—the 80s and 90s. I had some idea of about the original philosophy and some of the popular myths, but Brod’s book really helps to establish a strong timeline and interrogate many of the myths about the Church and LaVey’s life. For example, we find out that despite LaVey’s insistence, he was not involved in Rosemary’s Baby, and definitely did not play The Devil in the dream sequence. Additionally, we learn that LaVey was probably not a crime scene photographer for the San Francisco PD, in the same way that Weegee was. I did find it interesting that LaVey recognized the power of personal stories, media, and embellishment to further his cause and create a Church to pretty much do what he wanted and have other people give him money. Brod’s detailed interviews and stories show that LaVey didn’t live luxuriously off his followers, especially towards the end of the book and LaVey’s life. However, he seemed to maintain a public front as someone who advocated a “Satanic” life to receive funding. Brod presents a critical view of LaVey, showing us both LaVey’s carefully constructed life along with the reality and criticisms he faced; however, I did find it sad that LaVey devolved into a kind of fascist lover and nazi apologist. This is where I always was kind of confused about the Church and its affiliations with musicians like Boyd Rice. Brod’s book helps to provide more insight into this time period in the Church, and it helps to clarify, for me at least, that LaVey was basically accepting of nazis. I also learned about LaVey’s association with Marilyn Manson towards the end of LaVey’s life, and this also makes sense since Manson was someone who flirted with nazi and fascistic imagery. The strange part for me was learning that Greg Turkington shows up in this book as someone who ended up releasing some of LaVey’s organ music, and eventually compiling a posthumous collection of LaVey’s writing. Like I mentioned previously, it’s so strange to think about all of these disparate celebrities and artists who had some kind of connection with LaVey—from Sammy Davis Jr and Jayne Mansfield to Greg Turkington and Marilyn Manson. Turkington seems to really have bonded with LaVey over his older music and eccentric stories, whether they were real or not, and mentioned that LaVey didn’t really discuss fascism or anything. Through Brod’s presentation of these disparate individuals, we learn how effective LaVey was at reading people—like a carny—he’s able to size people up and see what would appeal to them. It also helped to see how this kind of American interpretation of religion and religious freedom allows for this kind of trickster or confidence man, who is ultimately looking to exploit people for his own ends. As I was reading this book (which I also couldn’t put down), I couldn’t help but think of how LaVey would thrive today on social media, and how similar he is to influencers and others looking to create a self, whether it is authentic or not, and to market themselves and their lifestyle to others. It’s interesting to think about how much of this social media economy is “satanic” in the sense that it is really based on the pleasure principle and not being concerned with integrity or reality even, and being more focused on style, creation of the self, and shaping one’s own reality. I really recommend this book since it spans an incredibly interesting period of popular American culture, and looks at a figure who may not be that well known, but has been influential in shaping many different fields of entertainment. The only thing that I would have liked to see more of in this book is pictures. I am not sure if published editions had pictures, but I think that a subject as interesting as LaVey that touched many different areas of popular culture would have benefited from more pictures. Nevertheless, this was a fun and interesting book. 

