Honored to have been included here along with the first blurb for Sacred Smokes.
New authors over at BookRiot:
If you ever (and still) called the L the Jackson Park or the Englewood, or the O’Hare or the Ravenswood, ate a Polish on Maxwell Street, ate at a Harold’s, lost someone you loved, gained someone you hated, smelled the subway downtown in August, wished the Sox were on instead of the Cubs (but maybe you were little and still watched the Cubs, ‘cause, baseball), knew that early morning summer air a few blocks from the lake, that air right before it gets humid and the city buzzes to life, thought about those old friends from the neighborhood every now and then (or for real every single damn day), walked by the shelter with the big cross on Wabash and wished you could just eat at Miller’s one time, and you like James Alan MacPherson, or Walter Mosley, or Denis Johnson, or maybe just really good stories well told by someone who makes you feel like you missed that class where they taught excellent writing but this author is going to give you his notes, then buy this Chicago book that illuminates the universal, spend some time On the Nine. Tony Bowers has put together a collection of stories the way you want to read them, the way I love to read them, at your own pace, all so good you can pick up anywhere in the book and read in any direction you want, every one paced and plotted just so, each piece created with heart that beats right out of real places, with real faces, bringing light and joy and pain to all those spaces we grew up to and in and around, our neighborhoods and their stories made real, with love, and with hope.
ready for pre-order:
New work on Native lit and Sherman Alexie and other matters up at Electric Literature.
New work up over at Literary Orphans — honored and thankful to have BoyJoe included in their #ShirleyJackson issue!
“This Boy Joseph cat’s got red medium length hair held back with sunglasses, like a manband, a guy’s hairband, he’s a 42-year old Irish gangbanger eating a sandwich, mouth wide open the whole time, bologna and miracle whip and shit coming out when he chews, black tank top, Black Panther leather jacket one or two sizes too big…”
wá. n. snow, snowflake (if size indicated)
Wašíču n. fat taker, white person
wašíŋ, n. lard, fat. n.n. (nickname) ex. Wašíŋ, Ray Little Weasel /Levoi’s name, given to him by his dad, the clichéd unnamed bad-teethed Indian in Thunderheart:
VAL KILMER / RAY LEVOI
He called me Wašíŋ, he said it meant ‘Good Boy.’
SHEILA TOUSEY / MAGGIE EAGLE BEAR
Snow and fat are flying on the Northern Plains…
Stephen Graham Jones‘s MONGRELS does all those things you want a book to do—comes with a cool cover, tells a great story, gives consideration to those small details of life that make life worth noticing, makes you want it to not end, makes you want to turn right back to the front cover and start all over again right then and there, and is about werewolves. Does it get better than that? Yeah. Because for young werewolves and their relations (those who are not, but would prefer to be werewolves), it gives hope in those ways that help you to remember on those days when it seems it somehow never could, it will get better.
Your immersion in the story is necessary, and Jones holds your paw and brings you right in. Every fucked up school moment, every scary on the street who is this older dude and what does he want moment, every sure I can eat this for lunch moment, every am I a part of this family moment jumps off pages which cease to exist about five minutes in and then you’re hopelessly part of the family too, wishing for some ungodly reason that you had a strawberry wine cooler and maybe lived in a disposable trailer. You wait for the next family history, the notes that you seem to already know that make the story work and are surprised to learn there might be some new ways to wolf out, ways you might have considered and now have license to know, and maybe even to try.
In the end, you’re left with some questions to accompany your continuous replay of the story in your head—“Will there be a sequel?” “How many times can I read this until it comes out?” “Who’s going to play them in the movie?” and a final thought: I wish I hadn’t read this yet, ‘cause I wish I was starting it right now.