a belated review posting: The Dragons of Manhattan

[realthog]

While doing some rationalization of my e-mail files I came across a review of my novel The Dragons of Manhattan that was sent to me at the start of the year -- on New Year's Day itself, in fact -- but which I wasn't allowed to crow about publicly at the time because it had yet to appear in print. So I put it to one side with a smug smile, and . . .

Well, I blame my publisher for not reminding me when the embargo was lifted.

The reviewer was Adam J. Shardlow and the venue was the British Fantasy Society publication Prism, and here are the most perceptive bits:

. . . a political satire, part surreal fantasy reminiscent of Swift with a sharp humorous streak akin to the early work of S.J. Perelman.

In an America not unlike the one beloved of left wing journalism, brain challenged President Alfie Sedoma is being controlled by a media shy and wealthy business autocrat called Buster Maltravis, a Wall St. tycoon who also happens to be an ancient dragon with a taste for virgins. Across town the unsuccessful editor turned private eye Norris Gonfalcon is hired by a mysterious father and daughter duo to investigate the old lizard. Thrown into this mix is a stoned hippy Avatar, a pie-eyed religious fundamentalist with his own personal arsenal, a couple of ditzy and frankly dubious virgins, a foul mouthed copy editor and a man named James.

Grant has great fun lampooning America's current administration [i.e., the Bush Administration] with no love spared for the existing inhabitant of the White House [i.e., Il Buce], big business politics, American nationalism, the NRA, the CIA or the Second Amendment, he has created a rich fantasy tableaux where the jokes come thick and fast. A refreshing and unique approach to the genre that allows the author to get it all off his chest.

Comments

[realthog.livejournal.com]

"And we certainly saw it in Europe in the 20's and 30's of the last century."

Yes. And it scares the shit out of me that so few of us recognize the parallels. Sinclair Lewis's It Can't Happen Here should be required reading in every school English syllabus in the land (and not just this land) so that kids grow up aware that, however proud they might be of their birth country, the abyss is at all times just a few paces away from where they walk.

"As I recall though, Ye Olde Scaley wasn't a birther."

No way I could have predicted that particular lunacy.