The Suburbs 2012 C.F. Roberts
When a sin goes too
far, it's like a runaway car. It cannot be controlled.”
- “The Blue Mask” Lou Reed
If
humanity was represented by a patchwork quilt, then there would be
sections that
are
interconnected by dried blood, bad history and other sundry
biohazards. Throw in some black-as-an -oil-spill humor and some of
the most simultaneously unflinching, lyrical and expertly crafted
writing that I have read in a long time, then you are skirting right
into the territory of Hank Kirton's novel, “Conservatory of Death.”
“Conservatory”
is a book that provides a view into a world littered with serial
killers, perma-damaged childhoods and a snuff obsessed culture that
would rather wallow and perpetuate in death than prevent it. There is
a truth to this world view, which makes the proceedings all the more
creepy. In fact the title is a reference to a series of Mondo Morte
tapes, ala Faces of Death, Traces of Death, Death Scenes et al. These
tapes are made and released by Swatt Winston, a young, stoned out man
whose memories are occasionally flooded with shards of childhood
trauma, all revolving around his cult musician father, Zachary
Winston.
In
Swatt's orbit, we meet his sister Betty, the formerly named
Benevolent, a nurse who looks after elderly patients who are infirm
and are on their way out. Then there is Chunk and Janet, a
power-couple of serial murder, sexual torture and aching stupidity.
Littering the background is an equally colorful crew of characters,
including a long forgotten silent film star, a young writer mired in
meth and hooking and one intensely vile, horrible old man.
This
is a book that manages to find that precarious balance that so few
works that dip into deep, violent territories do. Kirton's writing
manages to be firm, uncompromising and yet at times, strangely
beautiful and even poetic, when it needs to be. This is not a book
for the squeamish but then again, good art should never make you just
squeamish, but also curious and captivated. This is exactly what
“Conservatory” will do.
All of
the characters hold true, to the extent where you can easily picture
every little unmentioned flaw, whether it is the vaguely stank smell
of stale weed to fine facial lines and chicken pox scars. It is these
details that will undoubtedly make the book a harder pill to swallow
for some. Not unlike the real world, this is a book where everyone's
got a demon, to the point where some folks will swallow them whole
and become their demon. But this is why it is so good, because Kirton
obviously knows his characters and displays an intrinsic degree of
understanding with them, no matter how putrid or heartbreaking their
actions may be. There's nothing worse than a writer going through the
motions, much like a dead eyed stripper grinding against your leg,
who looks like she would rather be clipping chewed gum out of her
hair than to be within 50 feet of your touch-starved self.
Thankfully, this is far from the case.
It is
this type of literary purity, not to mention the wholly uniqueness of
Kirton's voice that make this a standout work. “Conservatory of
Death” is like a primal scream that collapses into a tear and blood
stained whimper, all in the best possible of ways. Kudos to Jim Lopez
at Antique Children for publishing such a brave, bold work.
If you
love great fiction that is uncompromising and lovely in its language,
no matter how extreme the situations can get, then do pick up Hank
Kirton's “Conservatory of Death.” It is a novel that is not easy
to forget, both due to the quality of writing and the tapestry of
human violence and misery.
