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Blankety Blank
Rutger Van Trout has worse problems than his mundane existence in the all-consuming, all-suppressing Vulgaria of Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's not that his son might be turning into a werewolf, or that his daughter might be a nymphomaniac. The problem does not lie in his obsession with transforming his middle-class estate into a three-ring barnyard, nor in the shrunken head collection under the bed. He doesn't even mind his wife's (possibly) haunted skeleton or the freak-of-the-week superheroes and window-jumpers populating his neighborhood. The complication has invaded his community in the form of a new breed of serial killer, one who stalks from house to house throughout the Vulgaria leaving a bloodbath that would make Jack the Ripper himself blush. The killer's name is Mr. Blankety Blank, and Rutger Van Trout's neighborhood is on the wrong end of a killing spree . . .
188 pages, Hardcover
First published August 1, 2008
About the author
D. Harlan Wilson
66 books343 followersD. Harlan Wilson is an American novelist, critic, editor, playwright, and college professor. His body of work bridges the aesthetics of literary and film theory with various genres of speculative fiction. Recent books include
Alfred Bester's The Stars My Destination: A Critical Companion
(2022),
Minority Report
(2022),
Jackanape and the Fingermen
(2021),
Outré
(2020),
The Psychotic Dr. Schreber
(2019),
Natural Complexions
(2018), and
J.G. Ballard
(2017).
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April 5, 2009"If you had a time machine and could secure the living brains of James Thurber and Andre Breton ripped untimely from their skulls, run them through a juicer, then mainline the blended liquid neurons, you might become a writer like D. Harlan Wilson. In fact, I know with certainty that this is how he actually got his start. As evidenced by his new 'Memoir of Vulgaria,' Blankety Blank, we are facing a writer who can evoke howls of pity and tears of laughter on the same page, and generally within the same sentence. In this "multimedia" novel, suburban inanity and insanity are depicted in loving and intimate depth, resulting in a furiously animated canvas equal parts Bosch and Tex Avery. Imagine an episode of The Simpsons scripted by Robert Coover and Donald Barthelme, then directed by Michel Gondry, and you won't be far off the mark. If this be "interstitial" fiction, then it's a case of the interstices expanding like a galaxy to overwhelm whatever bland shores once flanked them." Paul Di Filippo, author of Cosmocopia
"'Destroy time so that chaos may be ordered' was the instruction more than half a century ago of Mailer's Man Who Studied Yoga and D. Harlan Wilson has taken that advice seriously; here is a novel which implodes and conflates autobiography, biography, history, quasi-history, alternate history and Occam's Safety Razor in a fashion which I find utterly original and utterly discommoding. The exquisite tilt of this novel runs us all off the board and on; its originality is a weapon. Firing at that bullseye on time." Barry N. Malzberg, John Campbell Award-winning author of 70+ science fiction novels
"Be not embarrassed to laugh out loud at this nasty book. Wilson has reinvented the genre of demonic sci-fi slapstick. Nothing close to it since the unwritten Portnow's Restraint. Intelligent, wicked, erudite, maniacal. What a talent. And this is the first ever cross species collaboration. The pages penned by his companionable ape are achingly close to humanoid. Read this book and bask in the energy of a living imagination." Steve Katz, America Award-winning author of Swanny's Ways and Antonello's Lion
"Blankety Blank is both vulgar and vulva—a masterful DJ mix of the sounds and sights of avant-pop, avant-porn, critifiction, and (yes) post-cyberpunk sensibilities. Mixing the academic with the asylum (i.e., academentia), Blankety Blank shoots forth ficto-history, the post-essay, and celebrity reality TV from the barrell of its Magnum Opus. Indeed, D. Harlan Wilson holds the Avant-Prof Chair vacated by Lance Olsen, briefly held by Mark Amerika, and passed up by David Foster Wallace. A fine promotion, I say, with the possibility of tenure for ten years. Consider, please, if you will, what Jean Baudrillard's ghost channeled to me via Channel 3: 'Tenure is better than manure!' Translation: there's a lot of shit being published these days, but this tasty novel ain't crap. It's cake. So, to quote Marie Antoinette, eat it!" Michael Hemmingson, Hollywood screenwriter and director and author of The Dirty Realist Duo: Charles Bukowski and Raymond Carver on the Aesthetics of the Ugly
