Cowards
A Novel
-
- $12.99
-
- $12.99
Publisher Description
Dopers, dropouts, scenesters, and hipsters shark Seattle in search of the next big thing. Or they refuse to search and opt to slide down the dark ladder. No bottom there. No traps. No dead end. There heroin will tell you you're brilliant, you're in touch, you're so, so inside. The addict's path mimics the shape of the worm Ouroboros: its tail forever in its mouth and he ends up where he began. It's the bus you can't get off.
Mitchell Slaughter, perceptive but stoned, lures us step by step into his haunting by heroin. The days melt together like this: rain, drugs for breakfast--a spoonful of smack cooked over a flame--scratch the deaf cat, taunt the churchful priests living next door, take a tab, worship a plastic pig. Welcome to an industrial wasteland, the group-house with a freezer full of heroin, the fine spray of blood and vomit on the bathroom wall.
Mitch and his mates form The Otis Process, a band named after a heroin addict/holy man they met in a certain quarter of Hell. So the Process screws around, stapling egg cartons to the walls of their practice basement, playing their gigs, blowing off lousy day jobs to brilliantly denigrate the bourgeoisie. There's a chance the band might succeed, but each member falls quicker than the last, and they just can't keep it together. When Ziggy ODs, Mitch takes his cue, which is to seek out peaceful Etta, the woman who will, just maybe, offer some kind of redemption.
Moral dilemmas can be images, but addiction and its attendant despair cannot. W. A. Burgess has what few young writers have. His prose is a brilliant shock--the product of a writer writing from an experience, not simply about it.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Mitch Slaughter, the drummer of a painfully hip Seattle band named the Otis Process, calls himself a "junkie's joke and a cop's good day--a lower-middle-class white dope fiend." Mitch and his friends and bandmates abuse all forms of recreational drugs: pot, acid, cocaine speedballs, crystal meth and, above all, heroin. For a while, the Otis Process (named, appropriately, after a dead San Francisco junkie) manages to keep the wheels from flying off. The band attracts the attention of a recording studio rep, cuts a couple of tracks for a compilation CD and signs on for a cross-country, multi-band tour. On a more personal level, Mitch, often the soberest of the lot, stumbles into a relationship with an itinerant fortune-teller, Etta. The off-center, however, cannot hold, and before long the band's gigs, once a "peaceful scene," more often resemble a "sick slam dance gone awry." Their behavior is disturbing enough that the organizers drop them from the tour and the record label rejects them. By the time Etta disappears with the band's van, bandmembers are overdosing left and right, and even stoned-out Mitch can see that it may be time for him to move on. Burgess is apparently angry enough to have something primal to communicate, intelligent enough to assemble it compellingly and verbally fluent enough to make it sing--at times. These talents are not sustained throughout his first novel, however. There is simply too much unwashed edge in both the characters and story to make this anything more than an undisciplined torrent of guitar reverb sprinkled with an occasionally sparkling riff.
