Gun Church

Начало книги

With his roaring debut, BeatnikSouffle, Kip Weiler displays prodigious talent. He somehow manages to meld the drug-infused bohemian mania of the Beats with the polyester hedonism of today’s disco generation. In one deliciously cruel attack on the Beats, Weiler describes the aging Ginsberg-like poet, Moses Gold, dressed in double knits and platform shoes, mimicking the dance steps from Saturday Night Fever. Disgusted with himself not for his raging pedophilia but for his dance and polyester fetish, Gold lashes himself with a mace while reciting Blake’s “The Garden of Love.” While a bit overambitious and undisciplined, this is a fine and entertaining first novel. Kip Weiler is a writer to watch.

— JACKSON DRUM, THE MERTON REVIEW

My fifteen minutes had come and gone. Unfortunately, I probably had a few decades more to live out. Prufrock had coffee spoons. I measured my remaining days from shrinking royalty check to shrinking royalty check, from term to term. I achieved what all artists dread: I had outlived most of my money and all of my talent. As I once told an interviewer from PublishersWeekly, “My career’s like a road flare. It burns hot and oh so brightly.” Total cocaine-speak. The cocaine did a lot of talking for me back then, some of the writing too. Maybe most of it.

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