"With three offbeat story collections and the indescribably madcap Dr. Identity (2006) to his credit, Wilson has been duly anointed as speculative fiction’s most unpredictable stylist. Here he flouts all novelistic conventions and propriety in recounting the misdeeds of a serial killer known only by a name written in blood on the walls of his victims’ manicured homes—Blankety Blank. In the mid-twenty-first century, the American landscape has morphed from suburbia into “vulgaria,” featuring neighborhoods replete with shopping malls and oversized McMansions. Quiggle Estates resident Rutger Van Trout just wants to enjoy his newly built silo in peace, without the added distractions of a nymphomaniac daughter, a werewolf-obsessed son, and a wife haunted by her own skeleton. Then Blankety Blank leaves his trail of blood across vulgaria, and it’s up to Rutger and Quiggle Estates’ odd assortment of faux superheroes to save everyone. Wilson sprinkles his rapid-fire narrative with glib aphorisms, absurdist pseudo-historical tidbits, and outlandish digressions that leave a reader breathless. Although this isn’t everyone’s cup, iconoclasts will relish every word." Booklist
"This is the fifth work of fiction from Wilson, a nearly unclassifiable Fabulist/Satirist/Bizarro/Post-Postmodern/Speculative writer and literature professor whose titles include The Kafka Effekt and Dr. Identity, or, Farewell to Plaquedemia. Take an existential dive into the near-future’s 'irreality' before the author sells out to Hollywood over a seemingly inevitable Gamehater movie." ForeWord Magazine
"This comedy of menace, this spooky Kabuki, is never comfortable to inhabit but is as enjoyable as Krazy Kat just the same—the author indulges himself to the hilt and denies himself nothing." Rain Taxi
"'Destroy time so that chaos may be ordered' was the instruction more than half a century ago of Mailer's Man Who Studied Yoga and D. Harlan Wilson has taken that advice seriously; here is a novel which implodes and conflates autobiography, biography, history, quasi-history, alternate history and Occam's Safety Razor in a fashion which I find utterly original and utterly discommoding. The exquisite tilt of this novel runs us all off the board and on; its originality is a weapon. Firing at that bullseye on time." Barry N. Malzberg, John Campbell Award-winning author of 70+ science fiction novels
"Be not embarrassed to laugh out loud at this nasty book. Wilson has reinvented the genre of demonic sci-fi slapstick. Nothing close to it since the unwritten Portnow's Restraint. Intelligent, wicked, erudite, maniacal. What a talent. And this is the first ever cross species collaboration. The pages penned by his companionable ape are achingly close to humanoid. Read this book and bask in the energy of a living imagination." Steve Katz, America Award-winning author of Swanny's Ways and Antonello's Lion
"Blankety Blank is both vulgar and vulva—a masterful DJ mix of the sounds and sights of avant-pop, avant-porn, critifiction, and (yes) post-cyberpunk sensibilities. Mixing the academic with the asylum (i.e., academentia), Blankety Blank shoots forth ficto-history, the post-essay, and celebrity reality TV from the barrell of its Magnum Opus. Indeed, D. Harlan Wilson holds the Avant-Prof Chair vacated by Lance Olsen, briefly held by Mark Amerika, and passed up by David Foster Wallace. A fine promotion, I say, with the possibility of tenure for ten years. Consider, please, if you will, what Jean Baudrillard's ghost channeled to me via Channel 3: 'Tenure is better than manure!' Translation: there's a lot of shit being published these days, but this tasty novel ain't crap. It's cake. So, to quote Marie Antoinette, eat it!" Michael Hemmingson, Hollywood screenwriter and director and author of The Dirty Realist Duo: Charles Bukowski and Raymond Carver on the Aesthetics of the Ugly
