“As my parents’ bed thumped loudly against the floor in the next room, I lapped the blood off my knuckles. The dried flakes dissolved in my mouth, turning my spit to syrup. Even after I’d swallowed all the blood, I kept licking my hands. I tore at the skin with my teeth. I wanted more. I would always want more.”
So ends “Real Life,” the first story in Donald Ray Pollock’s knockout of a debut. It seems that every review I’ve read uses two phrases to describe this collection: “pulls no punches” and “not for the faint of heart,” and rarely have those phrases been more aptly used. Pollock’s characters have sex with their sisters, kill their neighbors, torture insects, betray their friends, drug themselves into stupors, and beat the shit out of each other. These people are the sorts you’d probably inch away from on the bus if they sat next to you, and you’d be well-advised to stay away from Knockemstiff if you dislike books because you “don’t care about the characters.” The denizens of Knockemstiff, Ohio are difficult to live with for the length of a book — they’re mean, violent, and without hope — but Pollack presents them without flinching, and without pitying them or asking to reader to do so.
Pollock’s writing is like a quick-acting drug — after you finish the first story, you’ll either throw the book across the room as hard as you can, or you’ll barely want to put it down. Reading this book won’t be an easy trip, but if you can hang on until the end, I dare you to try and forget it anytime soon
So ends “Real Life,” the first story in Donald Ray Pollock’s knockout of a debut. It seems that every review I’ve read uses two phrases to describe this collection: “pulls no punches” and “not for the faint of heart,” and rarely have those phrases been more aptly used. Pollock’s characters have sex with their sisters, kill their neighbors, torture insects, betray their friends, drug themselves into stupors, and beat the shit out of each other. These people are the sorts you’d probably inch away from on the bus if they sat next to you, and you’d be well-advised to stay away from Knockemstiff if you dislike books because you “don’t care about the characters.” The denizens of Knockemstiff, Ohio are difficult to live with for the length of a book — they’re mean, violent, and without hope — but Pollack presents them without flinching, and without pitying them or asking to reader to do so.
Pollock’s writing is like a quick-acting drug — after you finish the first story, you’ll either throw the book across the room as hard as you can, or you’ll barely want to put it down. Reading this book won’t be an easy trip, but if you can hang on until the end, I dare you to try and forget it anytime soon