Mysterious Deaths and Challenging Popular Tropes in Indian Burial Ground

 Indian Burial Ground by Nick Medina

Author Nick Medina

Indian Burial Ground book cover

After reading Medina’s earlier novel Sisters of the Lost Nation, I was excited to learn about this upcoming novel Indian Burial Ground. There were some really cool uses of mythology and folklore in Sisters of the Lost Nation, and the book dealt with important issues that many indigenous communities face, including high rates of missing and murdered women. When I saw the title for Indian Burial Ground, I loved how it played on one of Stephen King’s favorite horror tropes for explaining evil in Maine. Medina’s new book is even better than Sisters, while also exploring important issues indigenous communities face- notably suicide and addiction, as well as higher rates of violence. Also like Sisters, Indian Burial Ground takes place on the Takoda Reservation, and his new novel also features some of the characters from Sisters as well. I also liked the narrative structure of this book much better than Sisters of the Lost Nation. In Sisters, the alternating chapters work backwards and forwards, until they meet at the end. It was a clever approach, but it was somewhat disorienting at first and hard for me to follow. This book also features alternating chapters that focus on different time periods, but with the names of the different characters as the title of each chapter, and understanding that these titles were about 35 years apart, it was easier to understand. I liked how the different chapters were told from Uncle Louie’s perspective before he left the reservation, and from his niece’s perspective, Noemi Broussard, who just lost her boyfriend to a mysterious death that may have been suicide, but also seemed somewhat suspicious. We also learn that Louie witnessed another mysterious death (which was somewhat disturbing to read) when he was younger, and this death has haunted him for some time. It also has led others on the Rez to question his accountability for the death. This book has a much stranger and creepier mood than Sisters, but also uses folklore and mythology to add to the tales. The Takoda Reservation begins to have strange deaths, which are difficult to explain. Even stranger, the dead make a scary and disturbing return, often confusing their loved ones, who are not sure what to make of the strange sounds and sudden movements they witness days after the death. Louie’s return allows him to help comfort Noemi during her time of grieving, while also seeking answers with her to explain Noemi’s loss and find what might be causing these strange post-death behaviors. Medina builds on many of the strengths from Sisters and used the inventive narrative structures and folklore to create an engaging mystery that also aims to tackle social issues. I loved that this book really took a hard look at the high rates of suicide and addition in Native American communities. I also really liked the characters in this book more than in Sisters. Maybe because Sisters seemed more aimed towards YA audiences, this book featured adult characters who dealt with adult issues of identity, responsibility, and also trying to make their way amidst some dysfunction and addiction. With these kinds of issues happening on the Rez, it’s almost like there are different kinds of horror—the horror of addiction, the horror of mental health challenges, as well as the horror of these unexplained deaths that are occurring. While it may seem fantastical, Medina makes these issues both real and important in his narrative, bringing them to light to more audiences, while also challenging or flipping one of the more common tropes used by probably the most famous horror author ever. This is a great read for a lot of different reasons—it’s inventive and engaging, while also bringing an awareness to important issues affecting Native Americans. It’s also interesting to see how Medina is creating his own world where his novels are set—kind of like a Rez version of Yoknapatawpha County. I’m looking forward to more stories set on the Tokada Reservation

Exploring the Magic of Magic Mushrooms

 Have a Good Trip: Exploring the Magic Mushroom Experience by Eugenia Bone

Have a Good Trip book cover

Amanita Muscaria, probably more famous looking mushroom, but not the focus of this book, by Bernard Spragg, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Psilocybe cubensis, the mushroom of focus for this book by Rohan523, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Many thanks to Flatiron Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Eugenia Bone’s great new book Have a Good Trip: Exploring the Magic Mushroom Experience. Bone’s book follows some other more recent books detailing a growing acceptance and use of psychedelics in the general population as well as their application to therapeutic and medical settings like palliative and end of life care for cancer patients. While other books like Ernesto Londoño’s Trippy and Michael Pollan’s How to Change Your Mind focused on different forms of psychedelics, Bone’s book primarily focuses on the use of mushrooms, in particular the Psilocybe cubensis, in various settings, recreationally, communally, spiritually, educationally, therapeutically, and medicinally. I was amazed to learn more about the different uses and applications of mushrooms, and in particular, how technology, especially the internet, seems to have helped facilitate and foster (maybe even cultivate) a growing community of explorers (or sometimes known as psychonauts) who are all seeking different outcomes, whether it is mental well-being, more knowledge of self and self-understanding, or just looking to expand their minds. 