"With three offbeat story collections and the indescribably madcap Dr. Identity (2006) to his credit, Wilson has been duly anointed as speculative fiction’s most unpredictable stylist. Here he flouts all novelistic conventions and propriety in recounting the misdeeds of a serial killer known only by a name written in blood on the walls of his victims’ manicured homes—Blankety Blank. In the mid-twenty-first century, the American landscape has morphed from suburbia into “vulgaria,” featuring neighborhoods replete with shopping malls and oversized McMansions. Quiggle Estates resident Rutger Van Trout just wants to enjoy his newly built silo in peace, without the added distractions of a nymphomaniac daughter, a werewolf-obsessed son, and a wife haunted by her own skeleton. Then Blankety Blank leaves his trail of blood across vulgaria, and it’s up to Rutger and Quiggle Estates’ odd assortment of faux superheroes to save everyone. Wilson sprinkles his rapid-fire narrative with glib aphorisms, absurdist pseudo-historical tidbits, and outlandish digressions that leave a reader breathless. Although this isn’t everyone’s cup, iconoclasts will relish every word." Booklist
"This is the fifth work of fiction from Wilson, a nearly unclassifiable Fabulist/Satirist/Bizarro/Post-Postmodern/Speculative writer and literature professor whose titles include The Kafka Effekt and Dr. Identity, or, Farewell to Plaquedemia. Take an existential dive into the near-future’s 'irreality' before the author sells out to Hollywood over a seemingly inevitable Gamehater movie." ForeWord Magazine
"This comedy of menace, this spooky Kabuki, is never comfortable to inhabit but is as enjoyable as Krazy Kat just the same—the author indulges himself to the hilt and denies himself nothing." Rain Taxi
March 14, 2014
There are several different ways to approach the reading of a Raw Dog Screaming Press book. There's the method of receiving the text openly as it arrives at you without questioning or dissecting, but merely taking it as it appears on the page, or 'grokking' it as Robert Heinlein referred to it in Stranger in a Strange Land. There's also the scholarly, analytical approach. All books from Raw Dog Screaming Press are throwing their metaphors and undercurrents at you, begging the reader to dwell in them. This is probably the best way to approach this one. But I suppose you could read this as a straightforward narrative as well if you're feeling patient. Interesting enough, Eckhard Gerdes is hard at work on a new book that instructs roughly sixty different ways to read the same text, I'm told. Eckhard is also a notable figure in the Raw Dog Screaming Press rogues gallery.
D. Harlan Wilson does not cater to plot hungry readers per se. He likes to swim through his narratives, doing many backstrokes along the way to incorporate unusual factoids, ruminations and musings extracted from his many decorated years in academia. You've heard the term 'chew the scenery' sometimes used by actors. Wilson works best when he's allowed to make roundabout digressions. It's not enough to follow the path out of the forest. He has to catalogue every form of flora and fauna, our superstitions surrounding them, what role they may have played in the making of a localized zeitgeist, their historical context.
Blankety Blank concerns a man named Van Trout who tries very hard to understand his son who may be a werewolf, his skeleton obsessed wife (possibly an homage to Bradbury, intentional or otherwise) and the recent murders committed in the vein of the Whitechapel killer, our old bogeyman Jack the Ripper. Along the way, he imparts sound advice for living our lives with integrity and ambition, makes a bold comparison between a flying saucer and a ferris wheel and peppers the narrative with complimentary distractions such as the protagonist's ability to transform his voice to a demonic octave, which rarely produces any result other than upsetting people.
It's not enough to know the mechanics of Wilson's works, because the mechanics are constantly in self repair, transition, upgrade mode. Wilson is not one to emote in his texts. Yes, there is passion but he has no need for aggressive sentimentality. Instead, he'll make passive references to storytelling formulae, minutiae and archetypes and then do an 180 by taking the story to a less 'sexy' place. Best of all, he's an English professor. One who hates plotting. He was one of the frontrunners at the outset of Bizarro (or at least one of the first to be published by Eraserhead Press) along with Mellick and Donihe. I'm not sure if I would call his later works Bizarro. Maybe Bizarro in spirit, if not tone. I see big things for Wilson's literary endeavors. Unfortunately, I fear we may only realize the genius and value of Wilson's work when it's being published posthumously. With that being said, every man has his day (even authors), so let's try something different and celebrate the chameleon-like puzzles of D. Harlan Wilson while he's still here with us.
