Underland Press, 2011.
ISBN: 978-0-9826639-4-3 $14.95
If you have any interest in the work of John Shirley, and you fancy yourself as a punk rock, DIY, iconoclastic misfit who hates being told what to do, then I’m not going to tell you to read this book. In fact, I’m going to tell why you shouldn’t read it:
You are easily offended.
- You don’t want to know what goes on in the sick and disturbed mind of one of your favorite authors.
- You hate stories that would qualify for every warning label on premium cable.
- You don’t support the small press.
- You dislike gritty reality and body horror, especially when combined with social commentary.
- Peer pressure: your friends hate it, too.
- You have no desire to read some of John Shirley’s best recent stories.
- You spent so much money at the Borders going-out-of-business sale on the Twilight series that you can’t possible afford another book right now.
- You think: “John Shirley’s stories freak me out, man.”
- You’ll have to hide it from Mom.
- There are too many good horror movies out and you don’t have time to read a book.
- You’re scared because you can’t “unread” it.
- You’ve read about enough decapitated hooker heads stuck to a guy’s junk that you get the idea.
I rest my case.
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