Liarmouth
A feel-bad romance
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- € 3,99
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'It's just as deliciously witty and delightfully deviant as you'd expect from the man William Burroughs called the "Pope of Trash"' Independent
'Waters is undoubtedly among the greatest American comedians of all time' Far Out
A hilariously filthy tale of sex, crime, and family dysfunction from the brilliantly twisted mind of John Waters, the legendary filmmaker and bestselling author of Mr. Know-It-All.
Marsha Sprinkle: Suitcase thief. Scammer. Master of disguise. Dogs and children hate her. Her own family wants her dead. She's smart, she's desperate, she's disturbed, and she's on the run with a big chip on her shoulder. They call her "Liarmouth" - until one insane man makes her tell the truth.
John Waters's first novel, Liarmouth, is a perfectly perverted "feel-bad romance," and the reader will thrill to hop aboard this delirious road trip of riotous revenge.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Filmmaker and author Waters (the memoir Mr. Know-It-All) makes his fiction debut with a hilariously sleazy story of a con artist in which the villains are good guys, the good guys are silly, and everybody gets down and dirty. The heroine, Marsha "Liarmouth" Sprinkle, knows she is "better than other people" (and "smarter, too"). She teams up with a guy named Daryl who lives for the deal they've struck: once a year, amid their airport baggage scams and false accident claims, he gets to sleep with her. But Liarmouth is out to swindle everyone; not only Daryl but her daughter, Poppy, leader of a band of misfit trampoline fanatics who literally bounce through life; and her mother, Adora, who performs cosmetic surgery on pets. Liarmouth also wants her ex-husband dead, while self-righteous Poppy and Adora want her killed. Waters miraculously sustains the wacky humor in just about every line (here's a throwaway description of a punk rocker who aged poorly: "No mosh pit for this guy. He's too fat to catch!"). Along the way, characters air their grievances over the indignities of airports and cheap hotel rooms and wryly observe the cheery indulgences of Provincetown, Mass., where a family of parents and children sport matching "I EAT ASS" sweatshirts. Raunchy and exhausting, it's a must for fans of high camp.