D. Harlan Wilson does not cater to plot hungry readers per se. He likes to swim through his narratives, doing many backstrokes along the way to incorporate unusual factoids, ruminations and musings extracted from his many decorated years in academia. You've heard the term 'chew the scenery' sometimes used by actors. Wilson works best when he's allowed to make roundabout digressions. It's not enough to follow the path out of the forest. He has to catalogue every form of flora and fauna, our superstitions surrounding them, what role they may have played in the making of a localized zeitgeist, their historical context.
Blankety Blank concerns a man named Van Trout who tries very hard to understand his son who may be a werewolf, his skeleton obsessed wife (possibly an homage to Bradbury, intentional or otherwise) and the recent murders committed in the vein of the Whitechapel killer, our old bogeyman Jack the Ripper. Along the way, he imparts sound advice for living our lives with integrity and ambition, makes a bold comparison between a flying saucer and a ferris wheel and peppers the narrative with complimentary distractions such as the protagonist's ability to transform his voice to a demonic octave, which rarely produces any result other than upsetting people.
It's not enough to know the mechanics of Wilson's works, because the mechanics are constantly in self repair, transition, upgrade mode. Wilson is not one to emote in his texts. Yes, there is passion but he has no need for aggressive sentimentality. Instead, he'll make passive references to storytelling formulae, minutiae and archetypes and then do an 180 by taking the story to a less 'sexy' place. Best of all, he's an English professor. One who hates plotting. He was one of the frontrunners at the outset of Bizarro (or at least one of the first to be published by Eraserhead Press) along with Mellick and Donihe. I'm not sure if I would call his later works Bizarro. Maybe Bizarro in spirit, if not tone. I see big things for Wilson's literary endeavors. Unfortunately, I fear we may only realize the genius and value of Wilson's work when it's being published posthumously. With that being said, every man has his day (even authors), so let's try something different and celebrate the chameleon-like puzzles of D. Harlan Wilson while he's still here with us.
May 18, 2016
Have you ever read a book that made you want to track the author down and punch him in the face? And if you can't find him you think maybe you should find any other novelists you can and punch them in case they happen to know the author and could pass they message on? If not, and it is a feeling you would like to experience, go ahead and read this book.
May 1, 2009
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com:]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted here illegally.)
Regular readers know that one of the types of literature I try to take on here more than most other review places is so-called "bizarro" fiction (also known sometimes as "surreal," "Weird," and by a whole host of other names); but as you can guess, a big reason why so many review places mostly skip this subgenre is that it's a notoriously difficult one to analytically judge, with sometimes just a sliver-thin line between fantastic and only so-so in such projects, and with it difficult sometimes to even explain the difference to others. Take for example D. Harlan Wilson's Blankety Blank: A Memoir of Vulgaria, put out by our old friends at Raw Dog Screaming Press, which in most ways resembles almost exactly the same type of book that his bizarro contemporaries put out, but that nonetheless by the end left me mostly shrugging and muttering, "Eh, that was all right." And even searching my mind now, I'm finding it difficult to say why exactly this is, when for example an almost identical book like Andersen Prunty's Zerostrata has received such a better reception here in the past; because like I said, it's just the tiniest shades of certain things that can throw a story off within specialized subgenres like these, and this is just how it is with specialized subgenres, and authors who work in these subgenres for the most part understand this danger before taking on that subgenre in the first place (or at the very least, they quickly learn).
