REVIEW Wetbones by John Shirley ISBN 0-929480-64-3 Trade HB $25/Limited $65/274 pp. Mark V. Ziesing/1991 When you read John Shirley at his best you hear music. Organic, orgasmic rock, occasionally threads of exotic otherworldy sounds and, more often, a counterpart of desperate electric blues. I thought maybe I was unique in feeling this, then I found out William Gibson wrote, "Sometimes reading Shirley, I can hear the guitars, like there's some monstrous subliminal wall-o'-sound chewing at the edges of the text." So it's not just me. At least I'm in good company. WETBONES is written with a completeness few novelists of any type can achieve while still maintaining accessibility and entertaining the reader. What sets it beyond the ordinary are truly human characters who are each a separate and total entity, yet combine with each other and several plotlines into a unifying something more. As complete as that might seem, the author's ability to convey the stink of our rotting civilization adds another, deeper metaphysical modulation. Reading WETBONES is like getting that extra overtone from certain chords played at precise pitch. Even though you know all the notes -- the sum is even more than the whole. WETBONES is what so many of today's cutting edge writers offer but don't always deliver: brainsucking, mind-defying, oh christ, energized, over-the edge, unflinching, no holds barred fiction Sizzling, superb writing that makes the most of the riffs the author executes. It's not the kind of book you can summarize in a paragraph, so I won't try. I could dissect WETBONES with a literary scalpel. Show the triune of heroes each with their own reason to journey forth and try to save Innocence from the Beast. Discuss the psycho-social commentary offered within context. Bring up Kafka and Chekhov. Deal with themes of redemption, the supernatural, spirituality, good/evil, pleasure/pain... I could do that because the book has that kind of depth. That, however, would be something like offering a dissertation on the philosophy of Iggy Pop. It's not needed. I could say that Shirley's writing makes Barker's look like the work of an effete poseur; that most modern horror writers don't understand the uses of the extreme and are the caliber of a garage band compared to the tight set of this WETBONES gig. But I'd rather say: This is one kick-ass motherpiece of horror. Hear the music for yourself. Read it. -- OMNI Wetbones Page