Bone’s book is divided into different sections, focusing on the background of the use of psychedelic (or entheogenic mushrooms), growing and cultivating one’s own mushrooms, and different types of trip settings. The book’s first two sections are informative, but at times delve deep into the science. I found the parts about how brains respond to mushrooms interesting, but I also had to go over this section a few different times, finding myself a little lost in the technical terms. Nevertheless, Bone uses more practical metaphors and explanations to bring these complex biological processes to a more understandable level for the layperson. Similarly, I found the section about growing and foraging mushrooms not as compelling as the other sections that look at the different applications and settings for trips and uses of mushrooms. It is fascinating to learn about the growing subculture of mushrooms, one that has persisted and grown over the past 70 years. However, as someone not that familiar with mushroom cultivation, I struggled at times to keep some of the terms straight. The best part of the book was the last section, Trip Types, where Bone explores the different communities that have grown over time to engage in the use of psychedelic mushrooms. It was fascinating to see different uses and applications and consider the speculation that mushrooms have been used in religious experiences for thousands of years. Whether it is true or not, different cultures, especially in Mexico and Central America, have made use of magic mushrooms in ceremonial experiences to seek insight and growth. I think it is important to consider this kind of sacred and spiritual application when considering mushrooms. Although recreational use has become more popular since the 1960s, it does seem like the spiritual and ceremonial (as well as communal) use has been a more effective use in learning or growing from a trip. One of the greatest aspects of Bone’s book is that the research is all so new and many of the developments in these psychedelic communities have been so recent. I also loved learning about the various medical applications for mushrooms as a way to treat both mental health issues like depression as well as end of life care for cancer treatments, something that Pollan also explored in his book. One of the other more interesting areas that Bone explores (and experiments on herself as well) is the use of microdosing, taking small amounts of mushrooms that have no perceptual impact, but are meant as a way to enhance creative thinking and performance/focus. These small doses have no real effect on functionality beyond enhancing work or performance. Bone regularly stresses that microdosing should not affect one’s ability to do different activities throughout the day, especially things like driving or cooking. It is interesting to consider, but Bone also makes note that it is hard to consider effective dosing since response to mushrooms varies from individual to individual and there’s really no clear dosing protocols. Furthermore, individual responses can be impacted by family histories of mental illness, which takers may not be aware. Thus, it does seem like a potential risk, but an interesting way to consider improving work or performance. Bone also explores her own use of magic mushrooms, noting in the epilogue that she took more trips for this book than she had in her previous experiences with mushrooms. I really enjoyed her writing about Burning Man, seeing how the descriptions and visions kind of gradually meld into flashes and sights not previously seen. 

Bone’s book provides a wonderful addition to some of the other books about psychedelic experiences and how these plants and fungi are becoming more accepted and accessible, as well as their applications to address a broader range of health issues that have previously been challenged by more traditional medicine. Her writing is descriptive and engaging, and she incorporates considerable research into various areas—whether it is the communities that trip together for various reasons, mushroom cultivation, or the ways that mushrooms interact with the brain and nervous system. Furthermore, she writes in an engaging manner that takes complicated and complex ideas and makes them more understandable for a general audience. Highly recommended.

Excellent Blend of Thriller, Folklore, and Cosmic Horror

 House of Bone and Rain by Gabino Iglesias

House of Bone and Rain book cover

Author Gabino Iglesias 

El Garita del Diablo El Morro San Juan LBM1948, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Image of Ellegua Happycheetha32, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Baron Samedi veve National Park Service, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