Ostensibly a black comedy about a series of highly dysfunctional suburban families, all living in a deliciously evil planned community on the outskirts of Grand Rapids, Michigan, the actual plotline of Blankety Blank devolves quickly and profoundly, reaching David Lynchian levels just a few pages in and never really letting up. And see, this is a good example of why it's so notoriously tricky sometimes to review such books critically; because in this case the usual wackiness just never really clicked with me, feeling throughout more like a fairytale where nothing is really at stake (indeed, where reality doesn't even work the same way it does in our world), and so makes it a lot more difficult as a reader to connect with either the characters on display or the things that happen to them. But see, with bizarro fiction, this is a big part of the entire point, and there are lots of Weird projects I've loved in the past precisely for this letting-go of reality, that just didn't quite work for me here in this particular case.
And why is that? Oh, I don't know; and that's part of the entire point of being a fan of specialized subgenres, as I've talked about before, because the reactions you have hit you at a very primal, gut level, and are in many ways both critic-proof and bypass rational thought altogether, to hit you in a much more passionate, emotional way. But while that's great when it comes to a project you really click with, it's frustrating when it doesn't, because you're left at the end thinking "meh" but with no good explanation for why that is. And that isn't quite fair to this book's author Wilson, I know, because it isn't like there's something specifically wrong with the book at all; and in fact there were lots of little elements that I really liked, from the pseudo-scientific fake-history digressions to the Mark-Leyneresque dialogue, and just even the whole idea of a suburban ranch-house owner constructing a giant 200-foot glittering silver silo on his property for no particular reason whatsoever (which is where the image on the front cover comes from).
That's why this novel is getting a score in the high 7s today; because it's a fine read for those who are existing fans of bizarro literature, but is going to hold little appeal to those who aren't, not a breakthrough project but one that has to work hard against the subgenre's natural limitations. I don't mind as a critic making these kinds of tough judgment calls (that's my job, after all), which is why I like reviewing Weird fiction to begin with when so many others don't; but I also hate giving the impression that a book is bad when it isn't, simply that by its very nature it's going to appeal to only a small crowd. That said, if you've always wanted to explore bizarro fiction and are in a gambling mood, Blankety Blank is certainly worth taking a chance on.
Out of 10: 7.9
Regular readers know that one of the types of literature I try to take on here more than most other review places is so-called "bizarro" fiction (also known sometimes as "surreal," "Weird," and by a whole host of other names); but as you can guess, a big reason why so many review places mostly skip this subgenre is that it's a notoriously difficult one to analytically judge, with sometimes just a sliver-thin line between fantastic and only so-so in such projects, and with it difficult sometimes to even explain the difference to others. Take for example D. Harlan Wilson's Blankety Blank: A Memoir of Vulgaria, put out by our old friends at Raw Dog Screaming Press, which in most ways resembles almost exactly the same type of book that his bizarro contemporaries put out, but that nonetheless by the end left me mostly shrugging and muttering, "Eh, that was all right." And even searching my mind now, I'm finding it difficult to say why exactly this is, when for example an almost identical book like Andersen Prunty's Zerostrata has received such a better reception here in the past; because like I said, it's just the tiniest shades of certain things that can throw a story off within specialized subgenres like these, and this is just how it is with specialized subgenres, and authors who work in these subgenres for the most part understand this danger before taking on that subgenre in the first place (or at the very least, they quickly learn).
Ostensibly a black comedy about a series of highly dysfunctional suburban families, all living in a deliciously evil planned community on the outskirts of Grand Rapids, Michigan, the actual plotline of Blankety Blank devolves quickly and profoundly, reaching David Lynchian levels just a few pages in and never really letting up. And see, this is a good example of why it's so notoriously tricky sometimes to review such books critically; because in this case the usual wackiness just never really clicked with me, feeling throughout more like a fairytale where nothing is really at stake (indeed, where reality doesn't even work the same way it does in our world), and so makes it a lot more difficult as a reader to connect with either the characters on display or the things that happen to them. But see, with bizarro fiction, this is a big part of the entire point, and there are lots of Weird projects I've loved in the past precisely for this letting-go of reality, that just didn't quite work for me here in this particular case.
