Literary Review with Cookie Monster: Lush Life by Richard Price

Me was big fan of The Wire at time, even if now it is favourite programme of working mothers, liberals and hipsters. So me always keen to read novels of writers on that show.

However, after bad experience with George Pelecanos book me not so sure. Pelecanos, he average to terrible writer with no verbal flair and tin ear for speech of black characters. 

Anyway, me decide to read some Richard Price next. Lots of white people call him Lord of Urban Fiction, whatever that mean. White people usually wrong about many things, but me give it a go anyway.

Bad idea. Mr Price, he worse than Pelecanos. This book Lush Life terrible in places and downright offensive in others.

Now, me must make clear that me think Price is gifted writer, but he more concerned here with writing social document about New York than actual novel.

Many critics, they like Price. They call him modern day Balzac. Honestly me think he less Balzac and more ballsack. Ha! Ha! Many critics also from New York just like Price, so me think they enjoy hearing about themselves and their big bad city. New Yorkers always very self absorbed and myopic bunch.

Critics like to talk about gritty realism of Lush Life and fantastic dialogue. Dennis Lehane, also crime novelist who write on The Wire, he say Price write best dialogue of anybody today. Me think Lehane need to read more.

Anyway, this book he write has many clichés of crime fiction genre. Price write about divorced and worldweary cop. He write about sassy female partner of ethnic background with balls of steel but heart of gold.

But he also cram in vignettes of social history, immigration and gentrification to remind reader that New York is cosmopolitan, vibrant and also greatest city on earth.

Me think you can’t dust sugar onto shit then call it cookie. The whole book like episode of CSI guest written by Studs Terkel.

And me also find his portrayal of black people in Lush Life offensive like Heckle and Jeckle cartoon.

They say ridiculous things like “gotta get dat cheese, partna” and me wonder if this meant to be urban gangster or capitalist mouse.

Me also wonder why it is middle age white man who write about black people that celebrated as Lord Of Urban Fiction while black writers ignored by mainstream press unless they Colson Whitehead.

Maybe Price, he watch re-runs of In Living Color or Good Times and think this how black people talk. Me not sure. And when me hear white critic talk about how authentic this is, it leave bad taste in mouth like three day old cookie. Not good.

So me give Price 2 cookies out of 5. Then me eat one cookie because me hungry. It hard work reading Lush Life.

Literary Review with Cookie Monster: Nobody Move by Denis Johnson

OK, me welcome you to new addition to Wally Donuts blog. Is review of bookie with Monster of Cookie! Ha! Ha! Me like to rhyme, some of the time. Here me talk about pros and cons of different books me read. Me actually highly literate and well read for a monster, and me almost like books as much as me like cookie!

Me first choice for blog is book called Nobody Move by Denis Johnson. Me not know too much about Mr Johnson except his name also slang for me big blue penis. Anyway, Mr Johnson he written very cool crime fiction novel with noirish feel. 

Blurb on cover by Lionel Shriver say: “Think Reservoir Dogs or Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men. Think Raymond Chandler and James Ellroy.”

Me think: Ignore blurb on cover by Lionel Shriver. Me think Lionel Shriver throw names around like food fight and see what sticks. Poor Lionel, she have boy’s name and thus very confused about everything. This book nothing like Tarantino film, or Raymond Chandler or James Ellroy.

Me no like Raymond Chandler anyway me prefer Dashiell Hammett, and me is reminded of quote by none other than James Ellroy: 'Chandler wrote the man he wanted to be - gallant and with a lively satirist's wit. Hammett wrote the man he feared he might be - tenuous and sceptical in all human dealings, corruptible and addicted to violent intrigue.'

Anyway, me digress.

To be fair to Lionel, me say Nobody Move at least a little bit like No Country for Old Men. Features cat and mouse scenario across the empty American landscape with hapless protagonist chased by some very bad guys. But no Javier Bardem with salad bowl haircut. A shame because me like Javier Bardem.

But Mr Johnson he make Cormac look like Dr Seuss, which is no easy task me can assure you. He make book like All The Pretty Horses look like My Little Pony. Ha! This book Nobody Move is tough as nails, or even three day old cookie, and me like it very much. 

Me like the sparse but clever prose and me like the sense of dread that pervades the book from start to finish. 

Me like also the grizzly swagger of sentences like ‘Ruthless neon on the wet street like busted candy’.

Me think this is book for reader who like serious crime fiction, not low rent stuff me see for sale at supermarket when me go to buy me cookies. So in conclusion, me give this book 4 cookies out of 5. Me have to deduct one cookie because me was slightly let down by ending. 

Sean Penn on Haiti and Wyclef Jean

"Ini Kamoze! Now I’ve been the victim of a media hatchet job on many occasions Wally, but this article about me in the Chicago Tribune is a bloodbath. Worse than anything my man Wes Studi did in Last Of The Mohicans."

But then I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I’m not, as a wise man once said. I think it was Tupac. Possibly it was Thomas Jefferson or that backing dancer who was married to J-Lo for about ten minutes. What was his name? Trevor or something.

Now what that reporter from the Tribune failed to understand is that I’m always frank and earnest with women. In California I’m Frank and in Mexico I’m Ernest! HAHA .

All jokes aside, the humanitarian situation in Haiti is a stain on the conscience of the world. Worse than Darfur. Hell it’s worse than that Battleship film. Call me the plumber, cos I’ve seen some shit, but Port Au Prince is like a thief in a bakery my friends. It takes the cake.

Well … I’m not one to idly stand around while my fellow earthlings descend into barbarism, so post-earthquake I hotfooted it down to Haiti on my private jet, armed with nothing but food, medicine and a sense of blinding righteousness. And a 38 special loaned to me by Mad Dog Madsen.

I leave the photo ops to these Johnny come lately A-listers like Brangelina. Fuck that, I like to get my hands dirty, so I hit the mean streets of the city to do some good.

There was one shanty town that was said to be in a total state of lawlessness. Death, decay, people swimming in their own filth, it was complete anarchy on the streets and no hope in sight. Sort of like Glasgow on a Saturday evening.

I marched in there with a few boxes of protein bars and some drinking water and they received me as a God. But what I didn’t expect was some no name rapper fuck trying to steal my thunder. None other than that douchebag Wyclef Jean, a true buzzkill and champagne socialist motherfucker.

That asswipe flew over the shanty town in a US military chopper, yelling “one tiiiime!” at the top of his lungs, festooning its residents with remaindered Fugees albums on CD. 

Jumpin’ Jesus, it was like a hailstorm of shitty music and polycarbonate plastic.

Anyway, I was determined to set that dreadlocked bumbaclart straight when I got back to the embassy. I started cracking skulls like pistachios, slowly working my way through his bullshit entourage. His cousin Pras stepped to me but I dropped that one hit wonder cunt quicker than he was dropped by his record label.

Wyclef was acting a bigger bitch than Lauryn Hill in Sister Act 2, and that pussy got himself airlifted Saigon '75 style with some extended Duvalier family members only moments before I caught his $5 ass and made change.

He's trying to play it cool these days, but rest assured when I catch that low rent Urkel motherfucker I'll massacre him, worse than how the Fugees massacred that Bob Marley record back in 1996."