I was really excited to find Gabino Iglesias’s most recent book House of Bone and Rain in my library. Last year, I read The Devil Takes You Home and was blown away by Gabino’s mix of suspense, tragedy, crime, violence, and the supernatural. It may seem like a kind of unlikely combination, or maybe like he’s trying to mix up too many genres, especially with a father who experiences the worst tragedy, but it also created a kind of fearless character who had nothing left to lose. While that book took place in Texas and Mexico, Iglesias’s latest book takes place in his native Puerto Rico, specifically in San Juan, before, during and after Hurricane Maria’s devastation. In some ways, this creates another kind of desperation and hopelessness, but I think that Gabe, the main character of this book, has much more hope and more to live for and strive for than Mario, the father from The Devil Takes You Home. In some ways, Gabe and Mario are similar in that they both care about their loved ones, and are both haunted by tragedy—Gabe lost his father in another storm when he was younger, and his best friend’s mom was recently murdered. Yet, he also has a girlfriend who he cares deeply about, as well as his mother and his group of close friends, with whom he spends time and hangs out in Old San Juan. It is Gabe’s connection with his friends, especially his friend Bimbo, that propels him to pursue vengeance and enter the darkness that envelops Puerto Rico during and after the hurricane. Iglesias’s novel once again combines genre elements in a unique and entertaining way, both capturing what readers love about suspense, thrillers, and horror, but also slightly subverting some of the tropes in wildly inventive and novel ways. I loved how this was a story that featured a band of friends who unite to pursue justice and vengeance, only to find out that their pursuit might be misguided. I also loved that throughout the novel, Iglesias subtly brings up the history of colonization and exploitation of Puerto Rico, going back to the extermination of the Taino people. These are powerful nuggets reminding readers of the kind of dual status and veil that many Boricuas experience—being part of America, but not always completely accepted. I also loved that Iglesias incorporates Puerto Rican history, literature, and folklore throughout the book. One of the strongest elements of this book was Iglesias’s ability to integrate traditional folk practices and myths in the story, especially when dealing with the villains, who seem to have supernatural/black magic connection to their powers. Iglesias incorporates the trickster Elegua (also known as Legbas, Papa Legbas) as a powerful guardian of the roads, the path that Bimbo, and later Gabe, see as their only way to overpowering the powerful drug lords who control San Juan’s La Perla. Gabe also finds strange markings on his home and around San Juan as signs of vodou, bringing in the Caribbean traditional religion that has blended Yoruba and Catholic rites. Baron Samedi and other Orishas also make appearances that add to the creepy and mystical tone as the residents of San Juan seek survival in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria. 

 In addition to vodou traditions, one of the creepiest aspects of the book is when the hurricane occurs. I’m not sure if this is Puerto Rican mythology or something Iglesias invented, but he describes the kind of odd events that happen during a hurricane. In some ways, it reminded me of Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, when the residents of Lake Okeechobee are waiting for the hurricane to pass. There’s this feeling of powerlessness and hope. Iglesias’s vision is much darker, where he describes monstrous babies born in the midst of the hurricane, some tearing out of the womb and inflicting physical damage to their families. Babies born with horns and sharp teeth are either murdered or murderers, harbingers of the powerlessness that humans experience in relation to nature. I’m not sure if these wild and supernatural events are connected to some later human-animal hybrids that we discover beyond the reef of La Perla. These creatures also seem to give the drug lords power over others and enable them to control the drugs and crime in San Juan’s famous neighborhood. I also loved this aspect of the book. Iglesias’s creatures and the desire to feed them bodies reminded me a lot of some of Lovecraft’s best monsters. There’s this kind of cosmic horror happening in wake of the hurricane, but also recognizing that the horror and violence on the island is much older and entrenched. 

I was on vacation in Puerto Rico in March, so I loved reading about San Juan, Loaiza, El Yunque, and other spots that I visited. In particular Gabe’s group of friends visit El Morro, the immense fortress that sits on the coast of Old San Juan and guards against invaders. He describes the Devil’s Sentry, a watchtower that sits below the ragged cliffs. I remember hearing something about the story of missing soldiers, and Iglesias brings this in to remind readers about the strange and mysterious history of this island. Whether Iglesias embellishes the myths and folklore or represents it accurately, he has done an excellent job creating an exciting and entertaining novel that effectively synthesizes the best elements of genre fiction while also incorporating traditional folklore and history. I borrowed this book from my digital library, and I sometimes hang on to digital books for a day or two afterwards to go over some different sections or lines that really stood out. However, I quickly returned this book since there were 4 people waiting for it. It’s too good of a book not to share with others. I can’t wait to read more from Iglesias, one of the most exciting and adventurous writers today.