And why is that? Oh, I don't know; and that's part of the entire point of being a fan of specialized subgenres, as I've talked about before, because the reactions you have hit you at a very primal, gut level, and are in many ways both critic-proof and bypass rational thought altogether, to hit you in a much more passionate, emotional way. But while that's great when it comes to a project you really click with, it's frustrating when it doesn't, because you're left at the end thinking "meh" but with no good explanation for why that is. And that isn't quite fair to this book's author Wilson, I know, because it isn't like there's something specifically wrong with the book at all; and in fact there were lots of little elements that I really liked, from the pseudo-scientific fake-history digressions to the Mark-Leyneresque dialogue, and just even the whole idea of a suburban ranch-house owner constructing a giant 200-foot glittering silver silo on his property for no particular reason whatsoever (which is where the image on the front cover comes from).
That's why this novel is getting a score in the high 7s today; because it's a fine read for those who are existing fans of bizarro literature, but is going to hold little appeal to those who aren't, not a breakthrough project but one that has to work hard against the subgenre's natural limitations. I don't mind as a critic making these kinds of tough judgment calls (that's my job, after all), which is why I like reviewing Weird fiction to begin with when so many others don't; but I also hate giving the impression that a book is bad when it isn't, simply that by its very nature it's going to appeal to only a small crowd. That said, if you've always wanted to explore bizarro fiction and are in a gambling mood, Blankety Blank is certainly worth taking a chance on.
Out of 10: 7.9
January 11, 2012
This was different than I expected. Almost felt like I was reading an anthology. I enjoyed the chapter Contemporary Juwes more than any other part. I'm a horror fan and there's plenty in that tiny bit. The brief histories of... where a very close second for me. I could read a whole book of nothing but those. I really enjoyed Blankety Blank, really really did. This was the first I'd read by D. Harlan Wilson, won't be the last.
I wish Blankety Blank had a book all about himself.
I also noticed the word 'regard' and forms used a lot. I dug that too.
I wish Blankety Blank had a book all about himself.
I also noticed the word 'regard' and forms used a lot. I dug that too.
May 26, 2016
I read this for book group (next month's selection). Blankety Blank is my first Bizzaro Fiction and is on an entirely different frequency than I am....I'm not quite sure how to rate it. This book was either brilliant, or very stupid. I can't decide which.
November 3, 2023
The satire and jokes in this work hit you like watching a street performer distract you with magic gags while stealing your wallet out of your back pocket (and kissing your wife without you knowing).
Literally couldn’t put it down. The level of consistency in humor this book maintains is inspiring and so unique. Also the level of silly absurdism while hiding its intelligence makes this a must read.
Literally couldn’t put it down. The level of consistency in humor this book maintains is inspiring and so unique. Also the level of silly absurdism while hiding its intelligence makes this a must read.
May 27, 2019
Not a bad read if you are a bizarro fan. The absurdity is countered by many amusing tidbits. I'll be reading more by this author, out of sheer morbid curiosity.
December 13, 2010
Things I learned from this slender, choppy novel:
* Axl Rose is a perfect anagram for "oral sex" (seriously—this may already be common knowledge, but since I'm neither a GnR fan nor all that good at anagrams, this is the first time I'd had that pointed out).
* I am sufficiently politically correct that I was disturbed by the phrase "with the grace of a quadriplegic" (p.140)
* If there isn't one already, there should be a named subgenre of surrealism called Trying Too Hard, of which this book is an exemplar.
Sustained zaniness isn't easy to achieve, to be sure. I do know of authors who've done it well—Chris Genoa, for one (full disclosure: I'm currently friends with him on this forum, though I was not yet when I read and reviewed his successfully zany novel Foop). And there are better-known authors who don't do this so well, as far as I'm concerned (Mark Leyner, whose My Cousin My Gastroenterologist I think may get a nod in Blankety Blank, when the word "gastroenterologist" appears prominently early on... or perhaps it's just a coincidence, since that word really is kind of funny-sounding when considered in isolation).
Mr. Blankety Blank is a registered serial killer who has just moved into Vulgaria, a suburb of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He goes door to door announcing his intentions, as he's legally required to do, before going on his latest spree. Yet Mr. B seems overwhelmed by the violence and surreality of Vulgaria itself. His antics simply fit right in to the neighborhood. I suspect we're all agreed that suburbs are soul-deadening anti-places which could do with a little lightening up, even if it takes a serial killer to manage the task, and maybe that's the point... but if so, it's a point that's been made all too many times before. What's original here isn't all that good, and what's good (the name "Vulgaria" itself, for example, borrowed from Ian Fleming's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) isn't all that original.
Ultimately, at least for me, Blankety Blank's wild stabs went wide of the mark.
* Axl Rose is a perfect anagram for "oral sex" (seriously—this may already be common knowledge, but since I'm neither a GnR fan nor all that good at anagrams, this is the first time I'd had that pointed out).
* I am sufficiently politically correct that I was disturbed by the phrase "with the grace of a quadriplegic" (p.140)
* If there isn't one already, there should be a named subgenre of surrealism called Trying Too Hard, of which this book is an exemplar.
Sustained zaniness isn't easy to achieve, to be sure. I do know of authors who've done it well—Chris Genoa, for one (full disclosure: I'm currently friends with him on this forum, though I was not yet when I read and reviewed his successfully zany novel Foop). And there are better-known authors who don't do this so well, as far as I'm concerned (Mark Leyner, whose My Cousin My Gastroenterologist I think may get a nod in Blankety Blank, when the word "gastroenterologist" appears prominently early on... or perhaps it's just a coincidence, since that word really is kind of funny-sounding when considered in isolation).
Mr. Blankety Blank is a registered serial killer who has just moved into Vulgaria, a suburb of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He goes door to door announcing his intentions, as he's legally required to do, before going on his latest spree. Yet Mr. B seems overwhelmed by the violence and surreality of Vulgaria itself. His antics simply fit right in to the neighborhood. I suspect we're all agreed that suburbs are soul-deadening anti-places which could do with a little lightening up, even if it takes a serial killer to manage the task, and maybe that's the point... but if so, it's a point that's been made all too many times before. What's original here isn't all that good, and what's good (the name "Vulgaria" itself, for example, borrowed from Ian Fleming's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) isn't all that original.
Ultimately, at least for me, Blankety Blank's wild stabs went wide of the mark.
December 12, 2011
This book would be close to one of the best books I read this year. It’s really unusual. It takes reality to strange new places. Truth and lies blend into one superbly written ‘memoir’ about Blankety Blank, a serial killer in the suburbs. I used this for a case study at uni this year for an essay on postmodern representations of suburbia. The way it reaches out for those pure, idealistic 1950s suburban ideals, yet completely misinterprets them/bastardizes them, it led me to conclude that this book is about the death of suburbia in contemporary cultures. Examining the book in that context really opened it up to new perspectives for me. The first time I read it was just for the pure absurd fun of it. Sure, the warped consumerist undertones are there, but it wasn’t until I studied it at some level that I realised just how sophisticated and clever it was. I mean, I already knew it was brilliant and sophisticated and clever, but it is fantastically beyond just about everything else I’ve read this year. It is not just a bizarro book, it is an ultraviolent parody of the American Dream, something that people seem desperate to hold on to, but realistically, they never will.
January 1, 2012
This is a highly absurd novel that is chalk full of slapstick humor. There were a few too many punchlines that fell flat for me. What really made this book, were all of the digressions and pseudo essays. They seemed to be better thought out then some of the vaudeville slapstick comedy used in the plot with the characters. Some of them were borderline brilliant and showed the imagination and intelligence of the author. I would've only given this a 1 or 2 star if it wasn't for the breaks in the plot.
December 8, 2008
The author channels Kurt Vonnegut for this story instead of Philip Dick. I'm sure this makes great literary criticism, but it doesn't make much of a bathroom read. I'll just wait for the sequel to Dr. Identity...
July 24, 2014
A serial killer from a bizarro world that only Wilson could make up.
Rutger Van Trout haunts the neighborhood with a brilliant strange of oddness.
Rutger Van Trout haunts the neighborhood with a brilliant strange of oddness.
Want to read
August 27, 2012Found at Flavorwire's Beginner's Guide to Bizarro Fiction.
September 13, 2008
softcover
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews